Not a Love for Faint Hearts

When Zoey opened her eyes again, all she could see was the blinding white ceiling of a hospital room.

The sharp smell of disinfectant flooded her senses. She scrambled up in panic, but the stinging shooting across her face and body forced her still.

"Miss!"

Dr. Willow rushed over, grabbing her hand just as she was about to tear at the skin on her face.

"Don't move! You just underwent skin graft surgery. Right now... It's still fragile."

Skin graft...?

Zoey froze.

She stumbled toward the sink, staring at the mirror.

Her face—what was left of it—was covered in open wounds of all sizes. Fresh blood seeped from raw, mangled skin. The sheer sight of it made her eyes shut tight in despair.

Dr. Willow's voice was still behind her, firm but helpless.

"Miss, you shouldn't move. I know... I know it looks bad. But if you take care of it properly, there's still hope. It might heal..."

Tears slipped down her cheeks, soaking into the raw wounds and making them burn worse.

"But I... I don't have a future."

A shadow fell over the doorway.

Maxwell stood there. His gaze was dark and bottomless.

"This... is what you owe Nancy."

His voice was cold and detached.

"That slap you gave her left a gash on her face. Her skin is delicate... she's disfigured now. You're compensating for it. And the fight earlier today... yeah, it was her fault first. But she's been punished already."

Zoey laughed. She laughed so hard it hurt. Her face split open again, and blood oozed out.

"Punishment?"

Maxwell frowned slightly, as if her question annoyed him.

"She's terrified of pain. You think skin graft surgery doesn't hurt enough?"

Zoey had always known he was biased—blatantly biased. But hearing it said out loud still sent tremors through her body, breaking something in her completely.

"So, Maxwell... my face. Thirty-something wounds. Torn flesh. Grafts. All of this... this is equivalent to her feeling pain? This is what you call punishment?"

The air around him turned icy, but his expression remained frozen, as if carved from a block of ice thousands of years old.

"Zoey... what exactly are you still struggling for? Just be obedient. Admit you were wrong. It'll be easier for both of us."

Her fingernails dug deep into her palms until she felt warm blood. Her hands trembled as she grabbed her phone and opened the emergency dial.

Maxwell watched her lazily, completely unfazed.

"Didn't you say it yourself earlier? We're still legally married. That surgery... the consent form? I signed it. So go ahead. Call the police if you want." His lips curved into something colder than a smile. "See if there's a single cop in this city who'll dare touch this case."

With that, he turned, not even bothering to look back.

The door closed.

She sat there, staring at the blurry numbers on the screen—911.

Her hand trembled. Her vision blurred as she thought bitterly, 'I hate him. God, why did I ever love him...'

She didn't bother with further treatment. She went straight home.

When she stepped inside, Nancy was already there.

Nancy was casually sitting in the living room, posing for selfies, fixing the lighting, choosing the right angle to show off her best side for her social media post.

Zoey ignored her completely. She didn't have the energy. She just wanted to get upstairs, find the deed to the house. This house—her parents' last inheritance—she was selling it. No matter what, she wouldn't let it fall into Maxwell's hands.

But the second Nancy saw Zoey, she yelled, "Stop right there."

Zoey didn't respond.

In the next second, her wrist was yanked hard. Her body, too weak to fight back, stumbled forward, dragged until she was face-to-face with Nancy.

Zoey noticed the thin, nearly invisible scar on Nancy's face.

Nancy raised her chin, smug. "Look at this necklace Maxwell got me. There's only one like it in the entire world."

Pride glowed on her face. If it weren't for Maxwell's blind indulgence, Zoey knew, Nancy would never have the guts to act like this.

Zoey didn't answer. Head down, she forced herself to breathe, to conserve what little strength she had left. She needed to get upstairs.

But Nancy wouldn't let her go. She grabbed Zoey's chin, forcing her to look up.

"What's with this act, Zoey? You're furious, aren't you?" Her voice dripped with venom. "The man you've loved for so long... never loved you. Not even once."

Zoey lifted her eyes slowly.

A laugh slipped from her lips as if she'd just heard the most absurd joke in the world.

"And you?" she said, voice sharp as a blade. "A mistress who wrecked someone else's marriage. You really think marrying him means you'll be safe? You're not scared... that one day, another mistress will take your place? Pathetic."

The words sliced deeper than any knife.

Nancy's fragile pride shattered instantly. Her face twisted with rage.

"You... You wait, Zoey." Her voice trembled. "I'm going to take the thing you care about most!"

Zoey thought she meant Maxwell.

But that night... the villa went up in flames.

Smoke billowed. Fire roared.

Someone yanked her roughly from the ground. Firefighters shielded her as they pulled her away from the collapsing house.

The moment her feet touched solid ground, she froze.

"No... No, no, no..." Her scream broke into a sob.

She lunged, trying to rush back in to grab her parents' urns. But strong arms held her back.

The fire swallowed everything.

Nancy was already out. Maxwell was holding her tightly, his arms wrapped around her like she was some fragile porcelain doll. Nancy's face was still twisted in defiance.

"I'm not wrong!" she shrieked. "I didn't do anything wrong! She called me a mistress! She hurt me! This is what she deserves!"

For the first time, Maxwell didn't defend Nancy. His face was cold, his voice even colder.

"Shut up."

But Zoey heard nothing. Nothing at all.

All she could see was the fire. The fire that burned away the last piece of her home, the last piece of her life.

Her scream tore through the night.

Then, everything inside her gave out.

She coughed up blood and collapsed.