With those words still hanging in the air, Winslow tore open the packaging himself and held the apple slice right up to her lips, as thoughtfully as any husband could.
Staring at the piece so close she could almost taste it already, Eleanor felt an entire corner of her heart cave in completely. A sharp sting rose in her nose, and hot tears flooded her eyes before she could stop them.
Three years earlier, at the training base, she had accidentally taken one sip of apple juice. Her skin had erupted in painful hives, and she had rolled on the floor in agony. Winslow had scooped her into his arms, eyes blazing red with terror, shouting desperately for the doctor to come save her.
Yet here he stood now, the same man, pressing that very thing to her mouth and expecting her to eat it.
She closed her eyes for a brief second, pushing down the stabbing pain that twisted through her chest. Then she looked straight into his face and asked quietly, "Are you sure you want me to eat this?"
Winslow did not answer. He simply stared back at her with cool indifference.
He said nothing at all, yet somehow the silence spoke volumes.
Eleanor fought the shiver that ran through every inch of her body. Old fear crawled up her spine like invisible threads wrapping tighter and tighter. She drew in a shaky breath, reached out with trembling fingers, took the slice, and bit down.
As if he needed to convince himself, Winslow muttered, "She is a grown adult now. Her body handles things better. One small piece will not hurt."
His voice was low, almost casual, but to Eleanor it landed like the sharpest sarcasm imaginable.
When he had loved her, he had treated her like the rarest treasure in the world. Now that love was gone, she meant absolutely nothing to him.
At that moment, a knock sounded at the office door. "Eleanor, I need your signature on this."
Swallowing the growing itch that was already spreading across her skin, she picked up the pen and signed her name with steady determination.
Winslow glanced over and asked, "What was that for?"
Eleanor turned to face him fully. Her eyes locked onto his without blinking. She answered in a calm, even tone, "It is the official police statement about yesterday's hijacking."
The mention of yesterday brought a quick flash of guilt across Winslow's face. He looked away immediately and walked out without another word.
Nicole, satisfied that her little show had done its job, followed close behind him.
Eleanor had no desire to let the sharp-tongued colleagues witness her allergic reaction, so she forced herself to stand and slowly made her way out of the room.
By then, her face had turned deathly white, like a ghost barely holding on to life.
Her lips, already pale, were now bitten raw and bleeding. The metallic taste filled her mouth, but she felt none of it. She kept biting down harder, fingers clenched so tightly they felt ready to snap.
Pain and relentless itching spread through her entire body. Her breathing turned rough and desperate, each breath harder to pull in than the last.
She tried to take another step forward, but her legs gave out completely. She tumbled down the stairs and could not find the strength to rise again.
Curled tightly on the ground, hugging herself with everything she had left, she dialed Winslow's number with one final thread of hope.
The call connected, but instead of his voice, she heard the intimate, breathless sounds of a man and woman tangled together in bed.
Her fingers shook violently. She wanted to beg him for help, but her chest felt crushed under a heavy weight, and no words would come out.
"Winslow... please save me."
What answered her was Nicole's soft, panting voice urging him on. "Baby... right there, harder."
The man's deep groan continued, each sound striking Eleanor like a bolt of lightning.
Aksara