Chapter 2

The words landed between us. For a moment, he had nothing to say.

I saw the discomfort flicker across his face.

Still, he recovered quickly. He straightened, and his expression shifted into something patient, almost instructive, as if he were speaking to someone who needed to be taught.

"You were switched at the hospital. That was an accident, not Charlotte's fault. You cannot blame her for that. And if she had not fallen ill and needed a match, you might never have returned to the Quinn family at all."

He paused, then continued in the same measured tone. "Olivia, you grew up in the countryside. You were not taught the same things. I do not hold that against you. But you should know when to stop."

My breath caught. I should have understood this long ago. People like him stayed with people like her. They lived in the same world, and they protected each other without even thinking. And somehow, I had still hoped that he might see me differently.

A faint smile lingered on my lips, but my eyes stung.

"I understand," I said quietly. "I never wanted to compete with Charlotte."

My thoughts drifted, unfocused, as if I were standing somewhere far away from my own body. I took a step without looking. My foot came down on a shard I had missed. Pain shot up at once, sharp and merciless. I flinched, but I did not cry out. The pain in my foot was real, and it was fierce.

But it was nothing compared to the crack that had already spread through my heart.

He seemed caught off guard by how easily I gave in.

For a second, he did not know what to say. He looked at me again, and his eyes dropped to my feet. I was still standing on the broken glass, as if I had forgotten it was there. His tone softened at last. "Your foot is hurt," he said. "I will get some iodine and clean it, then wrap it up."

He took a step, then stopped. A trace of embarrassment crossed his face.

He had no idea where the first aid kit was. So he stood there, doing nothing.

I did not wait for him. I walked to the bathroom on my own. I cleaned the wound, pressed down the bleeding, and wrapped it carefully. The sting was sharp, but it felt distant. When I came back, I sat at the table. The food had gone cold. I picked up my fork and started to eat.

Howard sat down across from me. He frowned as soon as he looked at the dishes. "It is all cold," he said. "How can you eat this? Just throw it away. We can go out instead."

My hand paused for a moment. Then I looked up at him.

"These are the kind of meals someone like me eats," I said quietly. "An unrefined girl from the countryside. You are not used to this, so I did not prepare anything for you."

He stiffened, as if expecting me to push further. But I only added, "I saw your post. You already had dinner with Charlotte."

He lowered his head at once. His voice turned hurried, almost defensive.

"That was just a casual meal between friends. I did not eat much. Charlotte had some wine, and you know she just had surgery. She is not in good condition, so I had to stay with her."

I nodded. "I know. She just had surgery, so you should take care of her."

He went quiet. A moment passed. Then he looked at me again, as if trying to read something he could not quite understand. "Why are you not angry?" he asked.

I finished the last bite of my cold meal and looked up at him, almost without thinking.

"Why should I be angry?" I said softly. "You have told me a hundred times. If it weren't for Charlotte, I wouldn't have returned to the Quinn family. I wouldn't even have the chance to marry you. I should be reasonable."

Then, as if I suddenly remembered something, I added, "Tomorrow is the third, right? Remind Charlotte not to have breakfast and take her for the checkup."