Chapter 2

Clayton flinched violently, crying out in pain. His grip loosened. He stared at his bleeding arm, utterly incapable of believing I had actually struck him.

Karina shrieked and burst into tears, pulling him backward.

"Clayton! Are you okay? Does it hurt? Oh God, I wish I could take the pain for you!"

I had already dropped the needle and wrapped both my arms tightly around the table leg, anchoring myself to the spot.

Karina stepped in front of Clayton, throwing her arms out in a dramatic display of martyrdom.

"Eve, I know I'm just the charity case your family sponsored! I know I shouldn't have refused to be buried with your grandfather, and I definitely shouldn't have gone to Clayton for help."

"This is all my fault. If you're still angry, hit me! Just please don't hurt him anymore. Seeing him bleed is worse than death to me."

Crying hysterically, she grabbed my hand and tried to force me to slap her own face.

I just stared at her with dead, apathetic eyes.

Years ago, my grandfather had kindly sponsored her education to get her out of a rural town. Seeing her intelligence and work ethic, he gave her a job as a secretary at our family company.

She pulled this exact same stunt back then, falsely accusing my grandfather of harassing her.

Hearing her lies, Clayton had flown into a rage, stormed into my family's corporate headquarters, and taken Karina away.

From that day on, he firmly believed Karina was a fragile bird who needed his constant protection—more than I ever did.

As for me forcing her to be a human sacrifice for my grandfather? Another complete fabrication.

"You always used to ask me why I treated Karina better than you," Clayton spat. "Do you understand now? One of you actually deserves to be loved. The other belongs in the dirt."

He protectively tucked Karina behind him. Then, as if kicking a rabid dog, he planted his foot in my stomach and kicked me to the floor.

I didn't cling to him or cry like he expected. I just quietly crawled over, picked up the dropped scarf, and meticulously wrapped it back around the corpse's neck.

Seeing this, Clayton lost his mind.

Ignoring the blood dripping from his arm, he grabbed me and slammed me back against the autopsy table.

"You'd rather give your tenderness to a dead man than to me?!"

"You want to put on a show? Fine! Let's see the whole performance! You say he's your husband? Then sleep with him!"

The words hit me like a hypnotic command.

My body stiffened. Then, obediently, I reached for the hem of my shirt, pulled it over my head, and began climbing onto the metal table with the corpse.

Clayton completely broke. Roaring like a wounded animal, he yanked me off the table and shoved the heavy steel gurney, flipping it over.

He bent down to grab the stiff body and throw it out of the way. But the second he got a clear look at the dead man's face, the breath left his lungs.

"He... he's not..."