The nurse informed me that this was my eighth hospitalization this year.
Following the drowning incident, my body had grown incredibly weak, causing me to frequently shiver under the covers with a fever.
The daily injections to reduce my fever were painful, but I had no one to complain to.
I wasn't sure what Oliver had told the doctors and nurses, but it seemed everyone considered me as his wife.
It was disgusting. As a caregiver was talking to me, Oliver happened to call. She hit the speaker button and placed it next to my ear.
"Charlotte," Oliver's voice was hoarse.
"Eat properly, or I'll personally watch you do it."
Lifting my head, I found him standing outside the glass window, watching me. Threatening me, was he?
I picked up the meal box and, in front of him, tossed it into the trash bin, saying, "Oliver, go to hell!"
His face was pale with illness, yet he reacted indifferently to my words.
"Is that so?" He chuckled lightly. "Then I guess I'll have to watch you eat every day."
After my condition stabilized, I was moved from the intensive care unit to a VIP ward.
From then on, I was completely under Oliver's control. He visited me daily, saying, "Charlotte, you need to get better."
Watching the news on TV about his company's impending IPO, I could predict my own ending.
After helping him stabilize public opinion and successfully launch the IPO, I would be sent to a mental hospital.
"Have some apple." Oliver placed a bowl of diced fruit in front of me.
Seizing the opportunity when he reached out, I lowered my head and bit his wrist.
Right where I had bitten him before. The wound hadn't healed, and I reopened it. Not letting go until I tasted blood, I then released him satisfied.
Oliver didn't even blink. "Would you bite the other side next time. Biting the same spot all the time will leave a scar."
Yesterday, I had tried poking his wound with a toothpick and sprinkling salt from the condiment packet onto it.
That's why the toothpicks and condiment packets were gone today.
"Oliver, you should really have 'slut' carved on your face."
Suddenly, Oliver pinned me by the nape and kissed me. It was a rough and fierce kiss, bruising my lips.
Seeing me stare at him like an enemy, he smiled widely, "I don't expect you to love me, just remember me, that's enough."
His touch repulsed me. I slapped him. His head turned from the blow, he asked softly, "Has your anger subsided?"
I curled my lip, "Not yet. Unless you drown in the swimming pool, my anger will not subside."
Afterward, I turned down the AC temperature, burrowed into the covers, and watched him with just my eyes exposed.
Oliver, who was already sick, turned even paler from the cold breeze.
"Just wait a bit more, I'll leave after the nurse finishes the IV."
By the time it ended, an hour had passed. Oliver was blue-lipped from the cold, his coughs worsening.
After that, he disappeared for several days.
During this time, I received a call from Eleanor. Her voice trembled with anger, "Can you stop tormenting Grant? He's sick, with a high fever that won't subside—"
It was then I learned he had indeed jumped into the pool that rainy night to search for the child's necklace.
"Does it have anything to do with me? If you were capable, he wouldn't have had to beg me for help with his company's launch ceremony. It's a pity that a mistress like you just can't be presented with him publicly."
Eleanor hung up in anger.
I eagerly awaited news of Oliver's death, but against my wishes. Oliver survived and discharged me from the hospital half a month later.
