Peter frowned, his expression a show of resistance and he gently pushed her back, as if trying to maintain some professional decorum. But it was all undone by the indulgence in his eyes, a fondness so blatant it drowned his weak refusal.
“Millie,” he said softly, as if justifying himself, “I am a doctor. Whatever Gia may have done, I must ensure she delivers safely. After that…” He trailed off, his gaze meeting hers. “After that, you’ll get what you want. Just wait a little longer.”
Millie’s face darkened, the anger sparking in her eyes barely concealed as she buried herself in his chest. Yet, in her calculated way, she soon pulled back and left a deep red mark on the side of his neck, a brazen claim of possession for anyone who cared to look.
Peter’s expression changed as he looked closer, seeing something new. His gaze lowered to the vivid mark she bore on her cheek—a bright red impression, as though from a slap, marring her otherwise flawless skin.
“What happened to you?” he demanded, his voice darkening. “You were fine just moments ago!”
His face clouded with worry and without hesitation, he took her hand and stormed off down the hall, concern blazing in his eyes. Millie’s voice dropped to a syrupy murmur, filled with false humility. “It’s nothing, as long as it makes Gia feel better.”
The tone of her words was enough to make bile rise in my throat. The implication was clear, though Millie hadn’t even stepped near my room. I realized with a cold, sinking certainty that the mark on her cheek was nothing more than lipstick, a fabrication crafted to appear as a slap.
Even so, Peter didn’t doubt her for a second.
Caught in her web, Peter’s anger turned toward me. But he never reached my door. Distracted by Millie’s whispered reassurances and feigned vulnerability, he succumbed to her manipulations with ease. She leaned into him, her lips pressing against him until his attention blurred, lost in her embrace.
Only a single wall divided us. On one side, my life fading away, an agony he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—acknowledge. On the other, my husband and his lover entwined, passionate, oblivious.
My heart ached, feeling as if it were being torn from within and my spirit swirled, helplessly trapped between the two.
Hatred surged within me—deep, resentful, consuming. How foolish I had been to believe, to give so much of myself for a man so utterly undeserving.