My Fiancé Planned 33 Accidents

Sylvia Frost and Victor Rothwell's wedding had been postponed 33 times. This time, it happened on the night before the ceremony. She was struck by a car and left with 19 broken bones. She was rushed to the ICU three separate times before her condition finally stabilized. Once she was strong enough to leave her bed, she braced herself against the wall and shuffled into the hallway. As she reached the corner, she overheard her fiancé speaking with a friend. "Last time it was drowning. This time you used a car. That gets you another two months. What are you going to do next?" Sylvia's blood turned to ice. Victor stood there in his white coat, his phone turning slowly in his hand. "No more delays." His voice remained flat. Chapter 1 The friend sounded surprised. "So you're really resigning yourself to marrying Sylvia? What about that intern under you, Rachel Summers?" "When Sylvia was sent to my family as a child, my father told me to treat her well. We were meant to get married someday," Victor Rothwell said. "So I took care of her as if she were already my wife. Over time, it became a habit. That is, until I met Rach." A trace of warmth flickered in his eyes. "Her background is rough, but she never bows her head to adversity. She's strong-willed. I noticed her the moment I first saw her." "If you like her that much, then go after her," the friend said, clearly baffled. The air fell silent for several seconds before Victor lowered his gaze. "Sylvia's mother once saved my family. She's my responsibility. Those 33 times were me struggling against it. Now I should shoulder that responsibility." He paused, his voice softening. "As for Rach, being able to watch her from afar is enough. I don't dare ask for more." Every word stabbed into Sylvia Frost's heart like a blade. She clung to the wall just to stay upright. Her face felt damp and itchy. When she reached up, her fingers came away wet. She stopped listening. Staggering, she fled back to her hospital room. Tears streamed down her face without a sound. She had never imagined that all 33 accidents had been Victor's doing. The first time, she had been caught in a street fight and stabbed by mistake. The second time, a snake had bitten her in the garden at home. The venom had nearly killed her. The third time, Victor had taken her hiking. She had slipped and fallen, spending half a month in the ICU. … All of it had been because he did not want to marry her. Their engagement had been set when Sylvia was 10 years old. At the time, the Rothwell family had been under investigation, facing financial ruin and prison. Her mother, an accountant, had taken responsibility for everything. That was how the Rothwells survived. Afterward, Walter Rothwell, Victor's grandfather, brought Sylvia into their home and arranged her engagement to Victor as a form of protection. As she grew up, everyone in the Rothwell family, including Victor, treated her well. They supported everything she did, even the band she played in, something elite circles looked down on. Because of that, she had always believed they loved each other. She never expected it was all duty, or that his heart belonged to someone else. The dull ache in her chest sharpened and twisted like a knife. Pain rippled through her entire body and tugged at every injury. Ten minutes later, Victor came in to clean her wound. When he saw her reddened eyes, he paused. "What is it? Does it hurt again?" She looked at the concern on his face, and the word "responsibility" echoed in her mind, stabbing until her chest tightened. Her pain sensitivity was higher than most people's. Even wound cleaning required anesthetic. Victor picked up the syringe. Just as he was about to inject it, his phone rang. He set the anesthetic down and answered the call. Her gaze drifted to the cartoon charm hanging from his phone. It stirred an old memory. The charm had been a prize from her band's first competition win. She had happily given it to him. He had tossed it into a drawer without a second glance. "Too childish," he had said, frowning. Now, the same kind of cartoon charm hung from his phone. The matching style swayed back and forth, making Sylvia's eyes ache. In the quiet room, Rachel's voice carried clearly from the phone. "Dr. Rothwell, I ran into a patient here, and I'm not sure how to handle it. Could you come over for a moment?" The moment she spoke, Sylvia felt the change in Victor's presence. His mood visibly lifted. "Okay. I'll be right there," he said, his tone light. She had once thought this was nothing more than care for an intern. Now she understood. Every feeling left a trail. Victor hung up. His hand passed over the anesthetic and went straight for the instruments. Agony exploded from the wound and