Venice tried to speak, but not a sound came out. Once, her muteness had been an act. Now, it was real.
Kevin touched her forehead gently, his voice calm and almost tender. "The fever and infection inflamed your throat badly. But since you couldn't talk before anyway, it doesn't change much, does it?"
For the next two days, he never mentioned what had happened at the villa.
He stayed by her side constantly—personally cooking porridge, cooling it with his breath before feeding her; waking up at every rustle she made at night; even holding her in his arms while the doctor gave her injections, whispering soft reassurances.
But on the third day, he changed.
He ordered his men to keep watch over her day and night, forbidding her from stepping outside the villa—not even once.
"Just in case you decide to cause trouble again," he said coldly before leaving.
After that, he threw himself entirely into the preparations for his engagement banquet.
Venice merely sat by the window, her face devoid of emotion, watching the days crawl by.
Then, one quiet evening, her phone buzzed—its ringtone shattering the silence.