Claire woke up to the smell of antiseptic.

The hospital room was private, expensive, and empty. She was alone. Her body ached, a dull, throbbing pain that seemed to radiate from her very bones.

A nurse came in, her expression a mixture of pity and disapproval.

"You're awake. You've been out for a full day. Honestly, donating that much blood when you're already anemic... what were you thinking?"

Claire just offered a weak smile. What was there to say?

The nurse sighed, fluffing her pillow. "You're lucky. You can be discharged this afternoon. Your husband paid for everything."

As the nurse left, Claire overheard her talking to a colleague in the hallway.

"Can you believe it? She collapses from donating blood for his ex, and he hasn't even come to see her once."

"I know! He's been in Ms. Foreman's room the whole time. He's so devoted to her. I wish I had a man who loved me that much."

"Yeah, but his poor wife... she just lies in there all alone."

The voices faded. Claire stared out the window, watching a lone bird fly across the grey sky.

Afternoon came and went. Cameron never appeared.

Feeling dizzy, Claire checked herself out of the hospital. She had to walk past Cassandra's room to get to the elevator.

The door was slightly ajar.

She saw him. Cameron was sitting by Cassandra' s bed, holding her hand, his expression softer and more tender than she had ever seen it. He was peeling an apple for her, his movements careful and precise. He didn't even glance toward the hallway. He didn't know she was there. He hadn't asked.

The sight was a familiar kind of pain. She turned and walked away.

The house was cold and empty. It felt less like a home and more like a museum of a life she was never really a part of.

She tried to make herself a cup of tea, but her hands were trembling too much. The porcelain cup slipped from her grasp and shattered on the marble floor.

The sound broke something inside her. A single, hot tear rolled down her cheek. Then another.

She knelt to pick up the pieces, and a sharp edge sliced her finger. The bright red blood welled up, a stark contrast to her pale skin.

"Jessie," she whispered, the name a painful sob. "I'm so tired."

She remembered how Jessie would always scold her for being clumsy, how he would gently take things from her hands and do them himself, his touch always so warm.

After cleaning up the mess, she stood up, taking a deep breath. Almost there, Claire. Just a little longer.

"What are you crying about now?"

The cold voice made her jump. Cameron stood in the doorway, his arms crossed, his face a mask of irritation.

"Putting on a show for me? Donating blood, fainting, now this? Do you ever get tired of these pathetic games?"

She opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off.

"I don't care, Claire. I've told you a thousand times. I will never have feelings for you."

She fell silent, her gaze dropping to the floor. It was easier this way.

Her silence seemed to annoy him even more. A muscle twitched in his jaw.

"Why didn't you call the maid to clean this up?" he snapped, but then he did something that stunned her. He strode forward, scooped her into his arms, and carried her upstairs.

His touch was rough, but his voice, when he spoke again, was softer.

"You're an idiot. You should be resting."

Claire was too confused to struggle. He laid her on the bed in her room, a room he had never once entered in ten years.

She looked at his profile, so painfully similar to Jessie's. The same strong jaw, the same dark hair.

Without thinking, she reached out and grabbed his wrist.

"Stay," she whispered, her voice small and weak. "Please. Just for tonight."

He froze, misinterpreting her plea. A flicker of something-was it temptation?-crossed his face before it was replaced by his usual cold mask.

Just then, his phone rang, the shrill tone shattering the moment.

He answered. It was Cassandra. Her voice, weak and fragile, drifted from the speaker.

"Cam... I'm scared. Can you come back?"

Cameron looked at Claire, a brief, fleeting moment of hesitation in his eyes.

Claire saw it. She understood. She let go of his wrist.

"Go," she said, her voice flat. "She needs you."

He seemed almost relieved. He reached out, his fingers brushing against her hair in a startlingly gentle gesture.

"I'll be back later," he promised.

Then he turned and walked out of the room without a second glance.

He didn't come back.

Cameron returned the next afternoon.

He wasn't alone.

Claire came downstairs to find Cassandra Foreman curled up on the sofa, wrapped in a cashmere blanket, looking pale and fragile.

"Claire," Cassandra said, her voice a sweet, innocent whisper. "I hope you don't mind. The doctor said I need someone to look after me, and Cameron insisted I stay here."

Claire knew it was a lie. Cameron would never "insist" on something so troublesome. This was Cassandra's own doing.

"I don't mind," Claire said quietly.

Cameron came down the stairs then, adjusting the blanket around Cassandra' s shoulders with a tenderness that made Claire' s stomach clench.

"Claire," he said, not looking at her. "Cassandra needs to rest. You can take care of her."

It wasn't a request. It was an order.

Cassandra smiled sweetly. "Oh, I couldn't possibly impose. I'm sure Claire is still weak from... everything."

"She's fine," Cameron said, his tone dismissive. "She's got nothing better to do anyway."

The words were a casual gut punch. He saw her as nothing more than a servant, a convenience.

Claire bit her lip, tasting blood. She nodded silently.

"I'm a little hungry," Cassandra said, looking up at Claire with wide, innocent eyes. "Could you make me some porridge? The kind you make for Cameron. He says it's his favorite."

Claire' s hands clenched into fists. She had never cooked for anyone but Jessie and, by extension, Cameron. She was an artist, a painter. She had been coddled and cared for her entire life.

She wanted to say no. She wanted to scream.

But then she felt Cameron's eyes on her, cold and warning.

She unclenched her fists and turned toward the kitchen without a word.

It took her half an hour to make the porridge. When she brought it out, Cameron was gone, having taken a work call in his study.

Cassandra was alone in the living room. The sweet, fragile mask was gone. Her eyes were sharp and mocking.

