Chapter 3 Sarah's POV

After Andrew treated my wound, I went straight to bed without eating. I just didn't have the appetite for anything. I woke up the next morning, feeling exhausted. Since Andrew left my room last night, I had done exactly as he said-stayed in bed. But would I stay here forever? Definitely not. With a sigh, I pulled off the blanket and forced myself to sit up. I had to use the bathroom. Ignoring the sharp pain in my injured foot, I carefully stood up, gripping the bed for support. One step. Two steps. The pain shot through my leg like fire, but I clenched my teeth and pushed forward.

Then, suddenly- My knee buckled. I crashed to the floor, gasping as fresh pain exploded through my leg. A sharp cry escaped my lips before I bit down on it, trying to suppress my tears. I pressed my forehead against the cold bathroom door, breathing heavily. Is this how I'm going to lose my leg? Tears stung my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Deep inside, I already knew the truth. Lucas knew about this. That's why they forced me into this marriage instead of Lisa-their real daughter. Yes. I wasn't their real child. I was adopted. My life had always been miserable. I grew up in an orphanage, dreaming of a family that would love me. But the day Mrs. Lucas adopted me, my life turned into a nightmare. No love. No kindness. No happiness. I should have stayed in the orphanage. At least there, I didn't have to pretend to be someone's daughter. Hot tears slid down my cheeks as I clenched my fists. I tried to move again, but the pain was unbearable. I glanced down at my foot-my bandage was soaked with fresh blood. I was about to give up when- The door swung open. Andrew. His sharp eyes widened the moment he saw me on the floor. Without a second thought, he rushed inside. "I told you not to stand up!" His voice was firm, but there was something else in it-concern? I let out a bitter laugh, wiping my tears away. "Isn't this what you want?" I asked, my voice shaking. "Shouldn't you be happy to see me like this?" His brows furrowed. "What are you talking about?" "Why?" I whispered, my voice barely audible. "What have I ever done to you and your son?" Andrew remained silent. Tears streamed down my face as I looked up at him. "Tell me, why does everyone in my life hurt me? Is it because I don't have real parents?" My voice cracked. "Why can't I just be happy? Is that too much to ask?" For the first time since I met him, Andrew looked... shaken. His cold, unreadable expression was gone. Instead, he just stared at me, his jaw tight, his eyes searching mine. Then he spoke. "You don't have parents?" His voice was quiet, almost like he was processing the words for the first time. I scoffed. Of course, that's the only thing he heard. What was I expecting? That he would pull me into his arms and tell me everything would be okay? That he would comfort me? Ridiculous. I turned away, determined to get up on my own. But before I could even attempt to move- Andrew lifted me into his arms. I gasped, my eyes widening in shock. "W-what are you doing?" "I told you not to stand up," he said simply, pushing open the bathroom door. I stared at him, completely speechless. This wasn't the Andrew I knew. Andrew carried me into the bathroom, his grip firm yet careful, as if he was afraid I would break. I didn't understand why he was doing this. Just yesterday, he looked at me like I was nothing, like I was just a contract he had signed. But now... there was something different in his eyes-something softer, something unfamiliar. He placed me gently on the bathroom counter, his hands lingering on my waist for a second too long before he pulled away. His gaze flickered to my bleeding foot, and for the first time since I had been forced into this marriage, I saw a hint of concern in his expression. "I told you not to walk around," he muttered, grabbing a towel and wetting it under the sink. I scoffed, ignoring the sharp pain in my leg. "So what? Was I supposed to just stay in bed like a prisoner? I needed to use the bathroom, Andrew. Or do I need your permission for that too?" He didn't respond immediately. Instead, he knelt in front of me and carefully unwrapped the blood-soaked bandage around my foot. I winced, but I refused to show any weakness in front of him. "You're too stubborn for your own good," he finally said, dabbing at the wound with the damp towel. His movements were gentle, careful-like he was handling something fragile. I watched him in disbelief. "Why do you care?" His hands froze for a brief second before he continued cleaning the wound. "I don't," he said simply. "But if you get worse, it'll be a problem for me." I scoffed again. "Of course. Everything is always about you." He didn't respond to that. Instead, he stood up, took out a fresh roll of bandages from the cabinet, and began wrapping my foot again. His fingers were warm against my skin, and for some reason, my heart did this strange little jump in my chest. I hated it. "There," he said after securing the bandage in place. "Don't walk around unless you want to make it worse." I crossed my arms. "And what if I do? Will you punish me again?" His jaw clenched. "I never wanted you to get hurt, Sarah." I blinked. Was this the same Andrew who had watched me suffer in silence? The same man who had forced me into this marriage without a second thought? "Could've fooled me," I muttered, looking away. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Just... don't be reckless." I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell him that I wouldn't listen to him just because he was suddenly acting like he cared. But before I could say anything, he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. I froze. His fingers barely brushed my skin, but the touch sent an unexpected shiver down my spine. "Get some rest," he said, his voice lower now, almost... softer. "I'll have the maids bring your food to your room." And just like that, he turned and left, closing the door behind him. I stared at the spot where he had just been, my heart pounding for reasons I refused to acknowledge. What the hell just happened?