tore through Sylvia's body. She let out a muffled cry as cold sweat poured down her skin and her head spun. "Vic, you didn't use the anesthetic…" Her voice trembled. His hands did not slow. Distracted, he said, "It works better this way. Anesthetic interferes with the medication. Just bear with it." Her body jerked in pain. Her fingers clenched the bedsheet until it nearly tore. "Vic, can you use the anesthetic? It really hurts," Sylvia pleaded. "Be good. Hold on. It will be over soon," he said, moving faster. A few minutes later, the cleaning was finished. Victor tossed the tools onto the tray. Sylvia lay collapsed on the bed, barely conscious. In her tilted field of vision, she saw him leaving in a hurry. Anesthetic did not interfere with the medication at all. He had done it only so he could rush to Rachel. He had not even been willing to wait five minutes for the anesthetic to take effect. Sylvia's heart twisted violently. Tears slid from the corners of her eyes onto the white sheets. Pain gnawed at her without mercy. At last, her vision went black, and she passed out. Chapter 2 When Sylvia woke again, several people stood gathered around her bed. All of them were interns under Victor, with Rachel among them. Sylvia pushed herself upright and braced her hands against the mattress. "What are you all doing here?" A plain-looking girl spoke with hesitation. "Dr. Rothwell said to use you as a case study, so he told us to come first—" Before she could finish, someone elbowed her. "Why explain so much to her? Someone who lives off a favor like that doesn't deserve politeness." Sylvia's face drained of color. In the past, those four words would not have affected her. Now, she could not even refute them. In a way, they were true. Because she lived off a favor, Victor had been bound to her side. "Exactly," another intern added. "If it weren't for her, Dr. Rothwell could pursue his true love." As she spoke, her gaze slid meaningfully toward Rachel at the center of the group. Sylvia noticed the faint embarrassment on Rachel's face. A sharp ache pierced her chest. Someone clapped her hands with sudden enthusiasm. "Do you think her mother took the blame back then just to force her daughter to marry Dr. Rothwell? With his family background, they could work their whole lives and still never reach that level." The others echoed the sentiment at once. "That's it. Like mother, like daughter. Her mother was even more calculating." Sylvia's hands curled into tight fists. They could insult her as much as they wanted. She could endure it. She knew she owed the Rothwell family. But her mother had taken the blame out of gratitude alone. She had never sought anything in return. The words grew sharper and more vicious. Sylvia could not let them drag her mother through the mud. She rose abruptly and lifted her hand toward the loudest speaker. From the corner of her eye, Rachel saw Victor about to enter. She rushed forward and blocked the blow. A sharp smack rang out as the slap landed squarely across Rachel's face. Sylvia froze. Victor arrived just in time to witness the scene. He crossed the room in two long strides, pulled Rachel into his arms, and shoved Sylvia aside. "Sylvia, what do you think you're doing?" Anger cut through his voice. Sylvia staggered and stared at him in shock. He had never spoken to her like this. Victor did not spare her another glance. All his attention remained on Rachel as he led her away to treat the injury. Ten minutes later, he returned. "Go apologize to Rach." His first words were blunt. Sylvia turned her head aside and stayed silent. "I've spoiled you too much over the years," he said coldly. Her body stiffened, eyes burning as she looked at him. "They started it. They said I'm living off a debt. They said my mother took the fall just to claw her way into your family. And I wasn't trying to hit Rachel. She stepped in front of her on her own." Victor's expression did not soften. His voice cooled even further. "Were they wrong?" Her pupils constricted and her breath caught as disbelief, grievance, and heartbreak surged together, nearly overwhelming her. 