Chapter 2 

Maisy never thought Patrick would go this far for Melinda. Just to chase after her, he was willing to hurt his own wife. 

Pain stabbed through her, and before she could get a word out, everything went black. 

She woke up to a sharp, throbbing ache at the back of her head. Blinking hard, she stared up at an unfamiliar ceiling, completely lost for a moment–where was she? What day was it? 

“Mrs. Huffman, you’re awake.” 

A cool, distant voice drifted over. 

Maisy turned her head and saw Melinda standing at her bedside, holding a first–aid kit. She wore a plain white T–shirt and jeans, her hair pulled up in a high ponytail. No makeup, but she looked young and fresh, almost stubbornly alive. 

“I’m your nurse. Melinda.” Her face was calm, but her words were clipped, almost cold. “I’ve moved in, but please keep Mr. Huffman in line. If he tries anything again, I’m gone.” 

A sharp pain sliced through Maisy’s chest. 

How ridiculous. The girl had moved into her home, and now Maisy–the wife–was the one being told to “control her husband.” 

“I want another nurse,” Maisy croaked. 

Melinda ignored her, pulling a syringe from the kit. “I’m giving you an anti–inflammatory shot.” 

The first try missed the vein. 

The second jab left an angry, swollen bump on Maisy’s hand. 

The third drew blood, red and sudden. 

“If you can’t do it, get someone else,” Maisy gasped, her voice shaking. 

Melinda’s eyes reddened. She bit back, “What’s that supposed to mean? If my grandma weren’t sick, you think I’d be here?” 

She reached for Maisy’s hand again. This time, the needle scraped hard against her skin, and blood trickled down her wrist. 

Maisy couldn’t take it anymore. She shoved Melinda away, her voice breaking. “Stop! Don’t touch me!” 

Melinda staggered back, knocking a tray of medicine to the floor. Glass shattered everywhere. 

The door burst open. Patrick strode in, eyes darting between them before locking onto Melinda, who was sitting dazed on the floor, eyes red and face blotchy. 

“No one wants me here. I might as well leave!” Melinda scrambled up, heading straight for the 

1/2 

Chapter 2 

door. 

Patrick grabbed her arm. “Who said that?” 

Melinda jerked her arm free. “Your wife! I tried to give her a shot and she pushed me! I’m just not that good at this yet. I’ve told you beforehand.” 

Patrick glanced at Maisy’s swollen, bruised hand. For a split second, guilt flickered in his eyes, but when he turned to Melinda, his face softened, almost pleading. 

“What do you need to stay?” he asked quietly. 

Melinda lifted her chin. “I hate how you rich people always act so superior. I want her to apologize.” 

Patrick turned to Maisy, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Apologize.” 

Maisy stared at him, stunned. “She did this to me and I’m supposed to apologize?” 

Patrick’s eyes went cold. “If you won’t do it, think about your parents‘ company.” 

Maisy felt icy all over. “You’re threatening me? For her?” 

“It’s just an apology, Maisy,” Patrick snapped, his patience gone. “It won’t kill you. Or do you want your parents‘ company to go broke?” 

It hurt like getting stabbed a hundred times over. Maisy bit down on her lip so hard she tasted 

blood. 

Seeing the way Patrick’s face grew colder by the second, she realized he was deadly serious. Shaking, she forced herself up out of bed, swallowing her pride. She bowed deeply to Melinda and whispered, “I’m sorry.” 

Melinda frowned. “That’s it? Is that how rich people apologize? So quiet?” 

Maisy dug her nails into her palm, bent again, and said louder, “I’m sorry! Is that good enough?” 

Melinda finally gave a reluctant nod. Only then did Patrick’s face relax. He carefully led Melinda out, fussing over her as they left. 

Maisy couldn’t hold herself up anymore. She slid to the floor, silent tears her face. 

her pillow, she pulled out a faded love letter, hands trembling as she struck a 

As the flames ate away at the ninety–sixth letter, she remembered sixteen–year–old Patrick, standing under the cherry blossoms at university, shyly pressing the note into her hand. His ears had been bright red. “Maisy, will you be with me? I’ll treat you right for the rest of my life.” 

Just as the last edge of paper curled into ash, the door swung open. 

“What are you burning?”