Not a Love for Faint Hearts

Maxwell's gaze darkened as it lingered on Zoey, but in the end, he nodded. He agreed.

But he had one condition. Nancy was moving into the villa—the same one he had bought for Zoey when they first got married.

That afternoon, Nancy arrived.

Rain poured outside. Her feet didn't even touch the ground as Maxwell carried her tightly in his arms. Her cheeks flushed pink as she whispered, half embarrassed, half playful, "You idiot... why didn't you tell me there were so many people here? Put me down..."

Maxwell's expression didn't shift. Only the corner of his lips tugged upward, a trace of indulgence mixed with warning.

"Call me that again... and I'll cut out your tongue."

Zoey froze.

He'd said the exact same words to her once. Back when they were newly married.

Maxwell only ever said things like that to the person he loved.

In that moment, Zoey realized—he really did love Nancy.

Her heart had long since gone numb. But her hands stayed busy, moving instinctively.

Callie, ever since being brought to the orphanage, had become quieter, more withdrawn. Every time Zoey went to see her, Callie tugged her hand and called her Mama, it felt like something inside her was being crushed.

But she was dying. Soon, she wouldn't be able to protect Callie. All she could do was save money, buy Callie some clothes, and try to find a good family.

She had suffered her entire life. She refused to let her child suffer too.

Maxwell kept telling her to wait.

"Wait until Nancy moves in. I'll take you," he said. So she waited.

"Wait until Nancy settles down," he said again. So she waited through another long night.

And then—"Wait until Nancy finishes unpacking," he added.

But Zoey knew exactly what her body was telling her. She didn't have time left. She couldn't wait anymore.

So she snapped at him. The coldness in her eyes made him tremble.

At last, he agreed to take her.

But what she saw... wasn't Callie. It was an unmarked tombstone.

Maxwell stood behind her, his voice eerily calm—rational in the most inhuman way.

"She had leukemia. No donor. She wouldn't have survived. Zoey... don't be stupid."

But she remembered—so clearly—that day when she miscarried. He was the one who adopted Callie. He'd held Callie in his arms and said, "This baby is ours now."

Her blood turned to ice.

All she could do was stare helplessly at the nameless grave. Again and again. Her knees gave out, and she sat there for a long, long time, completely hollow.

Zoey couldn't remember how she got home.

But once she was back... she didn't speak. Not a word. Not a sound.

She simply sat, calm and mechanical, slowly finishing the scarf she had left half-knitted.

Maxwell stood by silently, watching her. At six o'clock sharp, he appeared at the door with a bowl of plain porridge.

"Eat something," he said. "Your body can't take this."

But Zoey didn't even blink. She just kept knitting. Kept going.

Thread by thread. Stitch by stitch.

All the way until midnight.

Maxwell finally lost his patience. He shut his eyes tight, frustrated beyond words, and when his hand accidentally brushed against hers—he flinched.

Ice. Her skin was ice-cold.

"I'm getting you medicine," he snapped. "If you're gonna die, don't die here. What a curse."

Face dark with anger, he stormed out.

It was only after the door slammed that Zoey slowly lifted her head.

The moonlight outside seemed too bright. Her vision blurred. She shut her eyes like someone drowning, gasping for air.

And then—agony.

Pain shot from her scalp.

She opened her eyes, dazed, only to see Nancy, who had appeared out of nowhere, yanking her hair viciously. Her voice, sharp and shrill, was laced with pettiness and cruelty.

"What are you playing at now, huh? Still pretending to be weak?" Nancy sneered. "Zoey, it's just a dead kid. What's with the act?!"

Her voice pierced Zoey's ears like needles. Zoey instinctively shut her eyes.

"I hate this pathetic look on you!" Nancy's grip tightened. Her words grew more venomous. "That kid deserved to die! Even if she hadn't, if I became her stepmother, I'd make sure she suffered. I'd bring her nothing but pain. Zoey... what could you have done about it?"

She forced Zoey to look her in the eye.

And what Zoey saw there... was pure malice. It made her stomach twist. Her heart convulsed in her chest, trembling from pain, from rage, from disbelief.

Zoey's eyes turned bloodshot. Like a cornered snake, her gaze locked onto Nancy.

But Nancy only laughed. To her, it was pathetic.

She raised her hand. A slap landed hard across Zoey's face.

"You dare slap me?" she sneered. "I've been way too nice to you. Even if I told Maxwell to cut off that kid's medication, what can you do?"

Something inside Zoey snapped.

A tidal wave of hatred surged up. She had never hated like this before—not even close.

She hated herself for being weak. Hated herself for being blind. Hated herself for... ever loving Maxwell.

Her hands scrambled blindly across the floor. Searching. Desperate. Until her fingers closed around something cold and sharp.

The knitting needle.

Zoey's breath hitched.

And then, without hesitation, she lunged at Nancy.