At nine o'clock that evening, Stevanie lay in bed, pale and exhausted. Oska sat beside her while Annchi and the doctor stood nearby, the faint hum of medical instruments filling the quiet room.
The doctor wrapped the blood pressure cuff around Stevanie's arm, listening carefully through his stethoscope.
"How is she, doctor?" Oska asked, his tone calm but tense.
"It seems your wife is suffering from severe fatigue due to excessive bowel movements," the doctor replied. "She must strictly avoid any soy products from now on—her allergy is quite serious."
"Understood. We'll be more cautious," Oska said.
The doctor handed him a small bottle. "These are iron supplements and vitamins. Her blood pressure is low. She needs complete rest for the next two to three days and must avoid any strenuous activity."
"Thank you, doctor."
"You're welcome. I'll take my leave now."
"Mrs. Fexiao, please see the doctor out."
"Yes, sir."
Mrs. Bao followed as well, guilt written across her face.
Moments later, Stevanie stirred and slowly opened her eyes.
"Ow… my head. What happened?"
"Oh, Mom! You finally awake. You fainted in the bathroom," Annchi said, gripping her mother's hand. "Uncle carried you here and called the doctor."
"I fainted?"
"Yes," Oska confirmed gently. "The doctor just left. He prescribed some supplements—you should start taking them now."
"This is all that wretched maid's fault! Where is she? I'll—"
"Whoa, whoa. You're not going anywhere," Oska interrupted, placing a calming hand on her shoulder. "You need to rest."
He handed her two small tablets and a glass of water. After swallowing them, Stevanie sank back into the pillows, her breathing slow but uneven.
"For the next few days, don't go to work," Oska said softly. "The doctor was clear—you need to recover."
"Fine," she muttered, closing her eyes briefly.
"Why didn't you ever mention you had such a serious allergy?"
"It's none of your business," she said curtly. "You wouldn't have cared anyway."
Oska raised an eyebrow. "You should be grateful I never add any soy product to my cooking before. Are there any other conditions I should know about?"
"Nah… only soy," she sighed. "But sometimes, it feels like there's something in my head."
He frowned. "Something?"
"Yes. Like… a bug crawling inside my brain, pulling at my thoughts. Tugging threads between my nerves. I can't control it."
Oska fell silent, his mind racing. During his time at the U.S, he had encountered cases that sounded disturbingly similar—neurological disorders that blurred the line between psychology and paranoia.
A faint, almost sinister smile flickered across his lips before he quickly hid it behind his calm facade.
"You should rest now," he said gently. "It's late. Annchi, let me walk you to your room."
But as he turned to leave, Stevanie grabbed his hand.
"Oska… could you stay with me tonight?" Her voice trembled, stripped of its usual dominance. "I know I was cruel to you on our first night, but tonight… somehow I don't want to be alone. I need someone beside me."
For a moment, Oska hesitated. Her beauty, softened by fear and vulnerability, disarmed him completely—those dark eyes, those trembling lips. Even knowing the danger of getting emotionally entangled, he couldn't help but feel something stir inside him.
Annchi, watching quietly, smiled. "It's okay, Uncle. I'll sleep by myself tonight. Stay with Mom."
"Alright, sweetheart. Goodnight," Oska said, brushing her hair before she left.
When the room grew quiet again, Oska stood by the window, the city lights flickering beyond the curtains. He pulled out his phone and dialed a number.
In a distant hotel room, a young woman's phone buzzed against the nightstand.
"Hello, Jennie," he said quietly.
"Yes, sir?"
"Stevanie won't be at work for a few days. Use this time to execute the plan we discussed. The documents are in the safe behind the painting in her office—behind her chair. I'll text you the code."
"Understood."
Oska ended the call, typed the combination, and sent it off.
"Oska?" came a voice from behind him. "Who were you calling at this hour?"
"Jennie," he replied casually. "I just told her you'd be taking a few days off to recover."
"I see…" she murmured.
Oska sat down beside her, his expression soft but unreadable.
"Oska… do you hate me?"
He blinked, caught off guard. "What? Why would you ask that?"
"Just answer me."
"No, of course not," he said.
"You're lying," she whispered. "I know when someone's hiding something. Three months ago, I hurt you. I tormented you. No normal man could forget that. If there's no hatred left, then maybe… revenge."
Oska's pulse quickened. Her intuition was sharper than he expected. Years of careful planning could unravel in a single careless word.
"What are you talking about?" he said with a forced laugh. "I'm not planning anything."
"There it is again—that fake smile," she muttered. "Don't you think I wouldn't notice."
His smile faded. "You're right. What happened three months ago… it was a nightmare. But revenge?" He paused, lowering his voice. "Revenge fades. Love doesn't."
"Love?" she echoed softly, her cheeks flushing. She turned her face toward the pillow.
Oska gently brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. "Rest now. I'm not going anywhere."
In the stillness that followed, neither spoke. The room was filled only with the quiet rhythm of her breathing and the weight of unspoken lies.
What had begun as a facade—a contract born of manipulation and bitterness—was now twisting into something else entirely.
Whether Oska's tenderness was genuine or a mask for something far darker remained a secret only time could expose.