'Of course. Has he not always believed that? Otherwise, why would he keep hurting me to delay the wedding? Why would he insist that everything between us is nothing more than responsibility?' she thought bitterly. Sylvia lowered her head and let out a faint, self-mocking smile. "Fine. I'll apologize." With her body on the verge of collapse, Sylvia followed Victor to his office. When she opened the door and saw Rachel sitting alone in his chair, she paused. A memory surfaced. Once, she had offered to pick Victor up after work. He had told her he would be late, and she had suggested waiting in his office. He had refused. "My office has important files. I can't leave someone alone there." Yet Rachel could sit there freely. So that was the truth. A man's principles applied only to the people he did not care for. In front of the woman he loved, they vanished. Sylvia suppressed the spreading ache in her chest, walked up to Rachel, and lowered her head. "I'm sorry. I hit you by accident earlier." Rachel looked startled and covered her mouth. "Mrs. Rothwell?" Victor stepped closer and gently patted Rachel's head, his expression displeased. "We're not married yet. You don't need to call her that." In the past, he never corrected anyone who addressed Sylvia that way. Now, because it was Rachel, he did. Was it because he did not want the woman he loved to speak that title? Bitterness flickered through Sylvia's eyes. Rachel nodded obediently and corrected herself. "Miss Frost, you don't need to blame yourself. I forgive you." Her generous response finally satisfied Victor. "You can go back and rest." Sylvia's nails pressed hard into her palm. She turned and left the office. Just outside the door, someone brushed against her shoulder. She lost her balance and fell heavily to the floor. Pain tore through her body, and cold sweat broke out at once. From inside the office came Victor's gentle voice. "Does your face still hurt? I'll apply some more medicine." That was when her tears finally fell. They struck the floor in heavy drops. She covered her mouth to stifle the sound. Only the trembling of her shoulders revealed her grief. … The next day, Victor left for another hospital as part of an exchange program. He took only one intern with him: Rachel Summers. During the week Sylvia remained hospitalized, interns kept stopping by her bed. They said Victor chose Rachel because he wanted to take her out. They said he treated her to good food. They said he took her to visit popular places. These were all things he had never done with Sylvia. Sylvia never responded. Each word cut into her heart until the pain threatened to split her open. At last, a sense of release flickered through her eyes. 'Victor. I'm letting you go.' After her discharge, Sylvia went straight to the Rothwell estate. She intended to cancel the engagement. Chapter 3 "Mr. George, I want to cancel the engagement." Sylvia stood in the living room with her back straight and her voice steady. Victor's father, George Rothwell, froze. "Why so suddenly? Isn't the wedding about to take place?" She lowered her gaze to hide the bitterness in her eyes. "Vic and I aren't in love. There's no point wasting each other's time. My mother will be released soon. I want to take her away and spend time with her properly." Her resolve left no room for argument. George nodded at last. "Alright. I'll arrange the tickets. Once your mother is out in half a month, you can leave—" "Who's leaving?" Before he could finish, a voice cut in from behind them. Sylvia stiffened and answered before George could speak, "No one. Why are you back?" Victor did not pursue it. "I heard you came home. I'm here to pick you up." Later, George asked them to stay for dinner. At the table, Victor slipped back into familiar habits. He placed food in front of her with quiet precision. He never erred in small gestures like these, picking her up, serving her meals, attending to details. That was why she had once believed he truly cared. Halfway through the meal, Victor brought up the wedding. "Dad, the ceremony will proceed as planned in half a month. Remember to notify the guests." George paused and looked from one to the other. "Didn't Via tell you? She wants to cancel the engagement." A ringing phone drowned out his words. Victor answered it. Sylvia sat beside him and heard every word clearly. "Dr. Rothwell, Rach has a fever and refuses to leave work. Please come talk to her." His grip tightened on the phone, urgency seeping into his voice. "Stay with her. I'll be there immediately." The call ended. Victor turned back. "Dad, what were you saying just now?" Before George could reply, Victor continued, "We'll talk later. Something urgent came up. I have to go." For the first time, he dispensed with all courtesy. The chair screeched as he stood, then he strode straight to the door. Sylvia watched his retreating figure. It felt as though an invisible hand had closed around her heart, tightening until a dull ache spread through her chest. After leaving the Rothwell estate, she went straight to the prison to visit her mother, Cassandra Collins. Holding the receiver, she studied Cassandra's gaunt face through the glass. Her nose stung, but she forced the tears down. Cassandra's eyes brightened as she pressed the phone to her ear. "Via, have the Rothwells treated you well all these years? Has Vic treated you well?" Sylvia tugged her sleeve lower to hide her injuries