Chapter 3

The IV fluid was freezing, and the high fever left me exhausted. Without realizing it, I drifted off.

A sharp prick of pain jolted me awake.

I looked down. The IV bag was empty, and blood was backing up into the tube.

"Nurse! Her line's backing up!"

A kind older woman sitting next to me frantically pressed the call button.

A nurse rushed over, swiftly pulled the needle out, and couldn't help but scold me. "Sweetheart, you have to pay attention. You're here all alone—what if something happened to you?"

"Thank you. I'm fine."

I calmly pressed my thumb against the puncture mark on my hand, offering no explanations.

By the time I walked out of the hospital, it was pitch black outside.

A cold wind whipped freezing rain against my face. I pulled my thin coat tighter and took out my phone to call Harry.

It rang for a long time. Just as the system was about to disconnect, he finally picked up.

"Selena?"

His voice was hushed, thick with impatience and a guilty conscience.

"I'm still getting my IV," I said flatly. No accusations. No complaints. Just stating a fact.

"Selena, you're going to have to take care of yourself for a bit."

"Emma's burn is tricky. They want to keep her for observation. I'm gonna be late."

Observation?

A red mark that didn't even break the skin needed hospital observation?

Before I could speak, a sickeningly sweet female voice drifted through the receiver.

"Harry, I can't eat this clinic food. I want the Strawberry Mille-feuille from that Michelin spot in Mayfair..."

It was Emma.

Her tone was spoiled, entitled, and clearly meant for me to hear.

There was a rustling sound. Harry was probably trying to cover the mouthpiece, but his gentle, coaxing voice leaked through anyway.

"I know, baby, I'm taking you right now. Careful with the hand."

The very next second, his voice snapped back to the cold, business-like tone he used with me.

"Selena, I really can't get away right now. Just grab a cab. I'll expense it."

"Don't bother."

I didn't give him the chance to continue his performance. I hung up.

Standing on the curb, I watched the screen fade to black. The very last trace of pain in my heart vanished with the light.

I called a car and went back to that cheap, cramped apartment.

Midnight came and went. The lock never clicked.

I took a hot shower, changed into clean pajamas, and leaned against the headboard, opening Instagram.

I typed in a complex username. Harry's secret private account.

He thought I didn't know about it, but I had accidentally seen him log in three years ago.

I clicked on his profile. Ten minutes ago, he had posted a new update.

Under a dim streetlamp, two silhouettes stood close together, fingers intertwined.

The caption was a single line: "After everything, it was always you."

The location tag? The Michelin five-star restaurant in Mayfair.

I stared at the photo. My heart was a stagnant pool of water. Not a single ripple.

No tears. No breakdown.

If he loved his untouchable first love so much, I would gladly give them my blessing.

By the next morning, my fever had broken.

I stood in front of the vanity mirror and applied a flawless, razor-sharp full face of makeup.

Looking at the powerful, intimidating woman staring back at me, I finally recognized the real Selena again.

My phone lit up. A text from Harry.

"Emma's birthday party is tomorrow night. You're coming."

"Buy a decent dress. Don't show up looking like a charity case and embarrass me."

I stared at the two messages and let out a cold laugh.

He wanted me to accompany him to his first love's birthday party?

Did he want to drag his obedient "placeholder girlfriend" in front of Emma to show off? To feed his twisted ego?

My slender fingers tapped the screen.

"Fine."