Drawn by the sudden noise, Martha Warren stepped out of the kitchen and froze when she saw Lydia collapse just inside the door, soaked and shaking.

"Lydia!" she rushed over, kneeling beside her. "What on earth happened to you?"

Lydia turned her head and saw Martha hurrying over, her face filled with worry as she reached out to support her.

Martha wasn't just a fellow worker at Halcyon Estate; she had helped raise Henry Lawson since he was a kid and was the only one who never looked down on Lydia-always treated her kindly.

"I'm fine," Lydia forced a small smile she hoped would be enough to ease Martha's worry.

Martha helped her to the sofa, fetched a towel, and gently patted her face dry.

She glanced at Lydia with quiet concern as she spoke. "You should be taking better care of yourself," she said softly. "Henry's been in a foul mood all day. Likely his leg acting up again with the weather turning."

Lydia lowered her eyes but said nothing.

Martha hesitated, then added, "If you're thinking of checking on him... maybe bring the medicine. Just-look after yourself, too."

Lydia gave a small nod, but her mind was already elsewhere.

Thinking back to the disgusted look on his face earlier that day, Lydia felt like she couldn't breathe.

Still, Lydia lifted her hands and signed, "I will. Thank you, Martha."

Martha didn't press her any further. She simply rested a hand on Lydia's arm, then turned and walked away.

After kneeling outside all night, being broken twice by Henry, and then losing the puppy... she'd cried until her body simply gave out.

The moment she got back to her room, she collapsed on her bed and passed out.

Later that night, Lydia sat up with a sudden shiver.

Her head was spinning, her throat was bone dry, and she had a bad feeling-yep, definitely catching something.

She was just about to look for cold medicine when she heard a car.

She paused, peeked outside, and saw Henry walking in through the snow.

She glanced at his leg and noticed the crutch. He only used that when the pain flared up.

So Martha had been right and this might really be a chance to calm things down between them.

In the end, she picked up the first-aid kit and headed to Henry's door.

She hesitated for a moment, then raised her hand and knocked.

Knock knock-

"Come in."

His voice came through, cold and clipped.

Lydia took a deep breath, turned the doorknob, and walked in.

The moment she stepped inside, her eyes widened in shock, and she nearly tripped.

Under the dim light, she spotted a leg lying on the floor. It was Henry's prosthetic.

A cold, mocking laugh rang out.

She turned her head and saw Henry wheeling himself toward her.

"What are you doing here?" His tone was dark, unreadable.

Trying not to look at the prosthetic again, she swallowed the nervous lump in her throat and held up the kit in her hands.

"The weather's been rough lately... thought your leg might be acting up, so I brought some stuff to help."

Henry gave her a long, hard look, then silently turned the wheelchair and rolled further into the room.

He didn't give a clear answer, leaving Lydia standing there awkwardly.

"You think just standing there's gonna fix it?" His voice snapped from inside, not too happy.

Lydia let out a breath of relief, then quickly followed him with the kit.

He was already half-seated on the bed, lifting his pant leg to expose the stump.

Over the years, his injury had always been off limits. Even Lydia, after almost a decade around him, had only caught a glimpse now and then.

And now, just like that, he was showing her, no guard whatsoever. The scarred, violent-looking wound lay bare before her.

One glance and Lydia's heart clutched tight. Eyes stinging slightly, she bit her lip.

She knew the cold and damp made it worse for him, but he never showed it. She hadn't realized his leg would swell this badly in rainy weather.

It must have hurt like hell all these years.

Quietly crouching down, Lydia's fingers trembled as she pulled out the medicine and began carefully applying it to the swollen skin.

Henry stared down at her, her pretty profile lit softly beneath the room's glow.

Her light, cautious touch, even the slight shake in her hand, made something stir faintly inside him.

The gentle graze of her fingers sent a strange, unfamiliar heat rising in his chest.

Right then, Lydia's hand slipped, pressing a bit too hard on his wound.

Henry sucked in a sharp breath.

Startled, Lydia pulled her hand back, the cotton swab dropping to the floor.

She bit her lip and looked up. Henry's face had gone dark.

Panic rose in her chest. She took a step back.

-I'm sorry...

Seeing her flustered only deepened the cold in his eyes.

Without warning, he grabbed her wrist and yanked her forward. Her balance shifted, and she stumbled right into him.

Before she could react, his fingers were at her chin, forcing her to look up.

"Scared?" he asked, voice low and unreadable.

She froze, then slowly nodded.

Of course she was scared. She hadn't meant to hurt him. She was just trying to help. But she'd made it worse-again.

Then it hit her-he might've misunderstood her reaction.

Her face paled. She shook her head quickly and signed, hands trembling.

-I didn't mean it like that. I was just startled...

Henry stared at her, eyes narrowed.

"Startled?" he echoed. "Or guilty?"

Lydia looked confused.

He let out a cold laugh. "You forgot, didn't you? Who's responsible for this busted leg of mine?"