and smiled. "They've treated me very well, Mom. Don't worry." Only then did Cassandra relax. "Your wedding should be soon, right? It's a shame I can't attend." "We're not getting married anymore," Sylvia said, keeping her tone light. "He doesn't like me. Mom, when you're released, let's leave this place, alright? I'll stay with you from now on. Just the two of us." Tears welled in her mother's eyes. "Alright. We'll do whatever you say." … When Sylvia returned to the empty house, she realized a month and a half had passed since she was last there. Everything looked unchanged, yet nothing felt the same. She went upstairs and packed her belongings. She left behind anything the Rothwells or Victor had given her. None of it truly belonged to her, and she had no right to take it. Victor did not come home that night. He returned the following afternoon with a stylist and a makeup artist. "There's a medical gala tonight. I'll take you. You should meet some people." Victor had never hesitated to acknowledge Sylvia in public as the Rothwell family's future daughter-in-law. In his mind, she was a responsibility. Nothing more. Once she was ready, Sylvia walked to the car and reached for the front passenger door. It did not open. From the driver's seat, Victor said, "We're picking up Rach later. She gets carsick. Sit in the back." Her fingers tightened around the handle. Had he forgotten that she got carsick too? She lowered her head and let out a faint, self-mocking smile. Without a word, she opened the rear door instead. … When they picked Rachel up, her first words as she climbed in were, "Thank you for staying with me all night, Dr. Rothwell. Otherwise I wouldn't have recovered so quickly." Victor smiled at her with undisguised fondness and rubbed her head. "As long as you're better. Your health is fragile. Be more careful from now on." The sight pierced straight through Sylvia. Only then did Rachel seem to notice her. She spoke with surprise. "Miss Frost, you're here too? Then I shouldn't sit here. I'll move to the back." Victor started the car. "It's fine. Stay where you are." Halfway through the drive, Sylvia's nausea surged. Acid crept up her throat. Fortunately, they reached the venue just before it became unbearable. She took Victor's arm as they entered. Rachel remained close at his other side. Throughout the gala, he did introduce Sylvia to several people, but only in passing. Soon after, his attention shifted entirely to Rachel. He guided her through introductions to senior figures in the medical field. Sylvia faded into the background. The lingering nausea left her drained. She did not want to stay any longer. After informing Victor, she headed toward the restroom. She lingered outside for half an hour, then drew a deep breath and turned back. At the entrance, she saw Victor supporting an unsteady Rachel and guiding her upstairs. Rachel's cheeks were flushed, her breathing uneven. "Rach, hold on. We're almost there." His voice sounded hoarse and strained. Sylvia's heart lurched. She followed them to the upper floor, then down the guest room corridor. She watched helplessly as they entered a room together and the door closed behind them. Chapter 4 Sylvia's head buzzed, and her thoughts went blank. She did not want to consider what going into a hotel room together implied. Still, a thin sliver of hope clung to her. Maybe he was only taking Rachel back to her room. Sylvia walked to the door. Through the thin wooden barrier, she heard labored breathing and muffled sounds near the entryway, followed by the unmistakable, intimate rush of running water. That final shred of hope vanished. Sylvia did not kick the door open. She was humiliated enough already, and she refused to drag herself into something even uglier. She covered her mouth, forced the sob back down, and stumbled out of the hotel. That night, she sat on the sofa and stared out the window until dawn. Her mind replayed what must have happened in that room after she left. The pain cut so sharply that it felt unreal. Victor did not come home until the next day. His clothes were badly wrinkled. Dark, unidentifiable stains marked the fabric. His entire body reeked of Rachel's perfume. Sylvia's eyes were bloodshot from a sleepless night. She looked at him and said flatly, "You slept with Rachel." Victor paused as he loosened his tie. After a moment, he spoke. "I'm sorry. This was my fault. But yesterday she drank something she shouldn't have. The effects were strong. I was the only one who could help her—" "But you still slept with her." Sylvia stood and walked toward him. Her voice shook as her control slipped. "Do you even remember that you have a fiancée?" Victor had not slept all night. His head throbbed, and his patience had run out. "I already told