Chapter 6
After being caught in the rain all night and getting hit by a scooter, Cynthia’s body gave in completely. She collapsed into bed and burned with a high fever that lasted the entire day,
Even after taking several fever reducers, her temperature refused to drop. Her limbs ached, every joint heavy and sore, her
strength all but gone.
Her throat was dry and raw, every breath scraping like blades.
For some reason, her mind wandered back to the past-to the time when Alexander used to make her honey lemon tea whenever she caught a cold. One glass down her throat, and everything would feel better-the scratchy ache, the fatigue,
even her mood.
The memory made her lips twitch slightly, and she instinctively licked her dry lips.
Driven by that faint craving, she pushed herself upright and stumbled out of bed, swaying as she made her way
downstairs to the kitchen.
The kitchen was fully stocked.
She pulled out a few lemons and placed them on the chopping board. Everything was ready, but she suddenly froze.
She didn’t actually know what to do next. Alexander had taken such good care of her all these years that she’d never even needed to make a cup of tea for herself.
But the taste of that sweet tea lived vividly in her memory, and the yearning tugged at her like a thread.
So, step by shaky step, she tried to recreate what she remembered. Her movements were slow, clumsy-like a sloth moving through molasses. The fever made her vision blurry and her hands unsteady.
More than once, the knife slipped. Bright red welts bloomed across her pale fingertips.
But she didn’t flinch. As if she couldn’t feel it at all.
She just calmly found a box of band-aids, wrapped her fingers, and quietly continued.
The noise in the kitchen caught Alexander’s attention. He walked in and stopped in the doorway, taking in the scene.
“What’s wrong with you? Are you running a fever?” he asked, frowning as he stepped closer, reaching out to check her
flushed face.
“I’m fine,” Cynthia said, turning her head to avoid his hand. “I just… felt like making some honey lemon tea.”
Alexander’s expression darkened as he caught sight of her bandaged hands.
“I’ll make it for you,” he said, reaching for the knife in her hand.
But she stepped back
They stood there in silence for a moment, both refusing to let go.
From upstairs, Morinne’s voice suddenly echoed through the hall. “Alext”
Cynthia looked at him, her voice quiet. “Ms. Ayla needs you. Go. I can handle this myself.”
She slipped free of his grasp and slowly placed the lemon slices in the boiled water, then turned and walked away.
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As he watched her frail figure retreat up the stairs, Alexander was gripped by one overwhelming thought-She didn’t need
him anymore.
When the tea was finished, he poured a glass and placed it gently outside her door, knocking once before walking away.
Not long after, the sound of suitcase wheels dragging across the floor echoed through the house.
He and Morinne were leaving.
Cynthia didn’t care where they went. She finished the tea, then lay back in bed.
But this time… it didn’t feel the same.
The honey lemon tea she had made with her own hands didn’t hold the same warmth, the same comfort.
And for the first time, she realized-The things she had once depended on so deeply… weren’t as irreplaceable as she’d
thought.
Not him. Not the memories. Not the feeling.
During the next few days of recovery, she received a steady stream of messages from Morinne-each one a new photo, a
new declaration of love.
In every picture, Alexander looked like a man utterly transformed. His usual cold gaze was replaced by something gentler,
softer.
They went skiing together, hiking together, strolled through Gold Rush towns, watched sunrises and sunsets.
In every photo, they were holding hands tightly, smiling at each other like they were the only two people in the world. Sometimes they were locked in an embrace. Other times, caught in mid-kiss.
Cynthia didn’t know what Morinne hoped to achieve by sending her those photos.
She didn’t reply.
She had other things to focus on. She began preparing for her departure.
She carefully calculated every dollar Alexander had ever spent on her over the past ten years. Then she sold part of the inheritance her parents had left behind and deposited the exact amount into a bank account-one without a password.
Once everything was arranged, she quietly placed the card inside the drawer in Alexander’s study.
Just as she turned to leave, he walked in-and caught her.
“What were you doing in my study?” he asked.
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