I turned back slowly, stunned, watching as Milo rushed over to his mother.
“Mom, are you okay?” he asked in a panic, checking on her with care without sparing me even a glance.
The scalding pain surged again. I gasped, my breath catching.
“Call an ambulance…”
The moment Milo heard that his expression was twisted in anger.
“What? It wasn’t me, it was your mom who—”
“Shut up!” he snapped.
“So now you’re saying my mom poured soup on you on purpose?”
“I clearly saw you shove her just now!”
I tried to speak, but the pain was so overwhelming I could barely breathe.
“Stop pretending! That soup’s been sitting for a while; it wasn’t even that hot! Don’t act like you’re dying!”
His mother, still sprawled dramatically on the floor, continued hurling insults.
Milo’s gaze turned cold.
“Vespera, apologize to my mom. Now.”
The burns hurt, but his words hurt more. The man who used to say he loved me now looked like a stranger.
I couldn’t even catch my breath. My vision spun.
And then, everything went dark.
When I woke up, I was already in the hospital.
"Can you believe it? The one lying here has actual burns and no one showed up. But that old woman who’s perfectly fine? She’s getting a full checkup."
"Shh, she’s waking up."
I blinked slowly. Two nurses came rushing over to check on me.
My voice was faint.
"Please help me contact someone…"
I gave them Lennox Mitchell’s name, who was my assistant. He was the only one I could rely on now.
Seeing that I’d be stuck in the hospital for a while, I made a call and settled everything with him. Only then did I feel a small wave of relief.
My whole body was wrapped like a mummy, barely able to move. The searing pain covering every inch of me nearly drove me mad.
What I didn’t expect was that from that day onward, Milo would never come again.
Not a visit. Not even a single message.
Day by day, the coldness in my chest deepened.
Luckily, with Lennox’s quiet care, I recovered fairly well.
Eventually, I pulled through and was discharged.
Despite Lennox’s objections, I insisted on returning to the field to continue my research on the food delivery market.
But strange things started happening; complaints flooded in for no reason, especially from the residential complex where Milo’s mother lived.
Someone even reported me for stealing.
Milo had completely vanished. He never returned to the rental room we once shared.
I suspected it was his mother stirring up trouble again, so I chose to turn a blind eye.
That afternoon, the sunlight was a little too harsh. I was riding my small electric scooter, humming a song, on my way to deliver some spicy chicken.
As fate would have it, I passed by that same complex, the one that now made my stomach churn just at the sight of it.
I couldn’t help but wonder if Milo’s mom would come up with another trick to report me this time.
And just as that thought flashed through my mind, a figure suddenly darted out from the roadside shrubbery without a single warning.
It was an old lady.
My pupils shrank as panic surged through me. I instinctively yanked the handlebars and slammed the brakes.
But that figure charged at me and shoved me hard.
The impact knocked both me and the scooter to the ground.
Pain shot through my elbows and knees, scraping against the pavement like sandpaper.
The thermal box flew out of the rack, flipping mid-air. The food burst from the containers, scattering across the asphalt.
It was over; this delivery was completely ruined.
I struggled to get up, still dazed.
Then, I heard that sharp, venomous voice again, “Oh my god! The delivery girl hit someone! She’s killed someone!”
