"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?

At night, although Lydia's fever had subsided, her body started heating up again.

In that hazy state between sleep and wakefulness, she vaguely sensed someone pushing the door open and stepping into the room, staring at her.

She struggled to open her eyes, trying to see who it was-but no matter how hard she tried, their face stayed blurry.

People always think too much when they're sick.

Once again, Lydia recalled how strangely Henry had behaved that night. The frustration welled up in her chest, and she couldn't help thinking about her long-deceased parents. Almost unconsciously, she started mumbling their names.

Completely unaware that the very person on her mind was now standing right by the bed.

Henry stood there, towering, cold as ice. His gaze bore down on Lydia, whose cheeks were tinted with an unhealthy flush.

His expression was tight, one hand buried in his pocket, the other gripping his cane a little too hard.

Ever since the day he almost lost control in front of Lydia, he'd done his best to avoid thinking about her. Even when he found out she was hospitalized with a fever, he bit it down and stayed away.

If she hadn't insisted on taking in that stray dog and dragging it out for walks come rain or shine, none of this would've happened.

Again and again, he reminded himself: she brought this on herself.

And yet... he still couldn't stop that quiet, lingering worry deep inside.

So in the end, here he was, slipping into her room for a quick look.

But now, seeing her tangled in feverish murmurs, his chest tightened for a second.

He knew she couldn't speak, but he still tilted forward slightly, eyes fixed on the way her lips moved.

Just as Henry leaned closer, his expression shifted-his face darkening, jaw tightening, eyes flashing with barely restrained fury.

She was mumbling something, voice hoarse and weak. "Dad...?"

His body tensed. For a moment, he froze. Then, without thinking, he grabbed her wrist and gave it a sharp shake.

"Lydia. Wake up."

No response.

He bent closer, voice low and cold. "I said wake up."

Still nothing.

His patience snapped. Without a word, he crossed the room and yanked the curtains wide open.

Sunlight slashed into the room like a blade-sharp, white, and merciless.

Lydia flinched.

A second later, she gasped awake, blinking against the sudden light, breath shallow. "Ah...!"

She struggled to sit up, confused and weak. "Cough-cough..."

Her eyes finally found him, Henry, his silhouette framed by the harsh daylight pouring in behind him.

His expression was unreadable. Cold. Still.

"You-why are you here?" her voice cracked.

"Why can't I be?" he said, voice low. "Still dreaming of your killer dad, huh? Even in your sleep?"

His words hit her like a punch to the gut, sharp and cruel.

With her lips trembling, Lydia tried to fight back, tears burning in her eyes.

"What's that supposed to mean? Yeah, he caused a tragedy, but he's still my dad. Why can't I remember him?!"

She should've been used to Henry's constant sarcasm by now, but no matter how many times it happened, she never saw it coming.

"You really forgot, didn't you?" His voice deepened, clenched with rage. "My dad died in this damn hospital ten years ago. And I lost my leg here too-ten years ago! And you think you have any right to sit here and mourn your killer father in the same place?"

His voice shook with fury, his breath unsteady.

Her tears broke free instantly, spilling down like a snapped string of pearls.

Of course she remembered.

Ten years ago, her parents had both died in this hospital too-on the same day.

That was the day everything in her life started to fall apart.

She wasn't even allowed to mourn them openly. Not with Henry around. She had to hide. To stay quiet. To go somewhere else just to light a candle.

And still, it wasn't enough for him. What more did he want from her?

Grief crashed over her like a wave, stealing her breath. Then, something inside her broke.

"If you really hate me that much..." she whispered, voice ragged. "Then just kill me already! Do it! At least then it'll be over!"

Henry's eyes flared. His jaw tightened. He stepped forward and his hand rose instinctively...

But stopped mid-air.

She stared up at him, tear-soaked, defiant.

His hand dropped.

He turned his face away, breathing hard.

"Don't tempt me," he said hoarsely. "You don't know how close I am."