Now, each word sounded like a death knell.
"Make sure the chicken soup stays warm. I want her to have it the moment she wakes up."
He gave Morgan another gentle instruction. "And have the yellow roses ready. I want to see the look on her face when she's surprised."
Darkness swallowed me whole. I had no strength left to fight my body's collapse, yet I could still hear his voice clearly.
Perhaps Charles had loved me once.
But Freya—she was his blatant favoritism.
The mutual affection we once shared, the model couple everyone envied.
It had all been a silent tragedy.
Dr. Caldwell approached the bed with the syringe, his voice low.
"Mr. Pierce, everything is ready. Would you like to reconsider?"
"Inject her."
I lay on the hospital bed, letting them do as they pleased, grief raging inside me like a violent storm.
I thought I'd already given up. But when his cold voice fell, it still cut through me like knives scraping bone.
I wanted to scream at him.
Charles, did you ever really love me?
But all I could manage was a silent, bitter laugh.
Now, every word he spoke was a blade, slicing my soul inch by inch.