After receiving a pain-relief infusion at the hospital, Dr. Stone once again encouraged me to trust in medicine, assuring me that chemotherapy could ease some of the discomfort. But I'm well aware of my condition and have consulted many specialists; even with chemotherapy, my illness will only grant me a slight extension of time, not a cure. Rather than confining myself to the chemo chamber all day, I'd rather spend the time I have left exploring the world.

Once back home, I started packing my clothes. I waited until midnight but heard nothing from Cassian. I sent him three texts, asking if he had a moment to talk. My messages disappeared like stones sinking into the ocean.

The next morning, Cassian returned home looking worn out and called out, "Ophelia, come down here and help me change." My stomach had been bothering me all night, but I pushed myself to go downstairs despite the discomfort.

Cassian is a neat freak. Ever since I moved in with him after college, he always insisted on having his pajamas ready when he got home and wouldn’t enter until he had changed. Seeing me empty-handed, he snapped, "Ophelia, are you deaf? Where are the pajamas?"

Still immobile, he lightly shoved me and asked, "Are you upset because I left the dinner party early yesterday? You need to understand. Scarlett is sick, and she might not have two years left. She lost her parents early, so I’m all she’s got. Can’t you be a bit more understanding?"

As soon as he finished, I felt a sting in my nose and tears began to fall. Seeing his impatience, I murmured softly, "She's sick, but have you ever cared about me? I'm sick too."

Cassian frowned and scoffed, "What illness could you possibly have? Stop imagining things."

Then, he took a jewelry box from his bag and handed it to me, saying, "This is a gift from Scarlett. She was worried you’d be upset about the dinner party."

"I told her you wouldn’t mind since you’re not petty."

I glanced up at him and slowly opened the jewelry box. Inside was a green brooch. I replied deliberately, "What a lovely color."

Cassian looked at me, handed me his phone, and said, "Call her and say thanks. Later, take her to the shops and buy a gift to reciprocate; it’s only polite."

Scarlett's brooch looked like something picked up from a bargain bin, yet Cassian expected me to respond with something worth a small fortune. After I clearly refused, Cassian burst out angrily, "Ophelia, why are you being so unreasonable? She's ill; you need to be considerate. It’s not about the money."

Right, money isn't an issue now. If it were, Scarlett wouldn’t have reconnected with him. Back in college, Scarlett turned down Cassian's advances multiple times because he was broke. He once had to live on bread rolls for a month just to save up for a luxury handbag.

Just then, Cassian's phone rang again. As he opened the door to take the call, Scarlett breezed in with her suitcase, radiantly smiling.

I noticed her healthy glow, far from the look of someone gravely ill. Even I could see it; why was Cassian so blind?

She didn’t bother taking off her shoes but sank comfortably onto the sofa and pointed at me, "Could you make me a cup of coffee? I’m parched."

I glanced at her shoes, expecting Cassian to get upset. But he just smiled and asked, "Will one cup do? How about two?"

As he finished speaking, they both looked expectantly at me. I pointed at myself and asked, "Me?"

Cassian responded coldly, "Who else? Scarlett needs more caffeine; the doctor said it boosts her energy."

I deliberately asked, "What’s her diagnosis?"

Scarlett pursed her lips and replied, "Stomach cancer."

How could she possibly have the same illness as I do? Yet, my doctor clearly advised me to avoid coffee, as it can worsen stomach issues.

The juicer at home was always well-used; even before I got sick, I'd make myself a fresh glass of veggie and fruit juice each morning after my workout. When I quickly handed Scarlett her juice, she looked displeased and asked, "How could it be ready so fast? Didn't you clean it properly?"

Despite explaining that it was spotless, Cassian insisted I make two more glasses. Hearing Scarlett's syrupy voice was enough to turn my stomach. Cassian marched over, furious, "What's wrong with you? She's not well. How can you be so heartless?"

I wanted to explain that lately, even the tiniest things made me queasy; it was just a normal physical reaction. I remembered how, in the past, Cassian would rush me to the hospital if I showed any signs of illness, even in the dead of night. Now, despite my pale lips and obvious distress, he ignored me, thinking it was just my supposed animosity towards Scarlett.

I handed Scarlett the fresh glass of juice, but her hand slipped, and the glass shattered on the floor, juice splattering everywhere. She jumped up and exclaimed, "Oh no, what's your problem? Are you making it hard for me on purpose because I'm unwell and can't hold steady?"

Her accusatory tone got under my skin, and I snapped, "Miss Webb, you're really good at pointing fingers. I held that glass perfectly still. How is it my fault?"

Scarlett then threw herself into Cassian's arms, sobbing, "I just wanted to apologize, but she yelled at me. Everyone's ganging up on me; I can't take it anymore."

Half a year ago, a colleague wrongly accused me of losing a hard drive. When Cassian heard about it, he promptly found evidence to clear my name. He once said he'd never let anyone mistreat me. I thought it would be the same this time.

Instead, he gently patted Scarlett's back to comfort her, then glared at me, "What are you standing there for? Apologize to Scarlett; you've made her cry!"

I was floored. "Apologize? Cassian, didn’t you see? The glass slipped from her hand, not mine."

As soon as I spoke, Scarlett clutched her stomach, crying out, "My stomach hurts, Cassian, I'm feeling awful."

Cassian immediately grew anxious, ready to rush her to the hospital. I grabbed his wrist, saying, "I have some painkillers; they might help with a stomachache."

To my shock, Cassian pushed me away, shouting, "Do you even know her condition? You can't just give her any medication!"

He pushed me so hard I stumbled, hitting my leg on the corner of the coffee table, blood pouring instantly. Cassian looked at me with some concern, "Are you alright? Do you need to go to the hospital?"

Cassian knew I had a fear of blood; seeing it would send me into uncontrollable shaking. But Scarlett, still clinging to him, continued to whimper, "Cassian, can you take me to the hospital first? I can't bear the pain."

Cassian looked at me for a moment and said, "I'll take her first; her situation seems urgent. Please look after yourself."

As they left, Scarlett's eyes gleamed with a triumphant smile. But watching her rosy complexion, not a drop of sweat on her forehead, she hardly seemed like someone suffering from stomach cancer. Over the past months, when stomach pains hit me, I’d go ghostly pale, drenched in sweat.