By the time I returned home and pushed open the door, a wave of warmth—tinged with the sharp scent of ginger—washed over me.
Kurt was bent over the table, placing down a steaming bowl of porridge.
And beside him sat Olivia, looking up at him with soft, adoring eyes.
Their shoulders were almost touching. Their conversation was light, intimate—the atmosphere was so tender it formed its own quiet little world.
At that moment, stepping into the apartment felt like intruding into a home that no longer belonged to me.
The door clicked shut behind me.
Both of their smiles froze.
Kurt's body shifted subtly toward Olivia, not me—drawing an invisible line with his stance, shielding her behind him.
His expression stiffened, but he forced a casual tone. "She just came back from abroad. She doesn't have a place to stay yet, so I told her she could stay here for a few days."
He said it with such natural certainty, as if my opinion had never mattered.
In the shadow behind him, Olivia lifted her chin and gave me a delicate, razor-thin smile.
A sharp pain stabbed through my chest, stealing my breath.
I couldn't get a single word out. "...Oh."
I only wanted to go to my room and pack my things.
But I had barely taken a step when Kurt called after me.
"Why are you being so rude now? You can't even greet your old senior?"
Before I could respond, Olivia gently tugged his wrist, her voice fragile and coquettish. "Kurt, forget it... Maybe she's in a bad mood. She doesn't have to greet me."
Then she turned to me with a soft smile.
"Did you eat, Daniella? You must still be weak... after the abortion."
My blood turned ice.
All the pain, the panic before I lost consciousness, the calls he refused to answer—and that sentence on the phone: "I don't want the baby. It's not mine. It's dirty."
All of it crashed back into me like a tidal wave.
Kurt's expression darkened, as if reminded of something filthy he'd rather forget. Still, he forced himself to walk toward me.
He frowned, glanced at Olivia, then lowered his voice, "Daniella, I know this past year has been hard. I saw how Arturo humiliated you. Don't worry—one day, I'll help you get revenge."
He deliberately avoided mentioning the baby. To him, the child was a stain—something too repulsive to acknowledge.
Olivia added gently, "Don't be sad, Daniella. You'll have a baby with someone you truly love someday."
At that, something inside me broke. Tears spilled uncontrollably.
My voice came out hoarse and scraped raw, "That baby wasn't Arturo's. He never touched me. Not once."
Nine months ago, Kurt had closed a million dollar contract and was so ecstatic that he ended up scraping Arturo's luxury car.
I rushed over to help—and caught Arturo's attention. He wanted me as his personal assistant. If I refused, he demanded one million in compensation.
That would wipe out Kurt's first big contract.
Kurt held me in trembling arms and said, "I won't sell you for money."
Yet every night he came home, he complained—about work, about pressure, about Arturo targeting him, about the contract possibly being canceled...
For his future, I gritted my teeth and agreed.
It wasn't the first time.
In high school, I gave up my studies so he could go to university.
Sacrificing for him was already woven into the fabric of my life.
He hugged me, and apologized, "Daniella, when I make money, I'll give you a good life."
I was foolish enough to believe him. I thought, as long as he loved me, everything was worth it.
For nine months, I stayed on guard around Arturo, blocking every advance. Each time he tried something, I ate garlic and gagged right in his face. Eventually, he couldn't even stay hard around me.
Enraged, he resorted to other ways to torment me—but I endured everything. Until I matched him with a socialite he'd been eyeing, and he lost interest, discarding me like trash.
But Kurt never believed nothing happened.
Every time we were intimate, he turned off the lights, refusing to look at the scars on my body.
I thought he was being gentle.
Now I realized, he probably thought those scars came from being with another man.
That they were dirty.
That I was dirty.
Kurt's eyes flickered—he still didn't believe me.
Olivia cut in, trying to take my hand. "It's okay if you don't want to admit it. I trust Kurt. He'll understand you."
I jerked away from her touch. "I said he never touched me!"
But the next second, Kurt shot to his feet, fury exploding across his face. "Daniella, what the hell are you doing? Are you trying to bully Olivia again?!"
I stared at him, stunned. Then I laughed—cold and breathless.
"Me? Bully her? When have I ever bullied Olivia?"
Kurt's voice dropped into a harsh whisper, "You shouldn't act like this. You think I don't know—"
Mid-sentence, he froze, as if realizing the slip of his tongue. Then he quickly changed his tone, lowering his voice again.
"Enough. Just apologize to Olivia. She was only trying to comfort you. You shouldn't treat her like this."
I looked straight at him.
I had never bullied anyone.
Not once.
If he had just told me his accusation, at least I could defend myself.
But he didn't.
He simply believed it. Believed I was cruel. Believed I was the villain.
His face was full of disappointment—and his forced tolerance making it even worse.
Pain squeezed my heart until I could barely breathe.
I exhaled slowly.
Fine. Just seven more days, then I'd be gone. Why waste grief on someone so unworthy?
A flicker of triumph flashed in Olivia's eyes—so fast it vanished instantly.
She lowered her lashes, picked up the shrimp porridge from the table, and walked toward me, voice soft and coaxing, "It's okay, Daniella. No need to apologize."
She held the bowl in front of me carefully, as if afraid I'd be upset.
"This porridge... Kurt and I made it together. We thought you should eat something warm after the abortion. Why don't you try some?"
I was about to refuse—when her hand suddenly trembled. The entire scalding bowl of porridge came crashing down my forearm.
Heat seared straight through my skin, pain exploding up to my scalp.
I nearly cried out.
Meanwhile, only a few tiny drops landed on Olivia.
Yet she suddenly screamed, "Ah!!"
Then she collapsed to the floor, trembling like she'd been terribly wronged.
She put her hands together as if begging for mercy.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! It's my fault! Please don't—don't hit me, okay?"
"I was wrong! I was really wrong!"
