Chapter 3

I couldn't hear anything. The only thing I could see was Maren's lips moving silently.

Seven years of love, seven years of tenderness, all those nights filled with warmth, all those caresses I believed meant love...

Was it all just a lie?

Was it all part of a carefully orchestrated, seven-year murder plot?

No, no way.

I believed Julian loved me. He would never hurt me.

My body started shaking uncontrollably, a chill rushing up from my feet all the way to the top of my head.

My stomach was in knots, and I grabbed onto the icy sink, retching.

"You're not kidding, right?" I asked, my voice trembling, desperately hoping it wasn't true.

Maren's eyes were filled with heartache and helplessness.

"I'm an orthopedic surgeon, Elara," she said. "I wouldn't joke about that."

"Think about it. Have you noticed your legs feeling numb lately? Or when you walk, do your legs ever feel weak, like you might stumble?" Maren asked.

It seemed that my heart sank, inch by inch, into an icy abyss.

Yes. I'd felt all of that.

It started about six months ago. Now and then, my right leg would go numb, but it always faded quickly. I just figured it was from sitting too long and having poor blood circulation.

Last month, I was going down the stairs and, without warning, missed a step. I almost rolled down.

At that time, Julian rushed over, wrapped his arms around me, and chided me for being so careless.

But looking back now, there was something else in his eyes besides worry. Was it a brief spark of excitement?

I dared not think any further.

A suffocating fear wrapped around me like a clammy web, leaving me out of breath.

My legs went limp. I slid down the wall, crumpling to the floor, shivering from head to toe.

Seven years of marriage, and it was nothing but a carefully woven lie, a path straight into hell.

The man lying beside me every night, whispering "I love you," had actually been the one slowly pushing me toward the abyss of ruin.

I couldn't even remember how I left the hotel, or how I managed to get home.

Maren's words kept echoing in my head, haunting me like a spell I couldn't escape.

"Come to the hospital at nine o'clock tomorrow morning. We'll run a full check-up. And whatever you do, don't let him notice anything's wrong," Maren instructed.

When I opened the door, the lights in the living room were on.

Julian was sitting on the couch, reading a book. As soon as he saw me, he put the book down and got up to greet me.

"Hi, dear. Did you have fun at the party?" he asked.

He smiled gently as usual, reaching for my bag.

I subconsciously shrank back a little.

His hand froze in mid-air, and his smile stiffened for a second.

"What's wrong?" Julian asked, sounding worried. "You look awful. Did you drink too much?"

I forced myself to pull off a smile uglier than crying. "No. I'm just a little tired."

I told myself that I couldn't let him notice anything

and I must stay calm.

I slipped past him and set my bag on the cabinet by the front door, trying to make my voice sound normal.

"It was probably stuffy in the room with everyone packed in," I said.

"Is that so?" Julian came up behind me, his hands resting on my shoulders as he gave them a gentle squeeze. "Get some rest then. I'll make you something delicious tomorrow."

The moment his fingers touched my skin, every hair on my body stood on end.

I could feel the heat of his fingertips and the shape of his knuckles.

It was these hands.

The very hands that once made me feel safe. Every Friday night for seven years, the hands had been carrying out the cruelest scheme right on my back.

A nausea welled up in my throat, and I almost threw up.

I shoved him aside and rushed into the bathroom.

"Elara!" Julian called out after me, his voice full of worry.

I locked the door behind me and hunched over the toilet, but nothing came up, only a heart-wrenching retching.

In the mirror, my face looked ghostly pale.

I stared at myself, barely recognizing the person I saw.

After seven years of supposed love, how much had my body been destroyed beneath the surface?

I couldn't bear to imagine it.

I stayed in the bathroom for a long time, only opening the door once I'd managed to calm myself down a little.

Julian stood guard at the door, looking worried.

"What's wrong? Did you eat something bad?" he asked.

He reached out, trying to help me.

"Don't touch me!" I screamed.

My voice was so piercing, so desperate, it even shocked me.

Julian froze, a flash of sadness flickering in his eyes.

I immediately realized that I had overreacted.

I dropped my head, hiding my face behind my hair, and whispered in a raspy voice, "Sorry. I'm just feeling sick. I think I should go to bed."

I didn't dare to look him in the eye. Practically fleeing, I rushed back to the bedroom and dove under the covers.