Chapter 3

I practically dragged myself back to the villa.

The sky was starting to brighten.

Clutching the box of hangover pills, caked in mud, I looked like some ghoul that clawed its way out of the grave.

I rang the doorbell.

Andrew opened the door.

He was wearing a bathrobe, his hair wet, clearly out of the shower.

When he saw me looking like some kind of zombie, he frowned and instinctively stepped back.

"How did you end up like this? Disgusting," Andrew said.

I held out the pills, my hands stained with dried blood and mud.

"The pills... I brought them back," I said,

Andrew didn't take them. He stared at my face, suddenly letting out a cold laugh. "Charlotte, you're really manipulative. Did you make yourself look like this to make Rose feel guilty?"

I tried to speak, wanting to tell him I couldn't see, that I had fallen.

But Andrew didn't care to listen.

He knocked the box of pills right out of my hand.

"It's too late. Rose is already asleep," Andrew said.

The box rolled across the floor, and he stomped it flat under his foot.

"Come in and sign this," Andrew said.

He turned and walked into the living room, grabbed a document from the coffee table, and tossed it at me.

It was a divorce agreement.

Those words doubled and warped before my eyes.

Andrew and I had actually registered our marriage.

Three years ago, to keep Andrew's father, Mike Grant, off our backs, we kept it all under wraps. There was no wedding, no rings, just this contract.

"Rose is back. It's time for you to step aside," Andrew said.

He lit a cigarette, smoke curling around him as his expression turned icy and distant. "As compensation, the thirty million debt is wiped clean. And this villa is yours."

I stood there, stunned.

Thirty million, that debt had shackled me for five years, and now, it was gone.

If this had been before, I would've cried, begged him not to throw me out.

But now, I felt light.

I picked up the pen, my hand shaking so badly.

The tumor was pressing on my motor nerves, and I could barely hold the pen steady.

"Sign it already. Stop wasting my time," Andrew said, clearly annoyed. "Looking for more? Charlotte, don't be so greedy."

I grabbed my right wrist with my left hand, trying to keep it from shaking out of control.

I scrawled out those words, Charlotte Lane, barely legible.

The signature looked as messed up as my whole pathetic life.

"Forget the villa," I said.

I set the pen down, my voice barely audible. "Mr. Grant, could you give me the money instead? I want to cover my mom's care for the next ten years."

Andrew froze, cigarette halfway to his lips.

He seemed taken aback by how straightforward I was, and even more so by the fact that I wanted money.

"Alright," Andrew shot me a look that was equal parts complicated and scornful. "Of course. Women like you, money's all you ever care about."

He grabbed his checkbook, scribbled out a figure, ripped the check free, and flung it onto the floor.

"Take the cash and get lost. Don't show your face around here ever again," Andrew spat.

I bent down and picked up the check.

This time, I didn't thank him meekly like before.

I carefully folded the check and tucked it into my inner pocket, close to my body.

Then, I slipped off the old string bracelet from my wrist.

Andrew randomly grabbed it from a street stall five years ago while he was drunk out of his mind. It cost only two dollars.

I wore it all these years, until the string was so worn it had turned pale.

I placed it on the coffee table, right beside the divorce papers.

"Andrew," It was the last time I'd ever call him. "Hope you and Rose have a long, happy life together, and may you never have children, may your bloodline die out."

Andrew's head snapped up, his eyes blazing with fury. He shouted, "What did you say?"

I turned and walked away, not giving him a chance to blow up.

As I walked out of the villa, the first rays of morning sunlight pierced through the clouds.

I lifted my hand to block the glare.

The light was blinding.

But the freedom was even more dazzling.

After leaving the villa, I went straight to the hospital.

I was not going for treatment, just to get a prescription.

The painkillers weren't working anymore. I needed something stronger.

Michael Shea was the one prescribing my meds, the Neurosurgery Maestro, and an old classmate from high school.

"Charlotte, your intracranial pressure is much too high," Michael said, frowning as he looked over the latest CT scan. "The tumor's pressing on your language center. Have you started having trouble speaking?"