you. I was just helping her. And it was only this once. Don't overthink it. I'll still marry you. The wedding is coming up soon. Stop making a scene." With that, he turned and walked out, as though dealing with her distress was beneath him. The front door slammed. Sylvia collapsed onto the floor. Tears streamed down her face without restraint, and yet she laughed. She thought herself ridiculous. She had always known that Victor felt only responsibility toward her. What, exactly, had she still been hoping for? She did not know how long she sat there before she finally dragged herself to bed and sank into a heavy, lifeless sleep. … Sylvia was yanked awake without warning. Victor grabbed her and hauled her straight to the car. No matter how fiercely she struggled, she could not break free. "Victor, what are you doing?!" The car tore through the streets. "What am I doing? I told you not to cause trouble. Why did you take those intimate photos in bed and threaten Rach with them?!" His voice was dark and stretched to its limit. Sylvia was completely confused. "I didn't do that." "If it wasn't you, who else could it be?" His teeth clenched with fury. "This afternoon, Rach handed in her resignation and went straight to the rooftop. If anything happens to her, I'll never forgive you." They reached the hospital quickly, and he dragged her up to the rooftop. Rachel sat at the edge. Onlookers had been blocked downstairs. On the rooftop, there were only the three of them. Victor stared at Rachel, panic etched across his face. His voice softened without thought. "Rach, I brought her here. She'll promise not to send the photos. Come down, okay? It's dangerous up there." He did not give Sylvia a chance to explain. In his mind, her guilt was already decided. It felt as though countless needles pierced her heart. Sylvia said coldly, "I told you it wasn't me." Rachel stood. Her eyes held just the right measure of pain and fragility. "Dr. Rothwell, if those photos get out, my life will be over. If that happens, what's the point of living?" Victor panicked. He grabbed Sylvia and edged forward, his voice trembling. "Rach, don't act on impulse. I won't let the photos spread…" He kept soothing her, step by step, until only two steps separated them. The instant Rachel lowered her guard, he released Sylvia and lunged forward, pulling Rachel back to safety. Sylvia was shoved aside. She struck something hard, lost her footing, and fell straight off the fourth floor. Time slowed. The sight of Victor clutching Rachel burned into her vision. Weightlessness swallowed her. She stared up at the deep blue sky and closed her eyes in despair. When the pain came, it was far worse than she had imagined. It was so overwhelming that she did not even have time to cry before everything went black. Chapter 5 When Sylvia opened her eyes again, she found herself in a hospital bed. Pain racked her body, as though it might tear itself apart at any moment. She had long since lost count of how many times she had been admitted to the hospital. Her phone rang. A prison guard she had once quietly helped was on the line. His voice was low and urgent. "Miss Frost, your mother has received some… special attention inside. Did you offend someone?" Sulvia's breathing caught. "What did you just say?" "Someone high up ordered us to 'look after' her," he replied. "She hasn't been given proper meals. Other inmates are targeting her. They've forced her to stay outside under the sun for ten hours a day." The words struck her like a bolt of lightning. Her vision wavered, and the voice on the phone seemed to drift farther and farther away. The hospital door flew open without warning. Victor walked in. Sylvia slowly lifted her head and looked at him. In that instant, everything became clear. "You did this." Only Victor had that kind of influence. He also believed she was the one who had threatened Rachel. His face showed no confusion and no surprise. Sylvia stared at him as though she were seeing a stranger. "My mother saved your family. You can't treat her like this. Her health has been fragile for years. She can't endure this kind of torment…" Her voice shook. Victor stepped forward and seized her face, his fingers digging into her cheeks. "She helped my family," he said, his gaze chilly. "But she did nothing for Rach." His grip tightened. "If you're angry, direct it at me. I deserve it. But why did you hurt an innocent person again?" Sylvia's face throbbed as though it might shatter. She met his gaze stubbornly, her eyes bloodshot. "I didn't take any photos. I didn't threaten Rachel. If you don't believe me, check the hotel entrance cameras—" "If it wasn't you, then who?" he interrupted coldly. "Rach has a gentle nature. She's never had conflicts with anyone. Except you." No matter what she said, Victor had already passed judgment. Sylvia smiled bitterly. Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes and fell onto the back of his hand. The warmth made him pause, as though something inside him had been lightly scorched. "Fine," she said in a soft voice. "I admit I was wrong. Tell them to stop targeting my mother. From now on, I'll stay far away from Rachel." She lowered her head in surrender. She no longer had the strength to fight. Resistance had proven useless. All she wanted was her mother's safety. She still needed to take her away. When Victor saw her yield, he loosened his grip. His hand moved to her cheek, and his tone softened. "I don't want to hurt your mother either. But Rach is innocent. She won't appear in our lives again. If you don't want contact with her, then avoid her. Just don't hurt her." He pressed a light kiss to her forehead. Sylvia nodded numbly, obedient and lifeless. Even so, she failed to save her mother. The next day, the prison called again. Sylvia remembered nothing of the trip there. When awareness returned, she stood inside the morgue. Her mother lay silent on a gurney, her face drained of color. Sylvia collapsed to the floor. Her hands trembled as she reached out, unable to bring herself to touch her. "Mom. Didn't you say you were leaving with me? Wake up. We were so close to getting away. Why? Why did this happen?" Her voice broke as tears fell onto that cold face, unable to restore even the faintest warmth. The guard beside her spoke in a hushed voice, unable to bear the scene. "Heatstroke. By the time she was discovered, it was already too late." … That same day, Sylvia arranged her mother's cremation. She stood alone at the funeral. Before the service, she called Victor 19 times. He answered none of them. When she finally lowered her phone, a new video appeared on Rachel's social feed. It showed a concert filled with blinding lights and deafening music. At Rachel's side stood the man Sylvia could never reach, his gaze gentle as it rested on her. The noise brought back a memory of the livehouse show Sylvia had once invited him to attend. "You know I don't like crowded, noisy places," Victor had said at the time. Yet now he accompanied Rachel at a packed concert. Sylvia smiled quietly, her expression tinged with self-mockery, and made no further calls. At the funeral home, she bought a necklace. With her own hands, she placed her mother's ashes inside it. "Mom, I'm taking you away," she whispered as she fastened it around her neck. Chapter 6 Sylvia did not get home until very late. Rain began to fall on her way back, and by the time she arrived, she was soaked to the skin. When she opened the door, Victor was already home. She did not spare him a glance and headed straight for the stairs. She had just reached the bottom step when a bath towel wrapped around her from behind. "Why didn't you call me to pick you up? You're completely drenched." Victor's voice carried a note of concern. A trace of sarcasm flickered in her eyes. 'Would you have come if I did?' Sylvia slapped his hand away and went upstairs. She took a shower. When she came out, Victor stood in the room with a bowl of soup, gently blowing on it to cool it. In truth, Victor was a responsible man. Otherwise, he would not have taken care of her for more than ten years. He was so responsible that she had mistaken responsibility for love. When he noticed her, he pulled her down to sit on the bed and fed her spoon by spoon. "Is it still hot? Drink it while it's warm. The wedding's coming up. You can't afford to catch a cold." Sylvia lowered her eyes and finished the soup in silence. She watched his back as he left the room. Inside her, everything was utterly still. 'Victor… As you wish, there won't be a wedding.' … The next day, Sylvia went to the immigration office to apply for a visa. As she walked out of the building, she ran straight into Victor and a group of interns under his supervision. He glanced at the office behind her and frowned slightly. "What are you doing here?" She replied calmly, "Someone in my band is going abroad. I came to help with the paperwork." He did not ask anything further. No matter how hard he tried, he would never imagine that the one leaving the country was her. One of the interns spoke up. "We're having a group dinner tonight. Mrs. Rothwell, come with us." "Let's go," Victor added. "We'll head home together later." They ended up at a smokehouse. The first thing Sylvia did was look at Victor. In the past, whenever she asked him to eat barbecue with her, he always refused, saying the smoke and smell were too strong. "That's strange," an intern beside them said with her arms crossed. "Why would Dr. Rothwell come to a place like this?" Another smiled