“Stop those tears already. I’ll handle this, alright?”
With a soft sigh, he gently ruffled my hair and dabbed away the tears staining my cheeks. His lips brushed against my face in a comforting kiss before he stood and shuffled toward the medicine shelf, grumbling under his breath.
“You’re supposed to be tough, you know. Brave and bold. Yet here you are, crying again at the slightest bit of pain. What would you even do if I weren’t around?”
I stared in silence at the red, inflamed burn on my wrist. The ache was dull now, but its presence was a cruel reminder.
For seven long years, I’d been coddled, protected, and adored. But what would truly become of me without him?
Still, I didn’t want to keep this up. Not anymore. Not this illusion we pretended was real.
Not you, Isaac. Not this bond you insist we maintain—fragile, counterfeit, and bleeding.
Sleep eluded me that night. Whether it was the burn throbbing against my skin or the churning truth I’d only now begun to confront, I couldn’t tell. I lay drenched in sweat, turning from side to side in the tangled sheets, wishing for the relief of unconsciousness. But slumber only came after an eternity of unrest.
By early morning, before the sun had properly risen, Isaac shook me awake with little ceremony.
I groaned, swatting at his hands as he tugged on the blanket. He chuckled and leaned down, stealing a quick kiss.
The shock of it wiped away all remnants of sleep. I nearly slapped him, my palm twitching midair before I stopped myself.
Thankfully, the kiss had been brief.
“Good morning, my sleepy little mooncake,” he teased.
Disgusted, I turned away and wiped my mouth. “It’s the weekend. Can’t I sleep in for once?” I mumbled, still groggy and annoyed.
Isaac gave me a long look, then sighed. “You had a fever last night. Did you even realize that? Get dressed—we’re going to the healer.”
I studied his face as he spoke, wondering whether his concern came from genuine affection or merely from obligation. His expression was filled with worry, but somehow, I felt like he wasn’t really seeing me.
I didn’t argue. I was too tired for that. Wordlessly, I followed.
At the healer’s clinic, we crossed paths with someone I wasn’t ready to see—Candice. She stood awkwardly in the hallway, trying to walk on what looked like a swollen foot. Isaac’s demeanor shifted immediately.
In a flash, he was no longer at my side. “Candice! What happened?” he asked, alarm in his voice as he rushed toward her.
She gave him a sweet, knowing smile, her eyes flicking briefly to me. “I twisted my ankle. Such a coincidence, bumping into you two. Here for a check-up too?”
Isaac paused, glancing back at me as though remembering I was still there. There was a flicker of guilt in his eyes—barely visible but impossible for me to miss.
“Yeah. Brought my ‘little sister’ in. She wasn’t feeling well last night,” he explained, his voice suddenly cool.
I didn’t flinch. There was no reason to. He’d introduced me that way before—plenty of times. I had long since learned to live with the label. From the day he refused to reveal our bond, I had become the invisible girl in the background, the sibling of a friend he was doing a favor for.
Only a few in his inner circle knew the truth.
Candice nodded politely. “Since she’s staying at your place, it’s only right you take care of her.” Then she motioned toward another building. “Well, I better get going. My healer’s over there.”
As she limped away, Isaac moved without hesitation, swooping her into his arms. “I’ll carry you. No need to strain yourself.”
Then, as though I were an afterthought, he called over his shoulder, “Wendy, wait here.”
My body went cold. Whether it was the fever or something far worse, I wasn’t sure. The strength drained from my limbs, leaving me weak and lightheaded. I didn’t even attempt to argue or call him back.
He hadn’t asked my permission. He didn’t even look twice.
So I stood there silently, leaning against the nearest wall to stop myself from swaying.
Isaac’s act had always been convincing—but only until Candice entered the scene. Then his true self bled through, unfiltered. He never noticed the difference, but I did. Every time.
With a bitter smile tightening my lips, I turned away and made my way, alone, to the section for fever patients.
The healer barely needed to examine me to confirm it—my temperature had skyrocketed to 41.3°C.
Apparently, the burn had become infected, worsened by stress and emotional turmoil, leading to a viral complication. I was given herbs to brew into tea and advised to start an infusion as soon as possible.
Without thinking, I reached for my phone and searched for Isaac’s number.
Then I froze.
What was I doing?
Habit, it seemed, was a cruel thing—more dangerous than any wound.
I gave a short, humorless laugh, lowered the phone, and slipped it back into my pocket.
No more calls. No more illusions.
I accepted the medications from the healer, thanked her quietly, and walked myself to the patient rest area, alone.
