Chapter 4

Ethan sprang up from the bed, thrusting an accusatory finger in my face. His jaw worked violently—based on his lips, he was roaring:

"I told you everything I do is for our future! What's with that funeral face?"

"I made you drink one glass of booze! I gave you cash, I gave you a luxury bag, what more do you want?"

"Summer, when did you become so damn entitled? If Ms. Montgomery pulls her funding, can you afford to pay for it?"

The electrical screech in my head clashed with his silent roars, threatening to split my skull open.

I parted my lips, wanting to say: "I can't hear you." Wanting to say: "I'm burning up with fever."

Yet, looking into his resentful eyes, the words dissolved on my tongue.

What was the point?

He would just assume I was playing the victim, deliberately trying to ruin his celebration.

Exhausted, I closed my eyes, turned my back on him, and pulled the duvet completely over my head.

"I'm tired. I want to sleep."

Behind me, rapid stomps shook the floorboards, followed by a violent vibration through the frame.

It must have been the bedroom door slamming shut with murderous force.

The walls rattled.

With his departure, the buzzing in my right ear mockingly subsided into a dull hum.

The room sank into a suffocating, dead silence.

That weekend, Ethan actually brought Victoria back to our apartment.

The second she crossed the threshold, she pinched her nose in sheer disgust.

"Ethan, you actually live in a dump like this? It smells like poverty. No wonder you carry that low-class stench."

Ethan trailed behind her, smiling submissively. "You're absolutely right, Ms. Montgomery. As soon as the bonus clears, I'm leasing a penthouse right by your corporate headquarters."

Lying in the bedroom, my stomach seized in violent knots.

To save money for treatments, I had swapped costly prescription anti-nausea meds for cheap herbal remedies from an alternative clinic.

On the stove, a pot was simmering hot, dark fluid—the only thing easing my cramps.

Victoria walked toward the kitchen, her features twisted in revulsion. "What is that vile smell? It smells like rotting roots and sewer water. I'm going to throw up."

She glared at me as I shuffled out of the bedroom, sneering, "Ms. Vance, have you no decency? Who are you trying to poison with this garbage?"

I parted my dry lips, ready to explain that it was medicine.

Ethan shoved past me and rushed into the kitchen.

"If Ms. Montgomery doesn't like it, it's gone."

Without a second thought, he grabbed a dishtowel, lifted the boiling pot off the burner, and dumped every drop of the thick, dark brew—herbs and all—straight down the sink drain.

I froze on the spot, staring at the empty pot. My heart felt as though an invisible hand had gripped it and crushed it to pieces.

That was my lifeline. Two hundred dollars an ounce, simmered for three grueling hours.

After dumping it, Ethan turned on the exhaust fan and snapped at me:

"What are you standing there for? Go slice some fresh fruit for Ms. Montgomery! Use your brain for once."

His tone was completely natural, as if I weren't his partner, but an embarrassing, incompetent maid.

I didn't argue. I didn't have the breath left to fight.

With the herbs gone, the gastric spasms returned with vengeance, cold sweat soaking through the back of my cotton shirt.

Mechanically, I walked into the kitchen and shut the door, shutting out Victoria's mocking chuckles and Ethan's fawning replies.

I picked up the knife and started peeling an apple.

One slice. Two slices.

Suddenly, an agonizing convulsion ripped through my core, like something detonating in my internal organs.

A warm, sweet metallic liquid surged up my throat, too fast and violent to suppress.

I opened my mouth, and a heavy spray of crimson blood erupted over the counter.

Scalding red coated the porcelain white sink and spattered across the pale yellow apple slices on the cutting board.

My vision went pitch black for three seconds. I clamped my hands onto the counter, my knees buckling under my weight.

From the living room, Ethan's impatient shout cut through the thin wooden door:

"Summer! How hard is it to cut an apple? Ms. Montgomery is waiting!"