with quiet certainty. "Because Rach likes it. Not just barbecue. Tacos, street stalls, anything. As long as Rach likes it, Dr. Rothwell will go with her." Sylvia lowered her eyes and gave a faint, self-mocking smile. She said nothing. After they went inside, everyone naturally arranged for Victor and Rachel to sit together. Only then did someone seem to remember Sylvia. "Oh, sorry. I forgot Mrs. Rothwell was here too," the intern said, sounding surprised. "Dr. Rothwell always sits with Rach at group dinners. You won't mind, right?" A fine, needle-like pain spread through Sylvia's chest. She shook her head, kept her composure, and took a seat across from them. From there, everything lay in plain view. Victor tied an apron around Rachel and moved with practiced ease. He remembered every one of her preferences and mixed her dipping sauce just the way she liked it. He barely touched his own food, devoting his attention to her instead. Sylvia tightened her grip on her fork and stared down at her plate, her gaze unfocused. At last, Victor seemed to notice her silence. He casually picked up some food and set it on her plate. "Eat more." She looked down. 'Sesame-coated mushrooms…' A bitter smile brushed her lips as she nudged them aside. She had been allergic to sesame since childhood. Once, it had nearly killed her. He had forgotten. For the rest of the meal, Sylvia kept her head lowered and never once looked at the people seated across from her. Then Rachel spoke. "Miss Frost, your necklace is so pretty. May I take a look?" Sylvia instinctively clutched the necklace at her chest and was about to refuse when the person beside her reached out and yanked it from her neck. "Mrs. Rothwell wouldn't be that petty," the intern said. "Rach, go ahead and look." Sylvia reached out to stop her and looked at Victor, her voice sharp with alarm. "No!" Victor frowned, displeased by her tone. "It's just a necklace. What's wrong with letting Rach see it? What did I tell you before?" How dare he bring up before. Sylvia watched him reach out to hand the necklace to Rachel and lunged to grab it back. Rachel reached out as well, as if to refuse. "Since Miss Frost doesn't want to, forget it, Dr. Rothwell…" The necklace slipped from their hands and fell straight into the charcoal grill. Grease popped, sparks leapt, and heat stung their fingers. Sylvia panicked and reached in to retrieve it. The rolling heat seared her skin. With her heightened sensitivity to pain, it felt as though her fingers were being cut off. In the past, Victor would have rushed to her side at once. Her head spun from the pain. Acting on instinct, she looked toward him. She saw him holding Rachel's reddened fingers and blowing on them gently. When Rachel looked close to tears, he took her straight to the hospital. He did not spare Sylvia, who hovered on the edge of collapse, a single glance. By the time Sylvia recovered enough to stand, the smokehouse was about to close. She asked the staff to retrieve the necklace from the grill. When she pried open the grease-smeared casing, the ashes inside were gone. They had burned away, lost to heat and smoke. Sylvia collapsed to the floor and clutched the necklace. Her raw, broken sobs echoed through the empty restaurant until her voice was completely hoarse. In this lifetime, she would never forgive Victor. Chapter 7 That night, Sylvia spiked a high fever. She drifted in a haze for two full days before her consciousness finally cleared. Victor sat by her bedside. When her eyes opened, he reached out and touched her forehead. "The fever's finally come down a bit." She stared at the ceiling, unfocused. She did not respond to anything he said. Not until he added, "Via, don't worry too much. I'll fix your voice. I promise." Her eyes shifted. She looked at him and tried to speak, but no sound came out. A burning pain tore through her throat. Panic crossed her face. Victor patted her gently. "The fever was too severe. Your throat was badly inflamed, and your vocal cords were affected. It's a minor procedure. You'll be fine." His tone was steady and reassuring. Sylvia slowly relaxed. … Three days later, Sylvia had a performance scheduled. She took an anesthetic injection and barely managed to sing through the entire set. The band had not seen her in days and insisted on going out to eat together. She declined and explained that she had surgery the next day. They were disappointed but did not push. "We can always get together later. There'll be plenty of chances." "I'm leaving," Sylvia said quietly, looking at them. "My flight's in five days." The room fell silent. After a long pause, someone finally spoke. "But Via, isn't your wedding in six days? We all got the invitations." She lowered her head. "It's not happening. Just pretend