“Who is she?”
Carolyn heard the faint tremor threading through her own voice.
Ronald shrugged off his suit jacket—a casual, effortless motion. His gaze swept over her, cool and detached. “Victoria. Mr Victoria’s daughter. He had to leave the country unexpectedly and asked me to look after her for a few days.”
*Mr Victoria. Look after her.*
What a convenient excuse.
Her heart sank like a stone.
So his panic this morning, his personal escort home tonight—all of it was just business. Just because of some client?
Victoria studied Carolyn openly, her eyes sharp with a spoiled girl’s entitlement. Clearly dissatisfied with Ronald’s brief introduction, she swept her gaze over Carolyn once more before pointing a dismissive finger. “Ronald, I’m starving. Have her make me something to eat.”
It was less a request than a command, spoken as if ordering a servant.
The air in the room thickened.
“Victoria!” Ronald’s voice dropped, edged with warning. “Mind your manners. She is not a servant.” He paused, his eyes shifting back to Carolyn, his tone careful and distant. “This is my wife, Carolyn.”
The word *wife* hung in the air, weightless and insubstantial.
He turned to the housekeeper. “Rebecca, prepare a few of Ms Victoria’s favorite dishes. She prefers seafood, light on the seasoning.”
Dinner was served swiftly. Across the polished dining table lay an array of seafood: Dover sole meunière, prawn cocktail, scallops wrapped in prosciutto.
The aroma was rich, but it churned Carolyn’s stomach into a violent sea.
Ronald picked up a tender piece of fish and placed it on her plate. “Have some.”
Her throat tightened. “Ronald, you know I’m allergic to seafood.”
It was usually a mild allergy, nothing more than an inconvenience. But now, weakened and exhausted, her reaction would be severe.
Victoria immediately set down her seafood fork, lips forming a petulant pout. “Ronald, what’s her problem? Is she saying she doesn’t want me here?”
Ronald’s brow furrowed. He looked at Carolyn, his voice low and firm. “Carolyn, Mr Victoria’s help was crucial. He pulled the company out of that crisis. Just a little bit won’t hurt. Be reasonable.”
*Reasonable?* He wanted her to be *reasonable*.
Under the combined weight of his and Victoria’s stares, a wave of utter exhaustion washed over her. Slowly, silently, she lifted the piece of fish to her mouth.
Almost instantly, a sharp, stabbing pain lanced through her stomach—more violent than anything she’d ever felt before. She pressed a hand to her abdomen, fighting down a surge of nausea.
When the agonizing meal finally ended, Ronald was still patiently fielding Victoria’s endless, chirping questions.
It was time. Whether he believed her, whether he cared—she had to tell him the truth. About her illness. About the little time she had left.
Carolyn took a deep breath and walked toward him. “Ronald, I—”
A sharp gasp cut her off.
“Ah!”
It was Victoria.
She stood by the living room display cabinet, where she’d been holding the framed wedding photo of Carolyn and Ronald. Now the frame lay shattered on the floor, glass shards glittering in the light.
Victoria clutched her finger, a bright bead of blood welling from the tip. “It hurts…” Her voice trembled, on the verge of tears, her eyes seeking Ronald.
His expression shifted instantly. He was on his feet, sweeping Victoria into his arms and carefully depositing her on the sofa. Kneeling, he inspected the small wound with an intensity Carolyn had never seen directed at her. “How could you be so careless? You just fell this morning, and now this!”
His scolding was soft, almost tender. He fetched the first-aid kit and began cleaning the cut with meticulous gentleness, his focus absolute—as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist.
Carolyn stood frozen, an awkward intruder in her own home.
Tears surged without warning, blurring her vision. Her skin began to itch; angry red hives blossomed and spread rapidly.
The world tilted, spun, darkened.
The last thing she saw was the silhouette of Ronald, still bent over Victoria’s hand, utterly absorbed.
