Chapter 3

I was taken to a VIP ward. A nurse cleaned my wounds and drew blood.

Adrian sat on the sofa the whole time, quietly reading a journal on artifact restoration, as if I were nothing more than a minor inconvenience he picked up along the way.

The results came back quickly. All my wounds were just surface injuries.

Soon it was just the two of us in the room.

"Charlotte called me." Adrian finally set the journal aside and looked over at me. "She told me you've just been under too much pressure lately. She's already arranged the best psychiatrist for you, and she'll cover the cost."

He paused, then added, "Serena, think about it. Someone who isn't even related to you is doing all she can to protect your dignity. And you?"

I tightened my grip on the water bottle. The cool plastic grounded me.

"Adrian," I said quietly. "You've spent your whole life restoring relics. You know better than anyone what fake aging looks like.

"Those so-called proofs Charlotte produced—the ones claiming I was digging into my father's old case and trying to drag you down with me—the forgeries were so fresh. Did you really not see it, or did you just not dare to?"

A flicker of hurt crossed his eyes, but it vanished almost instantly, swallowed back into his usual calm. He stood and set the medication the doctor prescribed on the bedside table.

"These are sedatives and sleep aids," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Take them on schedule until you can think straight again. I'll have the hospital keep you here for observation for a few days until your emotions settle. I'm not letting you follow your father's path."

I knew exactly which path he meant, not the prison sentence he took on his back, but the road he chose before that—shielding Adrian, shielding the truth behind that national treasure, shouldering every accusation alone.

What Adrian feared was that I would end up just like my father, that in chasing some so-called "truth," I would burn everything he had managed to build.

It was a kind of imprisonment—polished, quiet, and ten times more effective than any locked door.

"I don't want to take them." I stared at him.

"This isn't a request. It's an instruction." His voice stayed gentle, but it had the weight of a verdict. "Serena, don't disappoint me again."

He was just turning to leave when a nurse knocked and came in, pushing a cart with fruit and a bottle of red wine.

"Professor Cole, this is from Ms. Rivers," she said with a smile. "She said it's for you and Ms. Wynn. She hopes Ms. Wynn gets well soon and that you won't overwork yourself."

Adrian's expression softened. He nodded. "Please thank her for me."

After the nurse left, he gave me one last look—complicated, almost pained, as though he was looking at a fragile artifact he didn't have the skill to mend. "Get some rest."

The door clicked shut.

I knew there were guards stationed outside. I looked at the sleeping pills and the elegantly packaged wine on the bedside table.

Charlotte's kindness and Adrian's arrangements—together they had built me a beautiful cage.

Maybe that was for the best.

I picked up the bottle, walked to the window, and smashed the base of it against the concrete ledge—once, twice, harder each time.

The crack of breaking glass rang sharp. A jagged shard lay glittering in my hand. At last, I finally had a way home.

I slid the shard of glass under my pillow, lay back down, and shut my eyes, pretending to sleep.

The guard outside peeked in through the little window on the door and didn't notice anything wrong.

I waited—waited for midnight, for that tiny window of time when the nurses changed shifts.

The clock struck twelve somewhere far away.

This was it.

I took out the shard and dragged it across my wrist without a second thought.

It didn't hurt the way I'd imagined—just a sudden rush of warmth spilling out, soaking into the sheets.

I lay there quietly, feeling my life leak away bit by bit. Maybe this time, I could finally go home.

I didn't know how long it was before the door swung open.

Adrian walked in. He was holding a glass of hot milk, probably here to make sure I took my meds.

The moment he stepped inside, he caught the smell of blood. His gentle expression froze. He looked at my wrist and was shocked. The glass slipped from his hand and shattered on the floor.

He rushed to the bed and clamped down on my wound.

"What the hell are you doing?" He growled, his voice cracking for the first time.

He tore off a strip of the bedsheet and tied off my arm with a practiced grip, as if he were repairing a broken piece of antique.

"Serena, look at me." He grabbed my chin and forced my gaze up to his. "Answer me. Why would you do this?"

I looked into his bloodshot eyes and gave him a faint, tired smile. "Didn't you say counterfeits should be cleared out? I'm just helping you tidy up."

"Shut up!" Adrian barked. For the first time, fear flashed in his eyes. "I never told you to do it like this."

"Then what way did you want?" I looked at him; my eyelids felt so heavy. "Did you want to erase me, just like you burned that marriage contract yourself?

"Adrian, when my mother was dying, she held my hand and said you could fix anything in this world, but the one thing you never understood was the human heart. She was right."

These words slid straight into the deepest part of him like a knife dipped in poison.

Adrian jolted, his face draining of color in an instant.

Right then, the door swung open again. Edward and Ryan rushed in—Adrian must have called them. The moment they saw the mess on the floor, the blood on Adrian's hands, and my pale face, they froze.

The room descended into chaos as doctors and nurses poured in.

When they lifted me onto the gurney, I caught a glimpse through the crowd—Adrian collapsing to the floor in shock. His spotless trench coat was soaked with my blood. In one hand, he was gripping something so tightly his knuckles had gone pale.

I recognized it at once. It was the little scrap he had kept all these years—the last surviving piece of the marriage contract he once signed for me and Edward, then later burned by himself. Only my name, Serena, had survived the fire.

I couldn't help but smile faintly.