Even now, as I recalled it, I couldn't help but shiver, and my teeth chattered involuntarily.

Footsteps hurried outside the hospital ward, and soon Jonathan and William entered. Rebecca followed behind them and stood at the foot of my bed, her eyes red-rimmed.

"Ms. Davis, I'm sorry. I didn't know where to draw the line. I'll cover all your medical expenses. I just hope you can let this go and not hold a grudge against me."

Her voice was soft and sincere, a stark contrast to the Rebecca who'd proposed that reckless bet on the cruise.

My head buzzed, and I closed my eyes to block out the ache.

To Jonathan and William, though, it seemed like I resented Rebecca.

Jonathan stood by my bed, looking down at me from his usual aloof distance. Even though I'd almost died right before his eyes, it hadn't shaken him in the slightest.

But he hadn't always been like this.

I had been ten years old when Dad had taken me to the red-light district.

He had handed me a single red rose and said gently, "Cherry, remember, whoever takes this flower, you'll go with them. Do you understand?"

I hadn't asked him why. Seeing that tenderness on his face for the first time had left me speechless.

When I hadn't responded, he had grown agitated, grabbing my arm and shaking my frail body.

It was only at that moment I had recognized the father I had known all too well. He had been an alcoholic addicted to gambling and only knew how to hurt me and Mom.

After he'd beaten Mom to death and become burdened by a child he hadn't wanted, he had planned to sell me off.

I had seen it happen to others—girls clutching red roses, waiting to be taken away by strangers. If no one had taken the flower, they would be sold straight into the district.

One by one, people had walked by, yet no one had taken the rose from my hand. Dad had grown angry and cursed me for being useless.

"I should have ended you as well!" he had spat while dragging me toward the doorway.

Just then, a boy had taken the flower from my hand. He had barely looked at me when giving instructions to the bodyguard behind him to speak with Dad.

I had watched Dad accept a thick wad of cash, bowing and scraping as he had watched us leave.

The boy had taken me to a large house and had people teach me reading, writing, and manners.

But after that day, I hadn't seen him again, not until three years later. I had grown from a skinny child to a young woman, and finally, he had shown up.

He had still worn that calm expression, but his eyes had brightened when he had seen me. That day, I had learned his name was Jonathan, and he had told me to treat him as an older brother.

And I had. For ten years, I had stayed by his side.

Jonathan had once promised he would protect me all his life, that no one would ever hurt me again.

But now, he'd forgotten those words and reserved his care for another woman. Even as I lay here after nearly having drowned, he was defending someone else.

"Cherry, Becca just had too much to drink. She got carried away in the moment. Don't hold it against her." His tone was as indifferent as ever, his lips a thin line and his gaze emotionless.

My throat was dry, and I couldn't find my voice.

Jonathan frowned slightly with a hint of annoyance in his expression. "Cherry. Don't be childish."

So, my pain was just a childish tantrum to him.

I clenched my fists hard at the realization, my nails digging into my palm painfully.

He had once told me that by doing so, my heart wouldn't hurt as much.

I wanted to tell Jonathan I wasn't throwing a tantrum. I wasn't even angry. I simply wanted us to be done with each other.

But when I tried to speak, my throat hurt and no words came out.

William lost his patience, and whatever brief guilt he had felt earlier was completely gone.

"Charlotte, Becca has already apologized. Would it kill you to say something? What, do you think you're so precious? Can't even take a little joke?"

He added, "You've been living under Jonathan's wing for over ten years, and instead of learning anything worthwhile, you've become downright spoiled."

William's words were full of disdain, and the mockery in his gaze struck like an invisible slap.

The first time I met William was at Jonathan's 18th birthday party. That day, Jonathan had brought me back to his home and introduced me to his family.

"She's part of our family now," he'd said. "As long as I'm here, I'll protect her for life."

William, who'd been engrossed in his game, looked up as soon as he heard that.

He had given me a long, measuring look, then broke into a grin. "Well, if Jonathan says so, then Cherry is my family too. I'll look out for you as well."

For a moment, everyone's gazes—some curious, some dismissive, some envious—had fallen squarely on me, and I had felt utterly lost.

Then, William tossed his phone aside and took my hand. "Come on. Let's go out and get to know each other better."

Before I could say anything, he'd bundled me into his car and driven me around the city. If Jonathan hadn't called, he might have taken me all the way to the beach.

As I had gotten out of the car, William had pinched my cheek and spoke sincerely, "Cherry, don't just stick to Jonathan. I can be a brother to you, too."

From that day on, I had lived with Jonathan, while William became a regular visitor to our home. He often took me out to play. When we'd exhausted places domestically, he had taken me abroad.

On my college graduation day, both William and Jonathan had attended the ceremony. Surrounded by admiration, I had been the center of attention.

That night, William had set off fireworks by the beach and confessed his feelings. I had felt a spark and a fleeting impulse to answer him, but a hand had clamped over my mouth.

William's smile had faded as Jonathan pulled me toward him and said, "Cherry is still young and not ready for relationships. Stay away from her, William."

William had looked down with a wounded look flickering in his eyes. I had felt a pang of sympathy, but Jonathan had held me back, as controlling me as always.

I had assumed William and I might grow distant after that night, but the next day, he had appeared as usual and invited me out. Meanwhile, Jonathan hadn't stopped him.

It had been as if nothing had changed.

That was until Rebecca returned. After that, I saw less of William, and Jonathan started staying out. The place that used to feel like home eventually became a space I occupied alone.

I licked my lips to moisten the dry, cracked skin.

"I'm not angry," I rasped.

Though it was only a few words, my throat felt like it was tearing, and my voice was hoarse and ragged.

William let out a breath, his expression softening. "Good. When you're better, I'll take you out again."

I managed a small smile and kept my expression neutral.

In truth, ever since his confession, William hadn't referred to himself as my brother, nor did he want me to treat him like one. Instead, he preferred if I called him by his nickname, Will.

He'd once told me it made him feel warm. However, the day Rebecca came back, his face had darkened in displeasure when I'd used his nickname.

"You shouldn't call me that," he'd reprimanded me.

Since then, he'd started acting like we were siblings again, and he insisted I do the same.

A suffocating ache settled in my chest. The memories were so vivid and sweet that even now, recalling them left me wistful. But there was always someone to remind me of my place.

Jonathan glanced at his watch and said in a gentler tone, "Get some rest, Cherry. Don't overthink it and just sleep. You'll feel better after that."

Would sleep really fix everything? Would a nap erase what had happened?

I nodded but didn't agree with his casual approach to "solving" this.

Jonathan left, and after staying for a while, William was also called away by work.

Soon, it was just Rebecca and me in the ward.

I was surprised she hadn't left; she usually avoided me as much as possible.

From the very first day she returned, she'd shown nothing but disdain for me. I could still recall the look on her face—haughty and filled with contempt as though she were staring at an insect.

It was the same look she wore now.

I looked away, but her voice clung to me like a shadow.

"Charlotte, you're lucky you survived that. But it's good you're alive. Now you can see with your own eyes just how foolish it is to think you could ever take my place."

Take her place? I'd never even considered it.

"You're mistaken. I've never wanted to replace you," I replied.

Rebecca scoffed. "Is that so? Then why won't you leave them? Don't tell me it's out of gratitude. Don't tell me you still think Jonathan saved you out of pity. Haven't you noticed? You look a lot like me."