you never saw them." No one spoke after that. Everyone knew how deeply she had loved Victor. Sylvia forced a smile and lightly punched the person nearest to her. "What's with those faces? People say marriage is a grave. I'm just not jumping in anymore. Why aren't you happy?" She paused, then added softly, almost too softly to hear, "Don't worry. I won't give up singing. It's all I have left now…" Only then did they relax. "Then remember to come back and see us, Via. Don't just disappear on us…" A hand suddenly closed around her wrist. Victor's low voice sounded at her side. "Where are you going?" He had come to pick her up. Sylvia did not answer. After saying goodbye to the band, she got into the car. Only when he asked again did she speak. "I'm leaving the band." He froze for a moment and steered with one hand. "Why? You don't like it anymore?" "I don't," she replied flatly. He did not press further. "The surgery is tomorrow morning. I've arranged everything." Sylvia assumed he would be the one operating, or at least a senior attending. She did not ask. Only when she lay on the operating table, anesthetic flowing into her veins, did she realize the surgeon was Rachel. Victor stood beside her as the assistant. Sylvia cherished her voice above everything else. She would never have entrusted it to an intern. Terror surged. She tried to sit up, but the anesthetic left her body limp. Her voice came out broken and breathy. "Change… the surgeon… Not her… Victor… you do it…" Victor stroked her cheek gently. "Be good. Rach needs hands-on experience for her thesis. Her grades are the best. Don't worry. Go to sleep. It'll be over when you wake up." As his words faded, her consciousness slipped away. … When Sylvia woke again, she was back in the ward. After a few blank seconds, the memories before the surgery rushed back. She opened her mouth to speak. Only shattered, rasping fragments escaped, like air leaking from a broken bellows. She pressed a hand to her throat and tried again. Nothing changed. Her eyes reddened with panic. The door opened. Victor walked in, with Rachel close behind him. Sylvia looked at him desperately and pointed at her throat. Victor avoided her gaze for a moment before he spoke. "There were some complications during the surgery. But don't worry. I'll fix your voice." Her eyes widened, while her body went rigid, as if struck by lightning. A complication? If it were truly minor, why did he look like this? Her gaze met Rachel's by chance. Behind Victor, Rachel looked back at her with open provocation and triumph. Disbelief flashed through Sylvia. Before the photo incident, she had suspected Rachel, but she had never imagined someone would go so far as to orchestrate everything personally. Now she understood. Because of her, her mother was dead. Because of her, her voice was ruined. Rage exploded. Sylvia grabbed a decoration from the bedside and hurled it. Victor frowned and stepped sideways, pulling Rachel into his arms to shield her. "Sylvia! Have you lost your mind?!" Sylvia's fists clenched until they trembled. She glared at Rachel, hatred blazing in her eyes. "She… did it… on purpose." Victor's frown deepened. His voice turned cold. "All surgeries carry risks. What does that have to do with her? Don't start hurting people just because things didn't go your way." Sylvia froze. Slowly, she looked at him. Impatience filled his expression, as though she were simply being unreasonable. She lowered her head and let out a quiet, hollow laugh. How could she forget? Without Victor's blind faith, what power would Rachel truly have? … In the days that followed, Sylvia did not say a single word. Victor came to see her every day and repeated his promises to cure her voice. She never once looked at him. On the fourth night, a message arrived from Victor's father. It contained flight details and a transfer of money. George: [Via, take this money and live well with your mother.] She had never told him about her mother's death. She had not wanted him to worry. She replied with a single word: [Okay.] Just after she saved the message, Victor spoke from the sofa. "Via, I have something to deal with tonight. I won't be staying. The surgery is scheduled for after the wedding. We'll do it then." She did not lift her head. Ten minutes later, Rachel posted a photo of fireworks in the night sky. Victor stood beside her, watching her with a gentle expression. Sylvia's hand trembled. She opened Rachel's profile and pressed Delete. … The next day, the endless rain finally stopped. Sunlight broke through the clouds. When Sylvia reached the front of the hospital, she snapped her SIM card in half and dropped it into a trash bin. Then she stepped into the light alone and walked toward a brand-new life, one without Victor.