Chapter 2

On the night of the gala, I wore a vibrant crimson gown.

It was the only color bold enough to mask the ghostly pallor of my skin.

In the center of the grand ballroom, Mia was draped over Julian's arm like a proud peacock, greeting socialites and investors.

I sat in the dimmest corner of the hall, watching Julian take the stage and announce into the microphone:

"To honor Miss Mia Campbell's tireless advocacy for respiratory health, Hayes Corporation is pledging a hundred million dollars toward her Clear Skies Foundation to develop targeted pulmonary therapeutics!"

The room erupted into thunderous applause.

Mia leaned into his chest, smiling like a radiant angel.

My phone buzzed in my lap. An email notification lit up the screen:

[Dear Dr. Miller: An anonymous buyer has raised the bid for your SN-01 targeted lung cancer patent to $300 million. Would you like to accept?]

The anonymous buyer was Julian.

To win his golden girl's favor, he was ready to blow three hundred million dollars to buy back my life's work.

"Nora?"

A soft, honeyed voice broke my thoughts.

Mia stood before me, swirling a glass of cabernet, her eyes dripping with malice.

"Julian feels terribly guilty, you know," she murmured, leaning in so only I could hear. "He knows your constitution is practically superhuman. A little altitude sickness is nothing a good night's sleep couldn't fix. Unlike me... I was born so fragile. I almost died up there."

Her voice was like velvet, but every word dripped with venom.

She reduced my years of relentless physical training to "just a good constitution." She painted Julian's heartless cruelty as "rational judgment."

I looked down at the dark red wine in her glass. It looked identical to the clots I had been hacking up every morning.

"So, what? Should I thank you?" I asked, looking up into her eyes. "Thank you for giving him the chance to abandon me, so I could finally see what kind of garbage I married?"

Mia's face tightened, but she instantly reverted to her helpless, wounded demeanor.

"Nora, how could you say that about him? He wants to make it up to you! He's even trying to buy back the SN-01 patent for you. You sold off the international rights in a fit of rage years ago, and you know how hard it is to reclaim."

She brought it up on purpose.

Seven years ago, when I formulated that targeted therapeutic, I named it SN-01—S for Shen, N for Nora.

Back then, I thought it was the ultimate proof of our shared dream. Only later did I realize he viewed it merely as a liquid asset.

When his rescue enterprise faced bankruptcy years ago, I sold the commercial licensing rights to fund his dreams.

And now, he was spending hundreds of millions to buy it back—to hand it to Mia for her vanity foundation.

The irony was suffocating.

Looking at Mia's triumphant sneer, a wave of sheer exhaustion washed over me.

Argue with a snake? There was no point.

Right then, a violent, suffocating tickle surged from the depths of my trachea.

I tried desperately to swallow it down, but my lungs spasmed out of control.

"Cough... "cough, cough"..."

I jerked sideways, clamping a linen handkerchief over my mouth. My entire body curled in agony.

Every single cell in my chest screamed. It felt like an invisible hand had reached into my ribcage, twisting my lungs until they burst.

Startled, Mia recoiled with a gasp. Her hand shook, and her wine tipped over, splashing a deep, bloody crimson stain down the front of her bespoke white silk gown.

"Ah!" she shrieked.

The scream silenced the hall.

Julian, who had been speaking with investors nearby, snapped his head in our direction. His brows knotted into a furious scowl as he strode over.

He didn't ask what happened.

The instant he reached us, he stripped off his suit jacket and wrapped it around Mia's shoulders, pulling her against his chest.

"What is going on here?" His voice was ice. His glare sliced into me like a scalpel.

Mia clutched his lapels, trembling theatrically. "It wasn't Nora's fault, Julian... I was just clumsy. Nora seemed unwell... she was coughing so hard..."

Julian's gaze dropped to my ashen face, then to the crumpled handkerchief in my fist. Dark crimson spots were already soaking through the fabric.

There wasn't a trace of worry in his eyes.

Only disgust. And utter annoyance.

"Have you had your fun, Nora?"

His voice wasn't loud, but it hit me like a sledgehammer.

"Throwing wine on our brand ambassador at a corporate anniversary? And now you're faking an illness to manipulate the room? Do you have any shame at all, or do you live to humiliate me?"

I looked at him, the metallic taste of blood pooling thick in my throat.

I couldn't say a word.

In his eyes, even coughing up blood was just a rehearsed act.

I took a shaky breath, swallowed the copper heat rising in my mouth, and slowly stood up.

"You're right," I rasped. "I've had my fun."