Chapter 4
When I woke again, the sharp scent of disinfectant filled my nose.
Lucas’s cold, handsome face loomed over me.
He stared down, his gaze as detached as ever. “Emily, was this intentional? Seeing Lillian get hurt from her fall, you decided to stage a car accident to escape blame? Or were you just copying her, hoping to win my pity?”
His laugh was icy, voice dripping with disdain. “Let me remind you-this is a marriage of convenience. There’s no love here. No matter how much you imitate her, it’s pointless. I won’t waste time caring for you, nor will I ever feel sorry for
you.”
My heart turned to stone.
So, the panic I’d glimpsed in his eyes before passing out-it really had been an illusion.
On the day I was discharged, Lucas brought Lillian to our marital home. “The auction incident traumatized her. She’s still unstable, so she’ll stay with us for now. Easier to keep an eye on her. This is all your fault. No matter how much you protest, I’m letting Lillian stay.”
He shot me a warning look, shielding her behind him as if expecting a scene.
But I had no fight left. “Do what you want.”
The divorce was already underway. Soon, this wouldn’t be my home anyway.
Noticing my resignation, he frowned-but before he could speak, Lillian tugged his sleeve, her voice saccharine, “Lucas,
I’m hungry.”
“What do you want? I’ll have the chef prepare it.”
“Don’t bother the staff so late.” She glanced at me, a smirk playing at her lips. “Emily is here, isn’t she? Let her cook.”
Lucas turned to me, expectation etched in his gaze. “You heard her. Get to it.”
The irony stabbed like an icicle through my chest.
A wife, reduced to cooking for her husband’s mistress.
I forced a hollow smile and walked mechanically to the kitchen.
Amid the roar of the exhaust fan, I numbly watched oil shimmer in the wok.
“Is the Pasta ready?” Lillian’s voice came from behind.
“Almost.” I didn’t turn.
The next second, she seized my wrist-and slammed it into the scalding oil.
“Ah-!” White-hot pain lanced up my arm. I yanked back, but not before blisters erupted across my skin.
Lillian swiftly dripped oil onto her own forearm, then collapsed with a whimper, eyes instantly welling.
“What happened?” Lucas rushed in.
She burst into tears. “Lucas, this is my fault! I shouldn’t have asked Emily to cook. She got so angry, she… she threw the
Charter 4
3.92%
oil at me!”
His face darkened. He grabbed my injured hand, grip brutal. “When will you stop?”
Trembling, I raised my blistered skin, the metallic tang of blood on my tongue. “Look at whose wounds are worse!”
For once, he hesitated.
“She’s lying!” Lillian cried. “She attacked me first, then hurt herself to frame me!”
I met Lucas’s eyes, each word deliberate, “Check. The. Cameras.”
