When I woke again, it was to the sound of commotion.
Margaret Miller, my mother-in-law, stood in the middle of the living room, hands on her hips, barking orders at the servants.
“Do everything properly! Emily is coming for dinner tonight. If anything goes wrong, you’re all fired!”
She turned and saw me awake, her face immediately twisting into disdain.
“What a jinx. Of all times to wake up, you had to do it before Emily’s arrival. How unlucky!”
I clutched the sofa to stand, my body unbearably weak.
“Mom, why is Emily… coming here?”
Margaret rolled her eyes.
“Emily is Jason’s childhood sweetheart. She came back from overseas—what’s wrong with having her for dinner? Unlike you, clinging to the title of Mrs. Miller yet failing to give us a single child. And you dare ask?”
Her sharp, cruel words—I had endured them for three years.
I glanced down at my wrist. The number “3” had faded even further.
I knew I was running out of time.
The doorbell rang. Margaret instantly beamed and rushed to open it.
Emily stood there in a pure white dress, sweet and innocent. Around her neck gleamed the diamond necklace from the receipt I’d seen yesterday.
“Auntie, I’m here,” she greeted brightly.
“Oh, my darling Emily, come in, come in!” Margaret cooed, pulling her inside.
Emily’s eyes met mine, a flicker of smugness and provocation glinting within them.
She walked over, feigning surprise as she covered her mouth.
“Oh my, Rachel, you look so pale. Are you sick?”
I was too weak to play along with her act.
Just then, Jason walked in from outside.
The moment he saw Emily, his cold face softened instantly.
“It’s freezing out. Why are you dressed so lightly?” he said, slipping off his suit jacket and draping it over her shoulders.
The sight pierced my eyes like a blade.
At the dinner table, Margaret kept piling food onto Emily’s plate, showering her with praise.
“Emily, you’re too kind. If you hadn’t stepped aside back then, it would be you sitting beside Jason now instead of her.”
Emily lowered her head shyly.
“Auntie, don’t say that. It’s all in the past.”
As she spoke, she “accidentally” spilled a bowl of scalding soup across my hand.
“Ah!”
I cried out in pain. The number “3” on my wrist seared as if burned, the agony wracking my whole body.
Everyone froze.
Jason’s first reaction wasn’t to check on me, but to rush to Emily’s side.
“Are you hurt?”
Emily’s eyes watered as she shook her head.
“I’m fine, but… Rachel’s hand…”
Only then did Jason glance at me, his brows furrowed, his tone filled with blame.
“Rachel, can’t you be more careful? Emily is our guest!”
In that moment, my heart sank into the abyss.
I looked at him, at the way he fussed over Emily, at the complete absence of concern in his eyes for me.
The number “3” on my wrist flickered wildly.
Then, it dropped to “2.”
The world spun around me.
I began preparing for my own death.
I contacted a lawyer and drafted a will.
All the assets under my name—my dowry from my parents—I left entirely to them.
As for Jason, I left him nothing.
A man who was about to kill me didn’t deserve a single thing from me.