"You really are a pathetic dog, you know that?" she sneered. "Ten years, and he still treats you like dirt."

Claire set the bowl on the coffee table.

Cassandra wrinkled her nose in disgust. "This is too hot. I can't eat it. Make it again."

Claire hesitated. She took the bowl, intending to go back to the kitchen.

Suddenly, Cassandra grabbed the bowl from her hands and deliberately poured the hot porridge all over her own arm.

She let out a piercing shriek.

"Ahh! It burns!"

Cameron burst out of his study, his face dark with fury. He saw Cassandra clutching her red, scalded arm and Claire standing over her with the empty bowl.

He didn't ask what happened. He lunged forward and grabbed Claire' s wrist, his grip like a vise.

"What the hell did you do?" he roared.

Cassandra was already crying, her voice choked with fake tears. "It's not her fault, Cam! I just said it was a little hot... I didn't mean to make her angry."

"I didn't-" Claire started, but Cameron was already shaking her, his eyes blazing.

"Shut up! I warned you. I warned you not to touch her."

He threw her hand away from him with such force that she stumbled backward, hitting the wall. The impact jarred her teeth.

He carefully lifted Cassandra into his arms, his voice softening. "It's okay. I'll get a doctor."

As he carried her away, Cassandra looked over his shoulder at Claire. Her lips curved into a triumphant, vicious smile.

Claire slid down the wall, her body trembling. The fight drained out of her, leaving only a vast, hollow exhaustion.

She wrapped her arms around her knees, making herself small.

"Jessie," she whispered into the silence. "Please... come and get me."

Claire slept on the floor in the living room.

When she woke up, the house was empty. Cameron and Cassandra were gone. A dull ache had settled deep in her bones.

Today was the anniversary of Jessie's death.

She drove to the cemetery, a small bouquet of white lilies on the passenger seat.

The black marble headstone was cool to the touch. His picture smiled back at her, forever young, forever gentle. She traced the outline of his face, her fingertips trembling.

"Just one more day, my love," she whispered. "This is the last time I'll have to visit you like this. Tomorrow, we'll be together."

She stayed there until the afternoon sun began to dip below the horizon.

Her phone buzzed. A text from Cameron.

Get to the film set. Now.

He didn't even say why. She knew better than to ask.

When she arrived, she understood. Cassandra' s stunt double hadn't shown up. And Cassandra, ever the delicate flower, refused to do her own stunts.

Especially not the one they were filming today.

The scene required her to be submerged in a freezing lake.

"The light is fading!" the director yelled, impatient.

Claire had no choice. She was already weak, her body still recovering. The moment the icy water closed over her, a violent shiver wracked her body.

"Cut!" Cassandra called out from her heated chair on the shore. "That wasn't right. Your expression was off. Let's do it again."

Again and again, she found fault. Again and again, Claire was forced under the frigid water.

Her lips turned blue. Her body shook uncontrollably.

Finally, after the tenth take, Cassandra seemed satisfied.

Two crew members had to pull Claire out of the water. She couldn't feel her legs.

Cassandra walked over to Cameron, linking her arm through his. "Thank you for letting Claire help, Cam. She was wonderful."

Cameron glanced at Claire, who was shivering under a thin towel. His expression was unreadable. "It's what she's supposed to do."

"Oh!" Cassandra chirped, a new idea sparkling in her eyes. "I just remembered! I wanted to go to the temple on the mountain to pray for my health to return. They say to be sincere, you must kowtow with every step up the thousand stairs."

Mark and Leo, who were also on set, exchanged looks of disbelief.

"Cassandra, that's insane," Mark said. "Cam just had a check-up. His doctors said he needs to avoid strenuous activity. His lungs can't take it."

Cassandra's eyes filled with tears. "I... I just wanted to pray for us. I didn't mean to be a burden."

"You're not a burden," Leo snapped. "You're a menace. Ever since you came back, all you've done is cause trouble for him and for Claire."

The tears spilled over. "I'm sorry..."

Cameron wrapped his arm around her, glaring at his friends. "That' s enough. If she wants to pray, I'll take her."

He was resolute. His friends fell silent under his glower.

At the foot of the mountain, Cassandra made a show of getting ready to kneel. "I'll do it myself, Cam. You shouldn't strain yourself."

"No," he said, stopping her. And then he knelt on the cold stone, his expensive suit trousers grinding into the dirt. He bowed his head to the ground.

Claire watched him, a strange mix of emotions swirling inside her. He could be so cruel, yet his devotion to Cassandra was absolute.

He completed the first set of nine steps, his breathing already becoming labored.

Before he could continue, Claire stepped in front of him.

"Stop."

He looked up, his eyes hard. "Get out of my way."

"You can't do this," she said, her voice firm. "Your heart... your lungs. Jessie wouldn't want this."

The mention of his brother's name made him flinch.

Claire turned to Cassandra, her own eyes cold for once. "I'll do it for you."

Under the watchful eyes of Cameron's friends, Cassandra had no choice but to agree.

Claire pulled Cameron to his feet and took his place on the cold stone.

One step. One bow.

Her knees screamed in protest. Her head spun. The world was a blur of stone steps and grey sky.

The entire mountain path fell silent. The only sound was the rustle of her clothes against the stone.

Cameron stood frozen at the bottom, watching her thin, trembling back as she made her slow, arduous journey.

He felt a sharp, stabbing pain in his own chest, right where his brother' s lung resided. It was a phantom pain, fierce and suffocating.

He pressed a hand to his heart, trying to breathe.

It' s just a reflex, he told himself. It means nothing.

He could not possibly care about this woman. He couldn't.