Chapter 3
436words
Meanwhile, Cynthia sat beside Loki facing his parents, positioned at the center of the dining table—the place of honor reserved for the lady of the house.
"Cindy, darling, a PhD from Cambridge!" Loki's mother gushed, clutching Cynthia's hand with maternal pride. "Simply brilliant!"
In three years of marriage, she'd never once looked at me with such genuine warmth.
"I couldn't have finished my doctorate without Loki's support," Cynthia said, lowering her eyes with practiced modesty.
"My son?" His mother's eyebrows shot up. "What did he do?"
Cynthia's cheeks colored delicately. "After my family's bankruptcy, I buried myself in academics, trying to survive. When Loki confessed his feelings, I... well, I rejected him rather cruelly." She sighed dramatically. "I've always regretted that."
She shot me a pointed look when she said "cruelly."
"I never imagined he'd continue supporting me all these years, without resentment. He secretly paid my tuition—I thought it was a university scholarship until recently. Such generosity..."
So while married to me, he'd been tracking her progress, funding her education.
Those nights he was "working late" or "too busy" for me—he was checking on her thesis progress, arranging her tuition payments, monitoring her life overseas.
"That's exactly what my son should have done," his mother declared, squeezing Cynthia's hand with approval. "You can't imagine how broken he was after your rejection. Always so stubborn—nothing could change his mind about you."
Her voice hardened as she turned to me. "Alice, I understand you're responsible for Cynthia's hospitalization?"
I said nothing, my face carefully blank.
Throughout Cynthia's stay, I'd catered to her every need like a personal chef.
Her "delicate stomach" required fresh, homemade breakfast each morning. I'd drag myself out of bed at dawn to prepare meals for her and Loki. I memorized her endless dietary restrictions, double-checking ingredients like a paranoid chemist.
That day at lunch, she suddenly doubled over, clutching her stomach, cold sweat beading on her forehead.
Panicked, I rushed to her side, already reaching for my car keys to drive her to the ER.
Before I could even speak, Loki lunged forward and slapped me hard across the face.
The blow sent stars across my vision, a high-pitched ringing filling my ears.
"Did you do this deliberately?!" he roared, scooping Cynthia into his arms. "You know how fragile her system is!"
Without another glance at me, he rushed her to the hospital, leaving me standing alone in our dining room, cheek burning.
Even now, days later, a faint mark remained—carefully hidden behind a curtain of hair.
