Chapter 2
A small red stain spread across the light carpet.
The maid screamed in panic. "Miss, oh my god, what happened to you?!"
I glanced up at my dad, who, just like the maid, looked absolutely stunned as he stared back at me.
I didn't need anyone's sympathy. I scoffed and said coldly, "Can't you see? I'm literally bleeding because I'm that furious at him."
After several seconds of staring at me, my dad suddenly seemed to have an idea. There was no hint of pity in his eyes—only a disturbing hint of delight, something that made my skin crawl.
He whipped out his phone and snapped a few pictures—one of my face, then zoomed in for close-ups of the bloodstain on the carpet.
Then, without missing a beat, he dialed a number.
It took a moment for someone to pick up, and I could hear the barely-contained urgency in my dad's voice as soon as the call was answered.
He said, "Eric! Daisy just coughed up blood at my place. She looks like she's got some kind of terminal illness.
"She's only asking for a divorce because she doesn't want to drag you down.
"You two have been married all these years. You really gonna just leave her now? Come on, that's not how it works!"
My heart lurched up into my throat. I forced myself up, fighting to grab the phone from my dad.
Right then, it hit me—maybe Eric would actually feel something if he heard this. Maybe he really would be hurt.
Five years together—even if it was just a dog, after all that time, he'd care a little, wouldn't he?
I lunged forward, trying to snatch my dad's phone away.
But then, Eric's voice came through the speaker, dripping with indifference. "Why should I care?"
My hand hung stiffly in midair, completely stunned.
My dad paused for a moment, then pressed on, sounding even more frantic. "Eric, this isn't just a regular sickness—Daisy's got something seriously life-threatening. She could actually die!
"Even though you two have had your problems, your wife's on her deathbed. You really just going to stand by and do nothing?"
Eric sounded like his patience had hit rock bottom. "The divorce papers are signed. Even if she dies, that's not my—"
Before he could finish, a gentle female voice interrupted him.
"Ms. Lowe isn't really that ill, is she? Eric, maybe you should check on her," the woman said.
My heart gave a sharp, sudden ache.
Eric's finger was already hovering over the end call button, but when he heard that, he replied with a mocking tone, "Terminal, huh? What kind?"
My dad had no clue what was really wrong with me.
He stammered for ages before finally blurting something out. "It's stomach cancer!
"She's been spitting up a lot of blood, Eric. You need to come over right away. We're family—we've got to figure out what to do together."
This time, Eric didn't hesitate for a second.
He just scoffed and hung up right away.
My dad, furious, called again, but Eric didn't answer.
He started shouting, "Even if he couldn't care less if you live or die, at least give us some cash! I've got a ton of debts waiting to be paid off!"
I just went numb.
I salvaged whatever ashes I could from the floor and carefully put them back into the urn.
I stood up, holding the urn tightly to my chest, and left that place behind.
By evening, the day was fading fast and shadows swallowed up the sky.
I staggered through the snow, my steps clumsy and desperate, putting the villa district behind me.
The chill sank so deep into me, I couldn't even tell if it was the winter wind, or something colder twisting inside my chest.
My head was ringing, stomach acid clawing up my throat—everything tasted bitter now.
In my hazy vision, I swear I saw Grandma waving at me.
She smiled gently and asked, "Daisy, you cold, honey?"
I looked at her, nose stinging, and bolted straight into her arms.
Blood streamed from my nose, and I wiped it away with the back of my hand.
Everything went black. I face-planted in the snow and passed out.
The last thing echoing in my mind was Eric's disgusted voice. "Even if she dies, that's not my problem."
Honestly, it was not really Eric's fault he was so distant with me.
I owed him. Big time.
Five years ago, my dad made an arrangement with the Vaughn family—he set me up to marry Eric.
I didn't want to marry him. At that point, I'd never even seen Eric before.
But Grandma was dying, needed a bone marrow transplant bad.
Just the transplant alone, plus all those hospital bills, would run close to 150,000.
"If you don't marry Eric, then forget about getting any money for Grandma's treatment," my dad said, cold as ice.
As if he'd completely forgotten that Grandma was his own flesh and blood.
He put on another teary show in front of me, going on about how the Lowe family business was about to collapse and he had no choice left.
I nodded.
That very night, Eric came to see me.
It was the first time I ever laid eyes on him.
The yard was blanketed in fresh snow, and the moonlight poured down, clear and bright, bathing everything in its silvery glow.
Eric stood there, his gaze gentle and warm, as if the moonlight itself had brought him to life—a living portrait in the night.
His voice was gentle, almost pleading. "Name your price. Just... tell 'em you won't marry me, Miss Lowe."
He was in love with someone else. He didn't want this marriage, but he was completely powerless to go against his family.