A Homeward Path Unknown

: Less Important Than a Nightmare

The next day, I woke up in a wave of sharp pain.

The immense grief and emotional shock had triggered acute stomach spasms. The pain was so intense I curled into a ball, my pajamas soaked through with cold sweat.

I struggled to reach for the phone on the nightstand, but I didn't even have the strength to lift my arm.

Just as my consciousness began to fade, the bedroom door opened. Silas Vaughn walked in carrying breakfast. When he saw the state I was in, his expression changed, and he immediately rushed over.

"Zara! What's wrong with you?"

He quickly called the family doctor. After a flurry of activity, I finally started to feel a bit better, lying weakly in bed with an IV drip.

Silas sat by the bed, dabbing my chapped lips with a water-soaked cotton swab, his eyes filled with worry and self-reproach.

"This is all my fault. I should have realized you weren't feeling well sooner."

Looking at his concerned expression, I found it all incredibly ironic.

'If it weren't for him, would I be in this state?'

Just then, his phone rang.

He glanced at the caller ID, and his previously grave expression instantly softened. He walked out to the balcony to take the call.

Even through the glass door, Nina Sterling's cloyingly sweet voice came through clearly.

"Silas, I had a nightmare last night. My chest feels so tight now. Can you come over and keep me company?"

I saw Silas's body tense up immediately, his tone filled with unconcealed anxiety:

"A nightmare? Are you feeling unwell anywhere? Wait for me, I'm coming over right now."

After hanging up, he walked back into the room, grabbed the suit jacket draped over the back of a chair, and said to me as he put it on:

"Zara, something's come up at the office. I have to go."

"You get some rest. Call me anytime if you need anything."

I watched him, my hand with the IV clenching so hard that blood backed up into the tube, sending a sharp sting through the needle site.

"I..." I had just started to speak when I realized how hoarse my voice was.

He was already at the door, his steps not faltering in the slightest. He just glanced back and offered a distracted platitude.

"Be good."

The door closed.

The only sound left in the room was the drip of fluid from the IV tube.

'His Nina Sterling has one little nightmare, and he acts like it's a major crisis, rushing over immediately.'

'And me? His fiancée who just lost both parents and is sick in bed? In his eyes, I'm less important than her dream.'

In the afternoon, I pulled out the IV needle, changed my clothes, and prepared to go to my small ancient-painting restoration studio for a while.

My beloved scrolls were there; they could help me forget the pain, at least for a little while.

Just as I got downstairs, I saw a pink sports car parked at the entrance. Nina Sterling got out, followed by a few of her socialite friends.

When she saw me, her face feigned surprise and concern:

"Zara, you look so pale!"

"Silas said you were sick, so I came especially to see you."

One of the socialites behind her, a woman with short hair, sneered.

"Nina, you're just too kind. What's there to see? She's just an orphan who jinxed her own parents to death."

Another chimed in, "Exactly!"

"If she hadn't shamelessly latched onto President Vaughn, he would have been with you long ago."

"What a shameless woman."

Those words were like daggers, each one sharper than the last, stabbing deep into my heart.

In the past, I would have endured all of this for Silas Vaughn's sake.

But now that I knew the truth, every word they said felt like it was mocking my stupidity.

I clenched my fists, my nails digging deep into my palms.

"Shut up." My voice was ice-cold, devoid of any warmth.