Gretchen hesitated but eventually lifted her leg and pulled open the car’s passenger-side door.
Bernard caught up in a few strides, his brow furrowed tight.
“Marjorie gets carsick easily. She has to sit up front. You, take the backseat.”
The sports car sped off, the three of them lost in their own thoughts.
Gretchen, already struggling with her injured arms and legs, found it hard enough to move. Now squeezed into the backseat alongside piles of gift boxes, she felt even more uncomfortable.
On the other hand, in the passenger seat, Marjorie kept her mouth busy.
“Hey, Gretchen, this isn’t on your way, is it? Are you going to the hospital too?”
Before Gretchen could answer, Bernard let out a cold laugh.
“Yeah, I actually also don’t think she needs to go. She’s tough enough—what’s a little bump? But I figured we could use an extra hand to carry stuff.”
Gretchen listened to their banter, but she simply turned her head to look out the window. The scenery outside blurred past, disappearing into the distance.
And then, she closed her eyes.
Her years of love and dependence on Bernard were just like the scenery outside. Fading away, frame by frame, swallowed up in the crowd. Gone forever.
“Bernie, I feel nauseous,” Marjorie suddenly whined in a sweet, delicate voice.
Bernard slammed on the brakes, pulling the car to the side of the road in a panic.
“What’s wrong? You’re sitting in the front—how are you still feeling sick?”
In the rearview mirror, Gretchen’s eyes briefly met Marjorie’s.
In her gaze, there was arrogance—and something else, something coy and calculated.
“Bernie,” Marjorie said weakly, “I’ve just been feeling so weak lately. No energy, always tired, and nauseous all the time.”
Gretchen knew enough about basic health to realize something was off if what Marjorie was saying was true.
“Gretchen, go grab Marjorie a bottle of water. Maybe it’ll help,” Bernard instructed, glancing over his shoulder.
Gretchen froze for a second, instinctively shifting her injured leg.
Thinking she was refusing, Bernard sneered and unbuckled his seatbelt.
“I knew it. You’ve never had any sympathy. Forget it, I’ll go. And let me remind you, don’t go chatting her ear off while I’m gone. She needs to rest.”
Gretchen just felt drained. She leaned back, closed her eyes, and pretended to sleep.
“Come on, I know you’re not really asleep,” Marjorie’s voice floated back, dripping with arrogance.
“Look at this.” She raised her wrist, flashing a smile. “Bernie gave me this.”
Gretchen had seen that string of translucent emerald beads on the wrist of Bernard’s mother Dolores countless times growing up.
It was said to be a rare treasure passed down through generations of royalty—priceless.
Marjorie admired the bracelet on her wrist, twirling it slowly, then spoke casually as if trying to “console” Gretchen.
“Bernie told me Uncle Reinhold and Auntie Dolores like you a lot. But, you know, Bernard has always loved his freedom. He can’t stand arranged marriages—or women who have ulterior motives.”
“So when he gave me this bracelet, he said someone as simple and kind as me is exactly the kind of woman he really wants.”
“Do you know what Bernard calls you, Gretchen? A little bootlicker.”
“But have you ever heard this? Love doesn’t come from begging. Real love… It's about attraction.”
Marjorie finished with a sly, seductive smile.
Gretchen sat there in silence, listening as her heart felt like it was being gripped and crushed. Saying she wasn’t hurt would’ve been the biggest lie.
‘The Golbersteins' wedding heirloom now clasped on someone else’s wrist—with Bernard’s own hands!’
Marjorie’s voice cut through her thoughts, low but piercing.
“Gretchen, my advice? Know when to back off.”
At those last two words, Gretchen couldn’t hold back any longer and turned to respond…
