He walked with me to the upscale veterinary clinic on the corner. The vet ran a full diagnostic, and the results were heartbreaking. The dog had broken ribs, deep lacerations across his abdomen that exposed bone, and was severely malnourished.

Yet he was incredibly docile, lying quietly on the stainless-steel exam table, barely letting out a whimper as the doctor examined his wounds.

Silas stood in the corner of the sterile room, his jaw clenched tight, looking as though he wanted to speak but couldn't find the words.

We left the dog at the clinic overnight for observation. When the receptionist asked for the dog's name, I said without hesitation: "Nova."

His name, Nova.

My name, Nina.

After I die, he will become the echo of Nina.

When we walked into the apartment, the silence between us was so heavy it was nearly suffocating. Silas said nothing, and I had no desire to break the quiet.

The tension lingered until we both retreated to the master bedroom.

I sat on the edge of the bed, watching Silas emerge from the master bathroom in dark silk pajamas.

The warm lighting cast a glow across his face, softening the sharp, authoritative lines of his jaw.

He rarely showed emotion; his smiles were fleeting, dissipating like dying stars. For four years, I firmly believed I had captured a piece of his heart.

But seeing him with Serena today made all my previous hopes feel incredibly foolish and pathetic.

"Silas," I called out softly.

He stopped and looked at me, his deep eyes guarded and unreadable.

"Does what you said still count?" I asked.

"What thing?"

"You said-" I paused, letting the silence stretch. "You said I was your wife. You said you would treat me well for the rest of your life."

I gazed at him, the corners of my lips curling into a sad, meaningful smile.

Silas dropped his gaze to the floor, murmuring cautiously, "Why are you suddenly asking this?"

"Nothing," I lied casually. "Just reminiscing."

Deep in my abdomen, a sharp cramp struck. The cancer had woken up for the night. My nerves felt like they were being wound around a spool, pulled tighter and tighter.

"They count," he said softly.

The moment the words left his mouth, he reached out and turned off the light. I was instantly plunged into darkness, feeling the mattress dip slightly.

His tall frame moved close to me, and I felt his warm breath brush against my cheek before his lips gently pressed against my forehead.

"Goodnight, Nina."

I lay perfectly still. As his breathing leveled out into a deep sleep, I carefully untangled myself from his embrace and rolled over to face him.

Through the bright moonlight spilling through the glass, my eyes traced the contours of his face-the high arch of his brow, the slight slope of his nose, the sharp cut of his jawline.

Silas wouldn't cheat.

He was too proud, too disciplined to stoop to an extramarital affair. But deep in his heart, Serena Thorne would always hold the dominant position.

I suddenly found myself consumed by a dark, morbid curiosity.

After I die, when he lies in this bed alone and remembers this moment... what will he think?

Chapter 9

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