Just as Kevin was about to say more, his phone rang sharply.
Through the receiver came Stefanie's delicate, tearful voice. "Kevin... I think I'm having an allergic reaction. My skin is all covered in rashes..."
[Go take care of her.] Venice's eyes were hollow as her fingers formed the words.
Kevin hesitated only a second before standing.
"I'll have one of the maids come and look after you," he said softly. "Rest well."
But no one came.
For days, Venice lay alone in the ward, enduring the pain that clawed through her body.
Every night, her knees throbbed and itched with unbearable intensity. And every morning, the nurse would peel open her scabbed wounds to apply new medication without no anesthesia. She fainted more than once from the agony.
Worse than the physical pain were the photos that arrived every single day.
Stefanie's messages came like clockwork—each one more taunting than the last.
Kevin feeding her soup, peeling her apples, pressed her against the hospital bed, kissing her neck.
Venice scrolled through them one by one until her heart stopped hurting entirely.
Then she typed a single message. [You don't need to show me these. Kevin is yours now. Keep him.]