Chapter 5

Ava's POV:

I don't know how I fell asleep.

When I woke up again, it was already dark outside.

Low whimpering sounds came from the kennel—those two German Shepherds were probably asleep too.

I tried moving my fingers. My joints felt stiff, like they'd rusted over.

My forehead was covered in cold sweat, and the pillowcase was soaked through.

The fever hadn't broken.

I pushed myself up using the bed frame and glanced at my phone.

3:17 AM.

There were a few unread messages on the screen.

They were from someone in HR.

"Ms. Davis, your resignation paperwork is done. The severance will be in your account within three business days."

"Ms. Davis, you worked at the Williams Group for three years. How could Mr. Williams just fire you like that?"

"Ms. Davis, if you're in any trouble, you can talk to me."

I replied, "I'm fine, thank you."

After sending the message, I placed my phone face-down on the bed.

My throat felt like it was on fire. I wanted to get some water, but the moment I stood up, my legs gave out and I crashed into the wall.

My burning forehead pressed against the cold wall. The brief coolness cleared my head a little.

Supporting myself against the wall, I shuffled step by step to the kitchen.

The kitchen light was still on.

On the counter sat the pot with what was left of this morning's porridge.

Joanna hadn't let me throw it out—probably keeping it as evidence to show John.

I poured myself a glass of water and leaned against the counter, drinking slowly.

The water was cold, traveling from my throat all the way down to my stomach.

After finishing the water, I headed back.

Passing through the living room, I heard voices coming from the master bedroom.

"John, do you think she might've poisoned the porridge?"

Joanna's voice was soft and sweet, with a hint of playfulness.

"She wouldn't dare." John's voice was low, emotionless.

"Well, who knows? She probably hates me to death right now." Joanna paused. "Oh, I want a sandwich for breakfast tomorrow. Make her do it. I want to see what tricks she'll try to pull."

John didn't respond, clearly giving his approval.

I stood there holding my empty glass for a few seconds, then silently turned around and went back to the maid's room.

As I lay back down on the bed, I suddenly remembered something.

When John's grandfather was still alive, he came to the house for dinner once.

He saw me bustling around in the kitchen and frowned the entire evening.

As he was leaving, he stood at the door, looking at John. "Do you even know who you married?"

John had his hands in his pockets, answering casually, "Just a secretary."

John's grandfather slammed his cane hard on the ground. "You bastard."

That was the last time he came to this house.

Not long after, he passed away.

I closed my eyes, trying to push those images out of my mind.

The dogs outside started barking again.

That night passed quickly.

Or maybe it was slow.

I couldn't tell anymore.

At 6 AM, the knocking came right on schedule.

"Ava, get up and make breakfast."

It was Joanna.

Didn't she get tired, waking up this early every day?

I didn't answer. I pushed myself up using the bed frame.

Everything went black for a moment. I closed my eyes and waited a few seconds for the dizziness to pass before standing up to open the door.

Joanna stood at the door in a silk nightgown with John's cashmere cardigan draped over it.

Arms crossed, she looked down at me. "What were you doing last night? You look terrible."

I didn't answer, walking past her toward the kitchen.

"Hey, I'm talking to you."

She followed behind me, her heels clicking on the floor.

I walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge.

"John said I need to get proper nutrition. Make me a shrimp and scrambled egg sandwich."

She leaned against the doorframe, leisurely admiring her fresh manicure.

My hand paused. "You're allergic to seafood."

"I'm not allergic anymore." She smiled. "Pregnancy changes things, you know. Tastes change. What, you don't want to make it?"

I didn't bother responding. I took out the shrimp and eggs from the fridge and placed them on the counter.

Joanna walked over and stood next to me, lowering her voice a little. "Ava, do you know why I especially hate you?"

I said nothing, turning on the faucet to wash the shrimp.

"Because you're always like this." She leaned in closer. "You're dying of hatred inside, but you don't show anything on your face. What's the act for? You think this will make John think you're generous? Understanding?"

I put the shrimp in a bowl and started beating the eggs.

"Let me tell you—he won't. Men are like that. The more you endure, the more they think you're a pushover."

She laughed. "But thanks to you being this way, I got to move in. Come to think of it, I should thank you."

Just then, John's low, pleasant voice came from behind. "Joanna, don't stand so close. The kitchen fumes aren't good for you."

Joanna turned around, putting on a smile, and walked over to take his arm.

"I was just chatting with Ava. She's so nice—I said I wanted a shrimp sandwich and she made it right away."

John glanced at me, his eyes pausing on my face for a second before ordering, "Bring it to the dining room when you're done."

With that, he left with his arm around Joanna.

I finished making the sandwich and brought it to the table.

Joanna picked up the sandwich and took a bite. After chewing twice, she frowned.

"Why does this shrimp taste fishy?"

She put down the sandwich and covered her mouth, looking queasy. "No, I feel sick."

John picked up the sandwich and smelled it. His expression darkened. "Ava, is this shrimp undercooked?"

I stood by the dining table, looking at him. "It's cooked."

"If it's cooked, why does she feel sick?" He stood up and threw the sandwich back on the plate. "Did you deliberately undercook the shrimp to make her sick?"

I lowered my head, looking at the half-eaten sandwich on the plate.

The edges of the shrimp were slightly curled, the surface an even white color.

It was cooked.

I didn't explain further.

"Forget it." John pulled Joanna up. "I'll take you out to eat."

He walked a couple steps, then stopped and turned to look at me.

"Ava, if you try anything with Joanna again, get out of this house."

Their footsteps gradually faded away.

The door opened and closed.

The house fell silent.

I stood by the dining table, looking at that plate of sandwiches.

I stood there for a long time before picking up the plate and dumping the sandwich in the trash.

As I put the plate back on the counter, my fingers slipped.

The porcelain shattered on the floor.

I crouched down to pick up the pieces. A shard cut my fingertip.

Blood beaded up and dripped onto the white floor tiles.

I stared at that drop of blood, feeling so tired. My eyelids felt heavy as lead—I couldn't keep them open.

I used the counter to pull myself up, wanting to go back to my room.

After two steps, my knees buckled.

The floor rushed up at me.

The pain of impact never came.

Porcelain shards lay scattered on the floor. Blood spread slowly across the white tiles.

The German Shepherds outside wouldn't stop barking, their paws scraping at the cement.

Before consciousness faded, I heard the dogs still barking outside.

And the housekeeper's voice, coming from somewhere far away.

"Ms. Davis, wake up!"