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.

"Beep, beep..."

In the quiet, a soft sound crept into her ears, growing clearer with each second.

Lydia's eyes snapped open. She looked around, only to realize she was in a hospital.

"Oh my goodness, Lydia! You're finally awake! I was so worried!"

She turned her head and saw Martha walking in. The moment Martha saw her awake, she lit up and immediately ran to call the doctor.

Lydia felt a tiny warmth rise in her chest-it had to be Martha who found her passed out and brought her here.

"Hang on, Lydia, the doctor's coming right now." Martha gently stroked her forehead with worry in her voice. "What happened to you, huh? I was only gone for one day!"

-Thank you, Martha.

Lydia gave her a small smile in response, not intending to explain anything.

Martha had known Lydia long enough to understand she rarely asked for help, always keeping troubles to herself. Her heart ached a little more seeing that faint smile.

"Is Miss Abbott awake?" Just then, someone opened the door with a gentle voice.

A tall young doctor stepped inside, a calm and friendly smile on his face.

"Doctor, how's Lydia doing?" Martha quickly stepped up, her voice full of concern.

"No need to worry. She's just a bit too weak and caught a chill, which led to a fever," he said kindly.

"Oh, thank goodness!" Martha finally let out a sigh of relief.

He gave a brief smile, walked over to Lydia and said, "Miss Abbott, I'm Michael Shaw, your attending physician. Feeling any better today? Let me check you over real quick."

Lydia glanced at him, nodded slightly, but didn't speak.

Most people didn't understand sign language, so when dealing with strangers, Lydia usually chose to keep silent if she could.

Michael didn't mind at all. He just smiled and started his check-up.

As he examined her, he found himself slightly surprised-this girl was far too cooperative.

Whatever he asked her to do, she did. Quiet, obedient, like a porcelain doll.

The more he observed, the more something felt off... but he decided not to comment.

After organizing the examination tools, he took out the medication. "Miss Abbott, your recovery is coming along well. We'll keep you one more night for observation, and if everything looks good, you can be discharged tomorrow. But before you're fully recovered, you still need to take your meds properly."

Lydia frowned slightly at the sight of the pills. Just the look of them made her cringe a little.

She really couldn't stand taking medicine-the bitterness lingered on her tongue forever.

She didn't expect, though, that her tiny reaction would catch Michael's sharp eyes.

He paused for a moment, then reached into his pocket. A second later, he pulled out a toffee.

She blinked, caught off guard by the candy.

Noticing her wide-eyed stare, Michael smiled faintly. "Bit of sweetness with the bitter. Be good and take your meds, okay?"

After placing the candy next to the medication, he stood up and walked out of the room.

Lydia, however, just sat there, zoning out a little.

That voice... it sounded so familiar.

Somewhere in her memories, long ago, someone with the same gentle tone had said something just like that to her...

But that was so many years ago. That person was long gone now.

Her eyes lowered slightly, a shadow of sadness flickering across her gaze.

She glanced back at the pills and the candy, hesitated a bit, then finally swallowed the medicine.

Just as Michael stepped out the door, Martha followed him quickly.

"Doctor, are you sure Lydia's going to be okay?" she asked, worried.

"Don't worry," Michael replied with a light smile. "If there were anything wrong, I wouldn't be talking about discharge."

"Oh, thank goodness! By the way, Doctor, my Lydia... she's a little different. She doesn't talk. So just now... please don't take it the wrong way."

"She doesn't talk?"

Michael paused, a bit surprised. Something clicked in the back of his mind. He instinctively turned and glanced into the room.

He saw Lydia wincing slightly as she forced down all the pills in one go. Then she quickly unwrapped the toffee, popped it in her mouth, and closed her eyes with a little satisfied smile. Her tiny feet gently swung beneath the blanket, radiating quiet joy.

Seeing that, a warmth bloomed in Michael's chest, and he couldn't help but chuckle softly.

In that moment, she reminded him of a little girl from his childhood.

A sweet, quiet girl who used to beam with delight whenever she got candy.

A girl who, just like Lydia, couldn't speak.

Realization hit him, dragging him out of the memory. His eyes turned back to Lydia with a deep and searching gaze.

After all these years...

Could it really be you?