Chapter 2
1481words
Francis Foster's rebuke, devoid of any warmth, was like an ice-tempered blade precisely piercing my already tattered heart.
I knelt between the cold puddle and broken glass, as helpless as a bird with broken wings, while he, the man I once thought was my entire world, merely stood coldly in judgment.
"Francis, don't be so harsh," Sophia Stewart spoke softly, breaking the suffocating silence.
She gently patted the still nervously yapping Bichon Frise in her arms, but her gaze passed over it and fell on me with a hint of condescending pity, "Miss Johnson didn't mean to do it, it's all because our Buddy is too mischievous."
Her words seemed to be defusing the situation, yet they felt more like a declaration.
"Our Buddy."
"Our."
Every word was silently drawing boundaries, completely isolating me outside.
Francis didn't look at me again. He stood up and walked toward his desk, as if giving me even one more second of his attention would be a waste.
He picked up the phone, his voice returning to its usual coolness: "Call housekeeping to come clean this up."
I pushed myself up from the floor and stood shakily, feeling the sharp stinging pain from my knees where tiny glass shards had cut into them.
"Miss Johnson," Sophia Stewart's voice sounded again, with a sweetly commanding tone, "we're attending a very important banquet later, and Buddy can't be left unattended. Would you mind taking him back to my suite at the Ritz-Carlton?"
I looked toward Francis, waiting for his decision.
He didn't even look up, just gave a faint "mm" of approval, authorizing this assignment.
I took the rhinestone-studded leash from Sophia Stewart's hand. At the other end of the leash, the white little creature named "Buddy" was baring its teeth at me, emitting threatening growls from its throat.
My palms instantly became coated with cold sweat. The fear stemming from my childhood trauma wrapped around my heart like tendrils, squeezing tight.
I led it out of the office. Behind me, Sophia's delicate laughter faintly carried through, pricking my eardrums like needles.
From the Foster Group building to the Ritz-Carlton Hotel was only a short twenty-minute drive. But for me, it felt as long as a century.
The dog seemed to smell my fear. It was extremely restless in the back seat, sometimes barking wildly, sometimes frantically scratching at the car door with its paws.
I gripped the steering wheel tightly, veins bulging on the back of my hands, only able to suppress my nearly collapsing nerves through continuous deep breaths.
Finally, the hotel's iconic building appeared before my eyes.
I parked the car in the area designated by the doorman, took a deep breath, opened the rear door, and prepared to get this little ancestor out. Just as I bent down to unfasten another safety clasp on its collar, it suddenly broke free from my restraint, like a white lightning bolt, and lunged at my hand holding the leash with its mouth open!
"Ah!"
I couldn't dodge in time, and a sharp pain shot through the back of my hand.
I watched helplessly as several distinct teeth marks instantly appeared on my fair skin, with crimson droplets of blood eagerly seeping out of the wounds, a horrifying sight.
"Oh my goodness! Ma'am, are you alright?" The hotel manager who came out to greet us was startled by this scene and hurriedly came forward.
Enduring the intense pain, I stuffed the leash into his hand, my voice slightly trembling from suppression: "I'm fine, just take it inside first, I'll handle this myself."
After sending away the source of this trouble, I slumped back into my car.
The wound on the back of my hand burned with pain, but strangely, the heavy stone in my heart had finally settled.
I was anxious before being bitten, but now that it had happened, I felt a numb sense of finality.
I didn't return to Francis Foster's villa, nor did I go to any place he knew about. Instead, I drove myself to the nearest public hospital.
Registration, payment, wound cleaning, tetanus shot, rabies vaccine... I was like an emotionless robot, mechanically executing each step.
The disinfectant flowed through a specialized tube, continuously flushing my wound, the bone-chilling pain seeming as if it might wash away my soul as well.
I was placed in a small cubicle, unable to move freely, only able to mindlessly browse my phone with my uninjured hand.
At exactly one o'clock in the afternoon, a new notification popped up at the top of my screen.
The source was from the official public account of Foster Group, with the title written in bold red font:
【Wedding Bells! Francis Foster, CEO of Foster Group, and Sophia Stewart, Heiress of Stewart Group, Officially Announce Their Engagement】
My breathing, at this moment, completely stopped.
In the photo, Sophia Stewart had already changed into an elegant champagne-colored gown, happily holding Francis Foster's arm as they raised their glasses together, smiling toward the camera. Francis Foster wore an impeccably tailored suit, standing tall and confident. With a beautiful woman by his side, his confident demeanor was further enhanced by an air of success.
So, the clarification of those rumors was to save face for his fiancée.
So, I didn't even qualify to be informed.
So, I was nothing but a complete joke.
"Clang——!"
I abruptly stood up from my chair, the sudden movement knocking over the medical cart beside me.
Stainless steel trays, syringes, cotton swabs... various medical instruments clattered all over the floor, the noise they made seemed particularly jarring in the quiet afternoon.
A young nurse rushed over upon hearing the sound, and seeing the mess on the floor and my pale face, she quickly reassured me: "Ma'am, don't worry, it's okay, I'll clean this up."
As she spoke, she crouched down to help me pick things up.
My eyes suddenly welled up, and a hot tear fell without warning, landing on a cold metal box with a soft "tap."
Then came a second tear, and a third...
Finally, I could no longer control myself, so I crouched down, buried my head deep in my knees, and sobbed loudly like a lost child. Five years of grievances, resentment, and that love humbled to dust, at this moment, completely broke through the dam.
"Ma'am, please don't cry, it's really nothing..." The nurse was startled by my reaction, standing awkwardly nearby, trying to comfort me carefully.
But she didn't know that I was never crying about the overturned cart.
I was crying for my absurd love that died at one o'clock this afternoon.
……
In the evening, I returned to the villa that was called "home."
Francis Foster came back very late, carrying a strong smell of alcohol, obviously having just finished an indulgent business dinner.
I silently took a damp towel from the bathroom and handed it to him. He didn't take it, but instead grabbed my wrist, his gaze falling on the glaring white bandage on the back of my hand.
"How did this happen?" His eyebrows furrowed tightly, his tone carrying an unquestionable interrogation.
I tried to pull my hand away, but couldn't. His grip was too strong.
"Speak."
I lowered my eyelids and softly lied: "While cooking dinner, I accidentally cut myself."
Francis Foster stared at me for a few seconds, seemingly judging the truth in my words, but eventually released my hand, only leaving a comment: "Why are you so careless."
He took the towel and wiped his face. I took the used towel from him, preparing to return it to the bathroom, when suddenly he embraced me from behind.
His familiar scent—a mixture of alcohol and cold woody fragrance—enveloped me instantly. His chin rested on my shoulder, his exhaled breath falling on the side of my neck, carrying a post-drinking hoarseness.
"Did you miss me?"
I turned my head slightly, avoiding his invasive breath, my voice as calm as still water: "You're drunk. Let me help you get some rest."
Foster disagreed; he chuckled softly, then directly lifted me in his arms and strode toward the bedroom, tossing me onto the soft king-sized bed.
He had been drinking today, and his movements were much more unrestrained than usual, carrying a forceful quality that couldn't be refused.
I looked at his handsome face tinged with a faint redness from the alcohol, but my thoughts gradually drifted away.
I didn't know if he was also like this when facing Sophia Stewart. Or would he be gentler, more tender?
"What are you thinking about?" Francis Foster keenly noticed my absent-mindedness. He stopped his movements, his large hand gripping my chin, forcing me to look into his eyes.
I looked into his eyes and said clearly, one word at a time:
"I'm thinking about your engagement party today."