His tone turned venomous, and Lydia's stomach twisted.

She raised her hands again, desperate.

-That's not what I meant. Please... don't twist it like that.

"Oh?" he said, stepping closer. "Then what did you mean? Coming into my room in the middle of the night... hoping for what, exactly?"

His gaze flicked over her-not lewd, but sharp. Accusing.

Lydia's eyes widened, stung by the implication.

"Henry, how could you think that of me? I just wanted to treat your wound..."

"Treat me?" His voice was bitter now. "You already hurt me years ago. You and your damn family-"

He cut himself off, jaw clenched.

Lydia stood frozen, her breath shallow.

Henry looked at her again, and something unfamiliar flickered in his eyes-pain, sharp and buried, with a flicker of vulnerability he couldn't quite hide.

"You should stop looking at me," he muttered. "Like I'm some broken thing you can fix."

That hit harder than any shout.

Lydia's lip trembled. Her hands lifted again.

-I wasn't trying to fix you. I just didn't want you to be in pain.

He stared at her for a long moment, then suddenly turned away.

"Get out."

She didn't move.

His voice dropped-tight, restrained.

"Go. Before I forget what little control I've got left."

That time, she listened.

She bent down, picked up the discarded kit with trembling fingers, and walked out without another word.

The door clicked shut behind her.

For a while, Henry stared at the slammed door in silence, then wheeled himself into the bathroom.

But he couldn't get the image out of his head-how gently she had been tending to his wound just moments ago.

Damn it. He was losing control. For a moment... he'd wanted to believe her.

Sitting in the tub, his eyes bored into his twisted, useless leg. He shut his eyes tight, pain twisting his face.

Bang-

He clenched his fist and slammed it against the wall. The next second, icy water poured over him, washing away the chaos in his mind.

...

By the time he came out of the bathroom, he looked composed again, like nothing had happened.

Just then, his phone rang.

It was his mother, Helen Bailey.

He frowned. She'd been acting weird ever since that accident ten years ago. And after he took over the company, they'd pretty much avoided speaking unless necessary.

Yet lately, she couldn't seem to stop calling-mostly about Clara.

He hesitated, then finally picked up.

"Henry, what's going on with you? I've been calling you for the past two days and you've just been ignoring me!" Helen's questioning tone hit the moment the call connected.

"Something you need?" Henry said coolly.

Helen paused, visibly irritated, before trying to keep her voice level. "You met with Clara, didn't you? Her dad's a professor at Seaview University's research institute, and he's organizing the city's science competition. They're looking for investors now. Anyway, since you and Clara are supposed to be engaged, and you're thinking of getting into the research field, isn't this the perfect chance? You should talk to Professor Spencer when you've got time, discuss a possible collaboration."

Henry's brows drew together slightly.

The only reason he met Clara last night was because Helen had insisted. It was all her plan.

"Got it," Henry said, lighting a cigarette.

He didn't like Clara, not even close-but the research project? That did pique his interest.

"Good, Clara really-"

"I've got work to do. If that's it, I'm hanging up," Henry cut in, clearly annoyed.

And without waiting for a response, he ended the call.

-

Meanwhile, hidden inside a small utility room next door to Henry's place-

Lydia had changed into her pajamas. She was curled up on the bed, hugging her knees.

The scene from just now kept replaying in her mind, making her eyes sting.

Henry had always been unpredictable towards her-sometimes warm, sometimes distant-but today? This was a whole new level.

She had just gone to check on him, that's all, and he acted like she had done something unforgivable.

That quiet feeling she'd carefully buried deep inside her heart-it felt like a joke now.

To him, she was nothing more than a toy, something to pass the time with.

But why?

Because her father was responsible for that accident? Because she was the killer's daughter?

But she was a victim too, wasn't she?

Her life hadn't always been like this.

She used to have loving parents-yes, her mother was often sick, always in and out of the hospital-but she'd braid her hair, tell her silly stories, sing lullabies.

Her dad was busy with work, but he'd always make it home for dinner. They had those warm, simple dinners together every night.

Until that day.

She watched with her own eyes as her mom stopped breathing... and her dad, soaked in blood, was rushed into the ER.

That day, both her parents died, in the same hospital, just hours apart.

It felt like the world just shut the door on her.

She was left completely alone.

She thought her life was over right then.

Until Henry appeared-cool, aloof, sitting in a wheelchair, looking down at her and saying, "I'll take you home."

Back then, she'd thought he was her salvation.

But no-he was the beginning of all the pain that followed.

He was the one who whispered poison in her ear day after day, making sure she never forgot-she was a criminal's daughter, not worthy of peace.

Her whole existence, according to him, was meant to atone.

Image after image flashed through her head like a slideshow.

Lydia scrunched up her brows, overwhelmed, as silent tears spilled down her cheeks.

The hellish night before, the cruel things Henry said-she couldn't take it anymore.

Hugging herself tighter, her body burning up, Lydia finally gave in to the darkness.