Chapter 3

I collapsed my head onto my desk, softly banging it against the surface, choking out, "Only thirty thousand... just thirty thousand..."

It wasn't even a fraction of five million. If I couldn't pay off the debt, Mason would try to kill himself again.

Mark, a colleague, passed my cubicle and sighed when he saw me.

"Riley, you can't keep going like this," he said softly.

I looked up, my eyes red-rimmed.

Mark hesitated, then lowered his voice. "If you're really desperate for money, I have some freelance design projects. Do you want to take them on?"

I shot up from my seat. "Yes!"

Mark was startled by my reaction. "I'll take them under my name. We can negotiate a higher fee, but I'll take a commission."

"Don't get the wrong idea, I'm not—"

I nodded vigorously. "I understand. Taking them under your name means you're taking a risk on a newcomer like me. I won't get the wrong idea. I'm incredibly grateful you're helping me, Mark. Thank you."

And just like that, I had yet another job.

Once again, I went three days without sleep, finally completing five design drafts that satisfied the clients and sending them over.

My phone chimed with the notification of the payment hitting my account, and I managed a tired smile.

In that year, at my peak, I worked seven jobs simultaneously, sleeping three hours a day. I earned almost five hundred thousand. Finally, it was a respectable fraction of five million.

I was about to accept another project when, with a breath, a sharp pain shot through my chest, as if someone was violently twisting my heart.

My body broke out in a cold sweat, my ears rang, and my vision swam.

"Riley! Are you okay? Riley!"

I vaguely heard Mark calling my name, but his voice drifted, now close, now far away.

Then everything went black.

When I regained consciousness, I saw white walls everywhere and IV lines connected to my arm. I realized I was in a hospital, and no one was beside me.

I pressed the call button. A young doctor with glasses and a nurse came in, their faces stern, to examine me.

"How do you feel now that you're awake?"

I nodded blankly, a little guilty, and mumbled that I was fine.

"Hmph!" Dr. Alex scoffed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You've been asleep for two days, of course you feel fine!"

"Stress-induced coma! Gastritis, myocardial ischemia... You're practically a walking medical textbook at your age! Impressive dedication to self-destruction!"

The nurse was startled by his sharp tongue, discreetly tugging at his shirt to remind him to be gentler, while offering me appeasing smiles to prevent me from complaining.

Two days!

I quickly latched onto the key point. I hadn't been home for two days. What about Mason, alone at home?!

I panicked, wanting to demand discharge, but facing the doctor's cold gaze, all my words caught in my throat. My eyes darted away, and I obediently listened to his lecture, burning with impatience.

"No matter how important the job, no matter how much money, you need to be alive to do it, to spend it..."

He continued to scold me as he checked my symptoms, finally clicking his tongue in dissatisfaction.

"Stay for a few days for observation to see if there are any other issues. And you better explain how you managed to run yourself into the ground like this!"

I suddenly raised my head, ready to protest, to refuse hospitalization. But under the doctor's oppressive gaze, I offered a sheepish smile. "Dr. Alex..."

"You stay put, young lady! You're staying here to save your sorry hide!" Dr. Alex shot me a stern look, then warned the nurse that I was prone to 'pulling stunts.'

I lowered my head, looking miserable and silent. Just thinking about the hospital bills made my chest ache again.

Just as I was mentally plotting eight hundred escape plans to avoid Dr. Alex and the hospital, Mark arrived. I excitedly grabbed his hand. "Mark, Mark, please help me with the discharge papers."

Mark refused. He said the doctor had informed him of my terrible condition and advised me to listen to Dr. Alex, to stay for a few days of observation. "Just relax for a few days. I'll count it as paid leave for you."

I insisted on being discharged. Not only was I worried about Mason being home alone and paralyzed, but I was also incredibly reluctant to spend money on hospital fees when I usually didn't even buy medicine for a cold.

Mark frowned, clearly unable to accept my attitude. "Riley, Mason is an adult. And he's in a wheelchair, not missing his hands! He can order takeout, he can take care of himself."

But I still insisted on going back.

"Riley, you're too much with him..." He cut himself off mid-sentence.

He looked like he was searching for the right words, then finally just patted my shoulder gently.

"Sometimes, what you see isn't the whole truth. You need to open your eyes and really *see* people. Don't believe everything you're told."