Venice froze when she saw the doctor's face—she recognized him instantly. He was the same physician who used to conduct her father's annual checkups back in London.
She hadn't planned on revealing her identity so soon, and her mind raced for a way to bluff her way through.
Just then, she heard footsteps behind her. Kevin stepped out of the ward, his voice sharp.
"What ‘Young Miss'?"
The doctor was about to answer when Venice quickly stepped forward, blocking him from speaking. She signed rapidly.
[Nothing. The doctor was referring to Miss Cervantes—he's here to check on her.]
Then she turned and gave the doctor a meaningful look.
Though confused, the doctor caught on and nodded, pushing the door open to enter the room.
Venice turned to leave—but before she could take another step, her wrist was seized in a harsh grip.
"Venice!" Kevin's voice was low and furious. "Stefanie is in the hospital because of an allergy, and you still won't stop? You actually followed me here?"
Venice turned back, her expression icy.
He reeked of Stefanie's perfume; she could practically see the woman's shadow clinging to him. Yet he saw none of the blood that had soaked through Venice's clothes—none of the pain from her reopened wounds.
[I didn't follow you.]
[Miss Cervantes asked me to come. But since it's handled, I'll be leaving now.]
She shook his hand off and walked away.
Kevin stood there, watching her limp down the corridor, her steps uneven and weak. Tiny droplets of blood trailed behind her on the white tiles.
He hesitated, and was about to call after her but Stefanie's fragile voice floated from behind.
"Kevin..."
All traces of hesitation vanished from his eyes. He turned and went back into the ward.
...
That night, Venice returned to her own hospital room alone. She called a nurse to redress her wounds.
By midnight, the wounds had become inflamed. Fever swept through her body, burning her skin and clouding her thoughts. However, there was no one by her bedside and she had to get up and pour water herself.
She lay in bed for two days before her body finally recovered a little.
Kevin never came.
On the day of her discharge, Venice had just finished changing when Kevin appeared at her door.
"Come with me," he said in a tone that allowed no refusal.
[Where to?] She signed.
"Stefanie is discharged from the hospital. She's throwing a recovery party. She asked for you."
He looked straight at her, his voice low and firm. "Venice, you won't disappoint me... will you?"
Venice gave a soundless, bitter laugh, then nodded.
Just four more days. She only needed to endure four more days—then everything would be over.
—
The recovery party was held at a villa with a pool, brightly lit from end to end. The champagne tower sparkled under the chandeliers, crystal flutes glinting like stars.
Stefanie stood at the center in a white evening gown, surrounded by a group of admiring friends, her smile radiant.
"Mr. McAuliffe really dotes on you," said a girl in a yellow dress enviously. "He even booked this Magnolia Villa for your celebration! Do you know how rare these are? Two hundred million, limited edition in the entire Los Angeles!"
Another chimed in, "That's nothing! When you had that allergic reaction, didn't he call in every top expert in the city overnight? And when you still weren't better, he even flew in specialists from overseas!"
"Ugh, you're making me jealous!"
Stefanie's lips curved higher. She absently touched the pendant necklace resting against her chest.
Every word around her struck like a hammer against Venice's heart.
Spotting her, Stefanie waved sweetly. "Venice, you're here!"
"My friends were just craving some coffee. Would you mind making a few cups for us?"
Venice's lips parted, ready to refuse—but Stefanie's fingers brushed the pendant again, quietly threatening her.
Venice's hand tightened at her side. Then she nodded silently.
