Chapter 3

The next morning, a black sedan from House Costa pulled up outside my door.

When Silas walked in, he was holding a document.

He didn't ask if my fever had broken. He simply placed the papers on the coffee table.

"Sign."

My mother held a bowl of medicine, the porcelain spoon clinking against the rim—harsh and loud.

"Silas, Evelyn's fever hit thirty-nine degrees last night. Can't this wait until she's recovered?"

Silas's voice was level, without the slightest tremor.

"I'm sorry, but this can't be delayed. The joint project between House Roth and House Costa is already underway. I don't want the media running with this any longer."

I picked up the statement.

The ice-lake segment of the engagement banquet was a mutually agreed-upon interactive element. Miss Evelyn left early due to health reasons. Mr. Silas was attentive and caring throughout. Miss Ophelia was merely an invited guest. The public is asked not to engage in malicious speculation.

"I have to clear her name?"

Silas looked at me.

"She's innocent."

"And what about me?"

He paused.

"You didn't go into the lake last night."

So I wasn't innocent. Unless I'd followed their script and nearly died, I was the one who'd ruined everything.

A soft knock at the door. Ophelia came in carrying a gift.

She was dressed simply today, eyes red-rimmed, as though she hadn't slept.

"Evelyn, I came to apologize."

She opened the box. Inside lay a silk scarf.

The same one she'd used to block the wind last night.

She brought me something she'd already worn and expected gratitude.

"I only wore this once. You have such fair skin—it would look even better on you."

Silas watched her, his voice softening. "You're not well. Why make the trip?"

Ophelia shook her head, her tone aggrieved. "Evelyn misunderstands me. It weighs on my heart."

My mother's hand rested on the rim of the medicine bowl and didn't let go for a long time.

House Roth's cash flow for the month was still pinned in the ledger on her desk.

If House Costa pulled their three-billion investment, hundreds of names would be left dangling in the void.

In my last life, it was this kind of silence that made me bow my head again and again.

Every time House Costa stripped away another piece of my dignity, I told myself: House Roth still needs to survive.

Silas pushed the pen toward me.

"Sign it, and I'll send the family physician over to check on you."

He could always stab the knife in and then offer a bandage, expecting me to feel grateful for his mercy.

I picked up the pen.

My mother gripped my wrist, eyes reddening. I patted her hand gently.

I signed my name.

The pen tip came down like a sentence—ten years of it, from a life already lived.