Chapter 3

Serena’s POV

I actually walked the whole way back.

The suburban roads had no sidewalks, only a narrow white painted line along the shoulder.

The wind sliced through my trousers, stabbing straight into my marrow.

I was only wearing that flimsy gala suit. I had lost my heels miles back, walking barefoot on the frozen asphalt.

At first, I could manage a slight jog, but eventually, I was reduced to dragging one foot after the other.

The soles of my feet were raw and bleeding, every step sending sharp jolts of pain through me, but I didn't care.

Headlights flashed past me one after another, but not a single car slowed down.

I counted the passing vehicles. By the thirty-fifth car, the eastern horizon was beginning to show a faint, pale gray.

By the time the dingy silhouette of my apartment building came into view, my legs were entirely numb.

I dragged myself up the stairs, my hand trembling so violently it took three attempts to fit the key into the lock.

The second I hit the mattress, violent chills racked my frame, my teeth chattering uncontrollably.

A fever took hold, leaving me delirious for three straight days.

Jordan pounded on my door, but I couldn't get up to answer. I later found out he had tracked down the landlord to unlock it.

When he stepped inside, I was rambling incoherently, my cheeks flushed crimson while my lips were stark white.

"The... the bag..." I mumbled, clutching Jordan's sleeve, too weak to open my eyes. "Samantha's... she said I knocked it over..."

Jordan pressed a cold hand against my burning forehead, his expression furious. "Serena, you went through hell for nothing, don't you get it? You walked miles barefoot in freezing weather, tearing your feet to shreds, all for a mistake that never happened!"

I closed my eyes, a single tear slipping past my lashes and into my hairline.

Not a single item had been missing. What had I suffered that night to prove?

Once the fever broke, I didn't utter a single complaint to Jordan.

I dragged myself downstairs to buy medicine, then sealed every drafty crack I could find in that tiny apartment.

Barely back on my feet, I received a call from Aaron, ordering me to accompany him to a dinner.

The private dining table was lavishly set, overflowing with seafood platters, iced beers, and cold brews—every single item a direct assault on my failing stomach.

Aaron sat right next to Samantha, constantly heaping food onto her plate.

"Samantha loves this," he said, peeling a massive prawn and placing it on her dish. "Eat up. You've lost weight lately."

I sat at the far end of the table, not touching a single bite.

There was a time when he was the one who remembered I couldn't eat shellfish or touch anything cold, making sure to instruct the kitchen beforehand.

I used to believe that tenderness belonged to me.

Tonight, he was doting on Samantha, while the dishes laid out before me were enough to put me in the ER.

I picked up my cup of warm water, taking tiny sips. No one bothered to ask if I wanted anything to eat.

Come the weekend, Aaron summoned me again.

"Samantha is craving tiramisu from that bakery downtown," he said. "Go get it."

I grabbed my coat and headed straight out.

A light drizzle was falling. I waited in line for half an hour and brought it back.

Samantha took one bite, wrinkled her nose, and pushed the plate aside.

"This isn't the one," she said. "I remember it was from another shop down an alley, the one with wind chimes by the door. Go get that one."

I headed out again. Following her vague directions, I wandered through the old district all afternoon, asking several strangers before finally locating the shop.

Samantha took another bite and shook her head. "Still not right. Go back and ask the baker if they changed the recipe. I want the original flavor."

I went out for a third time.

By then, dusk had settled, and the wind was howling, stinging my eyes.

Black spots danced across my vision.

I leaned against a roadside tree, gasping for breath.

I knew very well who the tiramisu was really for.

And I knew just as well who was behind sending me on these three humiliating errands.

Once the debt is paid, I will leave, I told myself.

Just as I pushed myself forward, a car running a red light barreled toward me, its high beams blinding.

The impact sent me flying through the air before I slammed heavily onto the pavement.

The box of tiramisu rolled into the gutter, coated in dirt.

Lying on the freezing asphalt, a surge of blood spilled from my mouth, covering half my face.

Screeching brakes and horrified screams filled my ears, followed by hurried, fading footsteps.

Everything went black.

When I opened my eyes again, I was in a hospital room.

Jordan was standing beside my bed in his white coat.

"Serena?!"

Another doctor pulled him aside, speaking in hushed, urgent tones: my injuries were severe, they needed a family member's signature immediately, and time was running out.

I watched Jordan step into the corridor and pull out his phone. The screen flickered, and I knew he was dialing Aaron’s number.

It rang for a long time before it finally connected.

Jordan rattled off my condition, his voice cracking with panic: "She's slipping, Aaron! Get over here right now if you want to see her one last time!"