When Helena returned to the villa, she was greeted by the unmistakable sounds of a man’s heavy breathing and a woman’s soft moans coming from upstairs.
Rafael had taken Kaylee to what was supposed to be their marital bedroom.
She curled up on the sofa, trembling, numb to everything except the suffocating pain in her chest. She had no heart anymore, yet her hollow ribcage ached as if it were boiling over, scalding her from the inside. Tears streamed down her face uncontrollably.
In their five years of marriage, Rafael had often brought different women home. But ever since Kaylee appeared, it was as if all his affection, all his sincerity, had been reserved solely for her.
Helena knew—he wanted her to suffer.
They had once been the envy of all, from school uniforms to wedding vows. But on the eve of their engagement, she broke their promise.
When he found out she was leaving the country, Rafael had desperately tried to stop her. He had knelt outside the Walsh family’s house for three days and nights, soaked in the rain until he collapsed with a fever.
Even as he was rushed to the hospital, he deliriously called out her name.
That accident left his legs permanently damaged, and his dream of a military career was shattered.
For a man as proud as Rafael, she had cost him everything.
Helena still remembered the day she left. He had chased after her car all the way to the airport, his red-rimmed eyes filled with agony as he fell to his knees.
“Helena, don’t leave me. Whatever future you want, I’ll give it to you. Just don’t abandon me, please.”
But she hadn’t looked back. She had pried his fingers off her wrist, one by one, and walked away.
Since then, Rafael had despised her with every fiber of his being.
But only Helena knew the truth.
That year, her entire family was in a car accident. Her parents died on the spot, and she was the sole survivor. Overnight, she lost everything—and was left to face an insurmountable debt.
Then, the Perkins family approached her. If she agreed to donate blood to Kaylee, they would settle her family’s debts.
She had no choice. She had to break up with Rafael, to protect him from being dragged into her mess.
After a successful match, the Perkins family "adopted" her. To outsiders, she was a foster daughter. In reality, she was nothing more than a walking blood bank.
The repeated blood extractions weakened her body, but when she heard that Rafael had risked his life to start a business—only to end up in a car accident, hovering between life and death—she secretly returned to the country to donate her heart to save him.
Later, Rafael’s business thrived, and the two families arranged a marriage alliance.
But Kaylee already had a boyfriend abroad and refused to marry a stranger. As the "adopted daughter," Helena was pushed forward instead.
When Rafael saw her again, his fury was uncontainable. He married her only to keep her imprisoned at his side, punishing her with relentless humiliation and torment.
Helena had once thought she could spend a lifetime making amends. But when she realized her own time was running out, she selfishly chose to leave.
The future Rafael had once longed for—she, too, wanted to see it.
She didn’t know how much time had passed before the noises upstairs finally ceased.
Rafael came downstairs wrapped in a bath towel. The moment his gaze landed on her wretched figure, his expression twisted with disgust.
“Why are you just sitting there? Go make dinner.”
Helena tightened her grip on the bank card in her palm, her voice faint but steady.
“I need two hundred thousand.”
Once she paid off her medical bills, she could leave without hesitation.
Rafael’s expression darkened instantly, his carefully concealed indifference giving way to pure hatred.
“You love money that much? You’d throw everything away for it?”
For a moment, it seemed like he wanted to strangle her. But then his eyes fell on her frail, bony frame, and he forcibly held himself back.
His voice was laced with venom as he spat, “Helena, I hate you! I hate you so much I wish you were dead!”
She watched him turn away to retrieve the money, then closed her eyes bitterly.
Rafael... This time, she really was going to die.
—
The next day, Helena developed a fever but merely swallowed a few cold pills and carried on.
The villa had no housekeepers. The expensive clothes they wore, through all seasons, were always hand-washed by her.
Perhaps it was a fever or an infection, but her body trembled uncontrollably. A sharp pain shot through her chest, and she clutched at it desperately as she gasped for air.
She felt as though the oxygen was slowly being drained from her lungs.
“Medicine...”
She staggered toward her bedroom, reaching for the drawer where she had left her pills—only to find them missing.
“You’re looking for this?”
A voice rang out.
Helena turned instinctively toward the sound, her vision blurring.
In Kaylee’s hand was her bottle of medicine.
Panicked, Helena reached out, but her vision swam with darkness.
“Give it back...”
Kaylee studied the bottle lazily, as if savoring her distress. Then, as if by accident, she suddenly loosened her grip.
“Oh dear,” she said with feigned innocence. “Oops, I dropped it.”
