As the door to the hospital room opened, they saw Juliette was propped weakly against the headboard, waiting for surgery.
The moment she saw Franco, her dull eyes suddenly lit up with life.
Without the slightest regard for the fact that this man was her brother-in-law, she reached out and clutched his hand.
"Franco, I'm scared… what if I don't wake up?"
Franco sat down at her bedside, his voice steady, reassuring. "You will. Just focus on the surgery."
Tears welled in Juliette's eyes at the perfect moment, shimmering without spilling.
"Then… when I wake up, will you be here? I want the first thing I see to be you."
"Yes," he promised softly. "I'll be right here waiting."
Not far away, Jerissa stood silently, watching the look in his eyes—a tenderness so deep it bordered on devotion.
But she knew too well. That gaze wasn't really meant for Juliette.
Perhaps, long ago, it was Nicole who had once laid in that hospital bed, clutching his hand, whispering not to leave.
Suddenly, Juliette sneezed twice in quick succession, her face turning pale further.
"Sister, did you spray perfume? You know I'm allergic!"
Franco’s expression darkened, his brows knitting as he snapped, “How vicious can you be? Are you trying to sabotage Juliette’s surgery on purpose? Get out—before I lose my temper.”
Jerissa turned without a word, digging her nails into her palm to ground herself.
She hadn't touched perfume at all. But if Juliette said she had, then that was all that mattered.
It had always been like this.
Juliette was the one who broke their father’s antique vase, yet she framed Jerissa for it—leaving Jerissa to be punished and locked in the dark basement all night.
When their father forgot important documents at home, it was Jerissa who braved a storm to deliver them. But when he asked, Juliette calmly claimed the credit.
As Jerissa reached the door, she caught sight of her sister's gaze.
Juliette truly believed that with a few practiced tears and delicate pretenses, she could make Franco fall for her—that soon, this brother-in-law would become her husband.
Jerissa's lips curved into the faintest smile.
'Take him, then.' She spoke silently in her heart.
'Soon, the title of Mrs. Alba, even Franco himself, will be yours. But when the moment comes that you realize you were only ever a substitute—don't cry.'
Just then, Jerald approached, his expression was thunderous.
The sharp scent of disinfectant filled the corridor. Jerissa had barely turned when his cold face loomed over her.
"What are you doing here?"
Before she could answer, his voice cut sharper, laced with warning. "Don't tell me you want to back out. Too late. Juliette's surgery is already arranged."
Jerissa's throat burned as she looked at the man who was her father in name only.
"My mother is just across the street in the nursing home. Have you gone to see her even once?"
A flicker of guilt flashed in his eyes. "Why bring her up?"
"Why not?" Jerissa's gaze hardened.
Her mother had told her once: Dad only married her because of her grandfather's influence. And the day her grandfather's family went bankrupt, he served divorce papers. By the next day, he had married Juliette's mother.
But fate was cruel—Juliette's mother died in childbirth, and ever since, her father had spoiled Juliette without restraint.
"You were married to my mother for years. Even if there was no love, now that she's this ill—"
"Stop trying to guilt-trip me!" Jerald snapped. "You stayed in the Cortez family for money! For your mother's medical bills, for your share of the inheritance. Don't act so high and mighty."
"I’ve already given you everything you wanted. I’ll take care of the divorce as soon as possible. What you want is foreign stock, isn’t it? All so you can take your mother abroad? Fine—go. But don’t ever come back.”
"Divorce?"
The hospital room door opened abruptly.
Franco stepped out, his brows drawn tight, his voice edged with cold suspicion.
"Where exactly are you going?"
