Chapter2

Savannah swirled her glass, ice clinking against the sides.

"Honestly, when that woman's sister was sick, he almost gave her that money."

The hand on my lap jerked violently.

"That money... for the treatment?" My voice sounded distant, like it was coming through fog.

"Yeah, some rare disease medication, expensive as hell." She propped her chin in her hand, playing with a diamond earring with the other. "He was pretty conflicted at the time, said cash was tight. But that same month, a new gallery in Chelsea opened with an artist's solo show, and I absolutely loved that person's style. I wanted the entire series."

I watched her bright lips move, a buzzing starting in my ears.

Emma lying in that hospital bed, her face swollen from medication side effects, and the look in her eyes when she secretly hid the hand that could no longer draw straight lines.

"And then?" I heard myself ask.

"Then?" Savannah laughed, like I was asking an obvious question. "He bought the whole series for me, of course. It was that artist's debut solo show—the pieces are worth triple now. He said his eye for investing in me would never be wrong."

My sister's life and a series of paintings, on the same scale.

He chose the paintings.

"So... his wife's sister, what happened to her later?" My voice was hoarse.

"Oh, I think they used some cheaper alternative treatment. Her life was saved." Savannah pulled out a compact mirror from her purse, checking her lipstick, her tone airy. "But I heard she was left with pretty troublesome aftereffects. If you ask me, that's just fate. Some people aren't born to deserve the best things. If they force it, they just lose their blessings."

The mirror reflected my own face.

Pale skin, faint shadows under my eyes that couldn't be concealed, lips chapped and peeling from dryness.

This basic gray sweater I was wearing, the cuffs even a bit worn.

Savannah was right—I did look like someone who'd wandered in from a Midwest town to work as help in New York, stumbling into a cabin that didn't belong to me.

"Your husband," Savannah closed the mirror, her gaze falling back on me with undisguised judgment, "does he... still care about you?"

I said nothing.

"Honey, don't take this the wrong way." She leaned forward, lowering her voice but making every word clearer. "Women, once they reach a certain age, can't just rely on natural beauty. You have to invest in yourself. Look at your skin—obviously dehydrated. You don't do much skincare, do you? In this condition, does your husband even have any interest in touching you when he comes home?"

I stared at her flawless forehead and those eyes with meticulously applied glitter eyeshadow.

Once upon a time, people used words like "luminous" and "special" to describe my looks.

That was before I married Liam, before I worked around the clock at odd jobs to support his so-called "dream," before I bought myself the cheapest moisturizer to save every penny.

"Skincare... is expensive." I answered mechanically.

"So what?" Savannah shrugged, as if I'd said something incomprehensible. "My boyfriend gives me fifty thousand dollars a month in spending money, and all my beauty treatments, personal training, wardrobe—he reimburses separately." She pointed to the tiny decorative crystal at the corner of her eye. "Just getting this put on costs two hundred dollars each time. But he says it's worth it, as long as I'm happy."

I looked at that glittering crystal, my stomach feeling like it was packed with heavy blocks of ice.

Fifty thousand dollars. A month. The specialty medication Emma needed cost about that much for one course of treatment.

"How long have you been... with him?" My knuckles gripping the wool blanket were turning white.

"Started last November." She answered casually, then thought for a moment and added, "Yeah, November fifteenth. Why?"

November fifteenth.

The day I got the call from the hospital saying Emma's condition had taken a sharp turn for the worse, that she needed the specialty medication immediately or there would be serious aftereffects.

I remember that night, Liam sitting in our tiny apartment with his head in his hands, his voice hoarse as he told me he'd begged every possible investor, even leveraged some personal credit, and could only scrape together half the money.

He said sorry, Emilia, I really tried my best, I'm so useless.

My heart ached so much I couldn't breathe, yet I still wiped his tears, saying I know you tried your best, it's not your fault, it's me who couldn't come up with the other half.

Turns out, the other half was right here.

"You know what?" Savannah's voice pulled me from the icy memory. She blinked, with that air of sharing a secret. "That woman's sister needed money that same month."

I looked at her sharply.

"Actually, he had enough in his account at the time." She said it lightly, like discussing the weather.

"Then why didn't he give it?" I heard the tremor in my voice.

"Because..." Savannah tilted her head, making a thoughtful expression, but her eyes were full of cunning amusement. "I told him, if her sister ended up completely disabled, that woman would have to spend more energy taking care of her crippled family member and wouldn't have as much attention to watch her husband. Then, even if she accidentally discovered my existence, she wouldn't have the confidence to make a scene. A woman with no support is the easiest to control."

My teeth ground together so hard I could almost taste rust.

"Besides," she waved her hand dismissively, "that month the Chelsea gallery exhibition—I loved it so much. The series I had my eye on totaled right around five hundred thousand dollars. Fate, right?"

I stared hard at that young, pretty, carefree face.

"Aren't you afraid his wife will find out the truth?"

"Please, I'm not stupid." Savannah laughed, as if my question was childish. "I taught him how to do it. Have him take out 'half his entire savings,' put on a heartbroken performance. His wife would just think her man had already sold everything and done his absolute best. She'd be grateful, not suspicious he was keeping me on the side."

She paused, her expression darkening slightly, pursing her lips: "Though what annoyed me a bit was that he ultimately agreed to do this mainly because he was afraid if things came to light, that hag would actually leave him."

"Tsk, that woman's luck is really something. Kept completely in the dark, and still someone can't bear to let her go."

"Splash!"

The glass of ice water in my hand, ice and all, went straight into her delicate face.