I nodded, tried to say something, but my tongue felt all twisted up, and all that came out was a jumble of slurred sounds.

After several seconds, I finally managed to force out a few words. "G-give me... the meds."

Michael's eyes grew misty. "Please, stay in the hospital. Even if it's only for your last days, let me take care of you, okay?"

I shook my head. I wanted to die with some dignity. I didn't want any tubes, a shaved head, or to become unrecognizable.

"I... need... to go see my mom." Clutching the meds, I brushed off Michael's hand and dragged myself out of the exam room, step by stubborn step.

The hospital corridor was packed with people coming and going.

Suddenly, I spotted a familiar figure.

It was Andrew.

He was cradling Rose in his arms, shouting for a doctor like it was an emergency. There was a tiny cut on Rose's arm, probably from a piece of paper, but Andrew acted like she was on her deathbed.

Instinctively, I wanted to hide.

But my legs refused to move. They were stuck, and I couldn't budge.

Andrew spotted me.

He froze for a second, his eyes locking onto the bag of meds in my hand.

The clear bag held a mix of colorful pill boxes, plus a prominent white bottle that really stood out.

It was a strong painkiller, but the packaging made it look like birth control pills.

Andrew's face darkened instantly, and he strode straight toward me.

"Charlotte, you're really cheap," Andrew spat.

He snatched the bag of meds from my hand, without even checking what was inside, and chucked it right into the trash without a second thought.

"Just signed the divorce papers and you're already out buying birth control? What, can't wait to jump into bed with your next man?" Andrew sneered.

I stared at the trash can.

That was my lifeline.

It was the only thing that kept me going these days.

Without those meds, the pain would kill me.

"P-pick it up..." I muttered.

Panic hit me hard. I scrambled toward the trash can, frantically searching for my meds.

With my speech all slurred and broken, it made me look guilty, like I was hiding something.

Andrew yanked me to my feet by the collar.

"Why bother picking it up? You think you're even worthy of this?" Andrew scoffed.

His words caught everyone's attention.

"Let me tell you. Even though we're divorced, don't go flaunting your ex-wife status and messing around. I find it disgusting," Andrew snapped.

He let go, and I hit the floor hard.

My head slammed against the tile again.

It was like something blew up in my head.

Pain hit me like a tidal wave, more intense than anything I had ever experienced.

I curled up on the floor, clutching my head with both hands, my nails digging deep into my scalp as I howled in agony. "Ah! It hurts. It hurts so bad!"

This wasn't an act.

The pain was real, so intense that all I wanted was to smash my head against the floor to make it stop.

Andrew towered over me, looking down with icy contempt and blatant ridicule.

"Putting on another show, huh? Charlotte, with acting skills like yours, you could win an Oscar for drama queen," Andrew scoffed.

He kicked at my foot. "Stop playing dead and get up."

I couldn't really hear him anymore.

All I could make out was a piercing ringing in my ears, and my vision was flooded with crimson.

Blood gushed from my nose again, unstoppable this time, soaking my collar and spilling onto the floor in an instant, like a dam breaking.

People around me started freaking out.

"Blood. So much blood!"

"What's wrong with her?"

Andrew's face finally changed.

He stared at the shocking pool of blood, his eyes wide, his body frozen in place.

"Charlotte?" Andrew said.

He crouched down, reaching out to help me.

But before he could, a pair of hands lifted me up even faster.

It was Michael.

He was in his white coat, his face full of worry and anger as he pushed Andrew out of the way.

"Get lost!" Michael snapped.

Andrew staggered, his eyes wide with shock as he looked at Michael, then at me—bloodied and cradled in Michael's arms.

"Who are you?" Andrew asked, his voice wavered.

Michael ignored him, scooped me up, and rushed me straight to the ER.

Pressed against Michael's chest, I shot Andrew one last glance.

He stood there, his hand still frozen in the position he tried to grab me.

For the first time ever, that cocky face of his was twisted with real panic.

Andrew, this time, I was really going to die.

Was this what you wanted?