Chapter 2

The private room was deathly silent.

Everyone stared at me like I was some kind of freak.

A flash of surprise crossed Andrew's eyes, but it quickly turned into an even deeper disgust.

He pushed me aside, pulled out a wet wipe, didn't even bother to use it, and threw it at my face with obvious disdain.

"Clean yourself up. Don't dirty Rose's eyes," Andrew said.

The wet wipe, smelling of alcohol, landed on my face, cold and biting.

I took it off, obediently wiped the blood from my hands, then crouched on the carpet and quietly picked up the shards and bits of lobster one by one.

Pain drilled into my temples like a relentless jackhammer.

A warm trickle started in my nose.

I was getting a nosebleed. It was a side effect of my brain cancer.

Panic gripped me. I couldn't let anyone see it here.

I took a deep breath, forcing that sickly, metallic taste back down my throat and swallowing it with my spit.

My stomach twisted violently, waves of nausea crashing through me.

"Hurry up," Andrew said, looking down at me as he gave my leg a kick. "Rose is hungry."

I sped up, my fingertips getting sliced open by the shards, each cut stinging, but none of it compared to the pain pounding in my head.

Finally, I finished picking everything up.

I tried to get up, bracing myself against the coffee table, but dizziness hit me, and my vision went black. I collapsed back down, hard.

My knee hit the marble floor with a bone-jarring thud that made my teeth ache.

"Charlotte," Andrew called out. His voice was full of rage. "How long are you going to keep playing the helpless card? Rose stopped acting fragile five years ago."

Rose let out a soft laugh and said, "Ms. Lane must be tired. After all, no one's going to feel sorry for her."

I lay sprawled on the floor for several seconds until my vision finally came back.

I didn't explain.

Not that Andrew would believe me, even if I tried.

Five years ago, my dad disappeared with all our money, and Andrew stepped in, paying thirty million dollars to cover my debts.

From that moment on, I belonged to him. I was his personal punching bag, his property, and Rose's substitute.

As long as I kept breathing, that debt would never be paid off.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Grant," I said. I got up, head bowed, like a lifeless puppet. "I'll replace it with a fresh plate right away."

"No need," Andrew cut me off coldly. "Who could eat with that lifeless face of yours? Go pay the bill, then stand outside and wait for me."

I took the bill and walked out.

As the door closed behind me, I heard Rose's sweet, coquettish voice. "Andrew, aren't you being a little too harsh on her?"

"She's a pet," Andrew replied, his tone indifferent. "If she doesn't listen, she needs to be disciplined."

I leaned against the cold wall, pulled a tissue from my pocket, and stuffed it in my nose.

Blood instantly stained the tissue bright red.

I swapped it out for another, then another.

It took three tissues before the bleeding finally stopped.

I stared at the glaring red wad of tissues in the trash can; it almost made me want to laugh.

Andrew, if one day you found out the pet you always call was dying, would you feel anything at all?

Yeah, probably not.

He would only think life got a bit more boring without his punching bag around.

I stood outside the lounge for a whole hour.

The late autumn wind cut into my face like knives, but I couldn't feel a thing.

The tumor in my brain was crushing my nerves, and my left side started to go numb.

This was a new symptom.

The doctor said that once I stopped feeling pain, it meant the end was near.

At two in the morning, Andrew finally came out.

He was tipsy, staggering a bit, with Rose wrapped around his arm, her smile blooming like a flower.

The driver pulled the car up.

Andrew opened the back door, gently guiding Rose inside.

Then he turned to look at me.

I felt like discarded trash, standing by the roadside, my legs completely numb.

"Get in," Andrew said, his voice cold and clipped.

I braced myself against the ground, struggling several times before I finally managed to stand.

My left leg was dead weight, so I dragged it behind me like I was lame as I made my way to the passenger seat.

The car's heater was running, filling the cabin with warmth.

From the back seat came intimate whispers and the unmistakable sounds of lips meeting.

My eyes glazed over as I watched the city lights blur past outside, doing my best to tune out everything happening behind me.

Suddenly, a wave of intense ringing crashed through my ears, like a screeching whistle drilling right into my skull.

I pressed my hands over my ears, groaning quietly from the pain.

"So noisy," Andrew said. He kicked the back of the passenger seat, sounding impatient. "If you're gonna die, do it outside."

I clenched my jaw, cold sweat running down my forehead and burning my eyes.

"Sorry, my head hurts," I whispered.

"Head hurts?" Andrew scoffed. "Charlotte, did you forget who pushed your gambling dad off that building? Back then, you didn't even bat an eye, and now you're whining about a headache?"

My heart felt like a needle jabbed right into it.

No, that was not true.

That time, my dad tried to take me with him. I was fighting for my life.

But Andrew never believed me.

To him, I was cold-blooded, the kind of person who'd do whatever it took for cash.

The car stopped in front of a riverside villa.

This was Andrew's love shack for Rose, and the place where I had lived for three years.

"Get out and grab some sobering pills," Andrew said. "Rose is feeling woozy after drinking too much."

I glanced around this godforsaken place and said, "There's no way to get a cab out here. The closest pharmacy is three miles from here."

"That's your problem," Andrew replied. He lowered the window and tossed out a black credit card. "Go on, run there. It'll clear your head."

The window went up, and the sleek car rolled through the villa gates.

I was left all alone in the dead of night.

For me right now, three miles felt like an uncrossable gulf.

But I still turned and walked away.

Because I knew if I didn't bring those pills back, there'd be no money for my mom's medicine tonight.

My mom was stuck in a nursing home, basically a living corpse, and the monthly fees were insane.

Andrew had me by the throat.

I dragged my numb left leg, inching forward step by step.

About halfway there, everything suddenly went pitch black.

I was hit with temporary blindness.

My vision went black, and I crashed headfirst into the gutter by the road.

Freezing, muddy water rushed into my mouth, making me hack and gasp for air.

With every cough, blood came up again.

I lay in the muddy water, staring up at the pitch-black sky above.

It was perfect.

If I died right here, would I finally be at peace?