Margaret's heart clenched violently—a dense, suffocating pain stealing her breath. She remembered when he had been bitten by the snake, poisoned and helpless. He had vomited on her, even lost control of his bowels, yet she hadn't flinched. She had carried him on her back for miles along the mountain trail.
Now, at the hospital, the doctor diagnosed mild soft tissue contusions and food poisoning. "What did you eat last?" he asked.
Margaret's gaze drifted calmly towards Victoria. "I only had the cake you bought."
Victoria's eyes welled up instantly, a picture of wounded innocence. "That was an expensive red velvet cake, specially made by our family chef. I had some, and I'm perfectly fine. How could it possibly make you sick?"
Her voice dipped into a hurt whisper. "Ms. Hart, you're not... framing me because you're jealous of my relationship with Elliot, are you?"
Elliot immediately stepped forward, placing himself protectively in front of Victoria, his brow furrowed in disapproval. "Margaret, you must have eaten something you brought from the village. Don't make baseless accusations against Victoria."
His words were like an icy dagger, piercing straight through Margaret's already scarred heart.
The man who had once vowed to protect her forever was now soothing another woman, shielding her from a perceived slight, without sparing a single glance for Margaret.
"I'm not making anything up. After I arrived, I only ate what was here. If it wasn't her food, then it was yours," Margaret replied, her voice faint but trembling.
To Elliot, her defense sounded like petty, desperate spite.
"What do you imagine Victoria's status is? Do you truly believe someone of her standing would have any reason to harm you? Stop twisting the truth — you're only making me think less of you," he chided, irritation saturating his tone.
The phrase "think less of you" sank in deeper than any outright insult.
A profound chill settled into Margaret's bones. She closed her eyes, fighting back tears, though the physical sickness still churned within her.
Elliot let out a short sigh. He pulled out a wallet and tossed a bank card onto the bedside table. "I'm taking Victoria home first. The money on this card will cover your medical bills. Stay here until I come back for you." He paused, his expression impersonal. "And don't forget about signing the contract."
With that, he guided Victoria out of the room, leaving Margaret behind as if she were a stranger.
The room fell into a heavy silence.
After a long while, her phone buzzed—a friend request from Victoria.
Margaret hesitated, then accepted.
A message popped up immediately—no text, just several video files.
The first video showed Elliot in loungewear, standing at a sink, carefully hand-washing a pair of delicate lace underwear.
A tender smile played on his lips. "Someone's being lazy again, making me do her laundry!"
"But you love taking care of me, don't you?" The playful reply came.
The next clip was chaotic: a dimly lit bar, Victoria visibly unsteady. A man merely leaned in to say something. Elliot, eyes blazing, erupted. He threw punches, smashed bottles, and cleared the place with a raw, violent fury.
Blood streamed down his own face, ignored as he swept Victoria into his arms. "She's my life! Touch her again, and I'll end you!" he roared at the stunned crowd.
More videos followed: Elliot bidding absurd amounts at an auction for a jewel Victoria pointed at; a sky lit up with a private fireworks display he'd commissioned, the two of them kissing beneath the colorful bursts; then, a deed for a suburban estate purchased just to house Victoria's growing collection of pets.
All of this happened after he returned to Barion City. While he was creating a world of indulgence for Victoria, Margaret had been in the village, gathering herbs day after day, waiting for their reunion.
Each video felt like a needle prick to Margaret's heart, accumulating into a relentless, numb ache.
She remembered their time in the village—Elliot climbing trees to pick wild berries for her. When local troublemakers harassed her, it was Elliot who swung his fist and shouted, "Get lost! She's mine!"
Now, that same protective passion, that same tenderness—amplified a hundredfold—was bestowed upon another woman.
Victoria's voice message arrived next. "Ms. Hart, I think you understand now. Some things aren't meant to be yours, no matter how hard you try. Like his heart... or the title of Mrs. Novak."
Without replying, she simply powered off her phone, shutting out the noise.
The cold within her had reached her marrow, numbing even the pain.
Early the next morning, Elliot returned.
"You're rested, I assume? My childhood friends are having a get-together tonight. They want to meet you. Dress appropriately," he stated more than asked.
Margaret looked up at him, her eyes devoid of light. "I'm not going."
"You are. They're my closest friends. They know you... helped me. They insist on thanking you in person. If you don't show up, you'll make things awkward for me. Do you understand?" he insisted, his tone brooking no argument.
Aksara