Chapter 2

In the end, I made my way to Davidson Estate.

Just like Richard asked, I put on some makeup and slipped into that dress he'd bought me on a whim—the one his mom said looked too old-fashioned.

I looked at myself in the mirror. I had flawless, pale skin, but my eyes were nothing but empty, lifeless gray.

As I pushed the door open, a wave of noise and warmth hit me all at once.

In the living room, Richard's mother, Rachel, was sitting at the head of the room, with Rebecca snuggled up next to her, making her laugh and filling the place with cheerful energy.

Richard stood nearby, wearing a gentle smile I hadn't seen in ages. His gaze settled on Rebecca with softness just beneath the surface.

At that moment, I felt like an unwelcome guest crashing someone else's cozy family dinner.

My arrival made the room go quiet for a moment.

"Oh, you're here?" Rachel barely looked at me, her voice cool and indifferent. "Where's your gift?"

I stepped forward and handed her the carefully wrapped box. "Happy birthday, Rachel. It's the silk scarf you mentioned you liked."

Rachel took it and unwrapped it carelessly, giving it a quick glance before pursing her lips. "The color is too dull. Doesn't flatter my complexion at all. Rebecca's bracelet is so much better. It's clear and smooth. I can see she really put her heart into it."

She raised her wrist, showing off Rebecca's gift, her smile warm and sincere.

Rebecca gave Rachel a sweet yet proper smile. "I'm glad you like it, Rachel. I spent ages picking it out."

Richard walked over, glanced down at me, and frowned, "Why do you still look so washed out? I told you to make more of an effort tonight."

His voice wasn't loud, but Rebecca was close enough to catch every word.

Rebecca instantly turned to me with a worried look. "Are you sure you're okay, Laura? Your lips look so pale. Maybe you should go lie down for a bit?"

Her so-called "concern" felt like a needle, stabbing right into my frayed nerves.

I forced a strained smile, trying to say something, but a wave of that familiar stomach pain crashed over me, the nausea rising up again.

"I'm fine," I managed to reply, pretending to sound normal. "Probably just carsick."

"Always so fragile," Rachel scoffed, not bothering to look at me.

The family dinner kicked off, and I found myself stuck at the farthest end of the long dining table—about as far from Richard as I could possibly get.

Every dish laid out was something Rachel adored—greasy, spicy, and way too heavy for someone with a weak stomach like mine.

Just staring at all that food made my nausea worse.

I barely touched any food, just quietly sipping the warm water in front of me and hoping no one would notice.

"Why aren't you eating?" Rachel gave me a hard, inspecting stare. "Are my dishes not good enough for your tastes?"

"Of course, you're a fancy designer now. I guess such plain food just can't measure up to your standards."

"Rachel, I'm not..." I started to say.

"Not what?" she snapped, cutting me off. "Then eat. Why the long face all the time? Who are you sulking for? If outsiders saw you, they'd think we're abusing you. Having Richard marry you has just been nothing but bad luck."

"Mom," Richard finally interjected, but his voice was more calming than assertive. "She's probably just tired, okay? Could you please drop it?"

Then he gave me a warning look, irritation clear in his voice. "If you're not feeling well, just eat less. Don't make Mom worry."

Was she really worried about me? Or just being picky?

The pain in my stomach was getting worse, and cold sweat was trickling down my forehead. I couldn't hold it anymore and shot up from my seat. "Sorry, I need to use the restroom."

I practically stumbled into the bathroom, yanked the door shut, then doubled over the cold sink and started dry heaving.

My stomach was empty—just bitter acid coming up, burning my throat raw.

I splashed cold water on my face, trying to clear my head.

Just then, I heard voices outside the door, low and hushed.

It was Richard and Rachel.

"I told you she was just overreacting. Maybe she ate something bad, or she's just fishing for your attention. You honestly believe she's actually sick?" Rachel's voice came through, dripping with contempt and bitterness.

I froze, every muscle suddenly tense.

Richard's voice drifted in, tired but trying to calm her down. "Yeah, Mom, I know. She's always sensitive and fragile. I'll talk to her later, alright? It's your birthday. Don't be upset."

Sensitive? Fragile? Overreacting?

So when I finally forced myself to tell him over the phone that I was sick, it turned out all he saw was just another scene of me causing drama.

He even dragged my struggles in front of his mother, letting her treat me like I was nothing more than a foolish joke.

A wave of icy despair crashed over me, leaving me numb.

I pressed myself against the wall, sinking slowly onto the freezing tiles. Hugging my knees to my chest, I stared at that pathetic, ghostly girl in the mirror—mascara smeared, skin washed-out, and eyes hollow. That was me, shattered and lost. Finally, tears streamed down my face.