Chapter 3
Calista stayed in the room the entire day.
When she woke up the next morning, the wounds on her body had already been cleaned and carefully wrapped in white bandages.
She tried to move and immediately felt a sharp pull in her skin.
Still, she did not stay in bed. Forcing herself up, she dabbed makeup over the kiss marks on her neck, then hailed a taxi to work.
“Boss, I’d like to request a transfer to the overseas branch.” She stood in the office, her tone steady. “Is the design director position still open?”
Her boss looked up, surprised. “Didn’t you turn it down last time because you needed to care for your father?”
“He’s passed,” Calista said softly, “so now, I’m free to go.”
Her boss sighed and handed her a file. “I’m sorry for your loss. To be honest, I’ve kept this position waiting for you. When can you leave?”
Calista took the file and replied, “I’ll start my visa application today. As soon as it’s approved, I’ll be on the first flight out.”
“Fine.” Her boss nodded. “Then take this time to get everything in order. No need to come in.”
After she left the office, Calista went straight to the visa center.
The staff informed her that processing would take two weeks.
Standing in front of the villa with her visa form in hand, she
unconsciously traced the edge of the paper with her fingertips.
How was she supposed to tell Eric?
She knew perfectly well that Estelle was rushing to marry him, and finding another stand–in like her would be nearly impossible in such a short time.
Logically, she knew Eric would not keep her against her will, but what if?
Some things, she just could not say.
At least, not for now.
Once her visa was approved, she would be gone.
By then, her opportunities would be limitless, and no matter how influential Eric was, he could not possibly start a war over a stand–in.
With her mind made up, she finally pushed the door open.
The moment she stepped in, Estelle’s sweet, pampered voice filled the air, so different from how she had spoken yesterday, full of malice and spite.
Looking up, she saw Estelle lounging on the main bedroom bed in a silk. pajama set, while Eric sat at her bedside holding a medicine pill.
“Come on, take this, and you’ll feel better soon,” he said softly.
Estelle pouted. “It’s too bitter. I want something sweet instead.”
Eric glanced up and saw Calista. His expression instantly cooled. “Perfect timing. That dessert you made last time turned out well. Make another.”
Calista did not move.
His brows drew together, and he pulled a check from his suit jacket. “Is
this enough?”
It felt like a sharp needle pierced her chest.
To him, she would always be someone who did everything for money.
Without a word, Calista took the check and headed to the kitchen.
She returned not long after, carefully carrying the fresh dessert.
“Too hot!” Estelle yelped after a single bite. “Are you trying to scald me?”
Then she threw the hot tray at Calista.
The tray burned her skin.
Calista clenched her teeth and silently turned to make another one.
However, as soon as the second batch touched Estelle’s lips, she threw it again. “Now it’s cold! Are you trying to freeze me to death?”
The tray struck Calista’s forehead, and a stream of blood trickled down.
her cheek.
The third, the fourth… until the 13th batch–only then did Estelle seem somewhat satisfied.
After watching her eat her food and drift off to sleep, Calista turned to leave.
However, Eric’s voice stopped her. “Wait.”
He pulled a small tube of ointment from the drawer. “Put this on your wound.”
Calista froze.
J
The scene felt all too familiar.
It was just like the first time she met Eric when she was 14.
That summer, the cicadas were deafening. She had been hiding behind. the old sycamore tree, stealing glances at the Callahan family’s heir who had just come home. Then, in her nervousness, she slipped on the moss.
Suddenly, he appeared, walking toward her against the sunlight, his school uniform sleeve brushing past her muddied wrist as he helped her
- up.
“Don’t let it scar,” he said, handing her a tube of imported ointment.
She had tucked that ointment away in the back of her drawer, unwilling to even break the seal.
But the girl who used to blush and stammer, “Thank you, Eric,” had long since vanished, crushed by countless nights of being nothing more than someone else’s shadow.
