When I finally stirred awake from the fever haze, groggy and disoriented, I found myself completely cocooned in thick layers of soft blankets piled high over my trembling frame, tucked tight all the way up to my chin as if someone had swaddled me with surprising care.
The room swam faint in my vision—afternoon light slanting golden through half-drawn curtains, air heavy with the sterile tang of medicine and cool menthol from a vaporizer humming low on the nightstand.
My emerald dress lay discarded crumpled in the corner hamper, replaced by loose cotton pyjamas clinging clammy to my sweat-slicked skin—pale blue top unbuttoned loose at the collar, shorts riding up fever-flushed thighs.
IV tape still tugged itchy at my inner elbow where the saline drip had run dry, empty bag swaying gentle from the bedpost hook.
My body felt like lead—limbs heavy and aching deep from starvation cramps now twisted into fever fire, throat raw sandpaper from dehydration, blonde waves matted sticky against my scorching forehead and neck.
Every shallow breath rattled wheezy in my chest, skin alternating hot-cold shivers that raised goosebumps under the covers, sapphire eyes glassy and bloodshot from tears and delirium.
I shivered violent as I tried to sit up slow, propping on shaky elbows while blankets pooled around my waist.
Cat, what the hell happened?
Why do I feel like death warmed over?
“Host, you collapsed from a severe fever—103°F high, dehydration hitting critical after 39 hours starved,” CVWRS floated in concerned, disco eyes wide and flickering soft blue.
“System monitored but couldn’t intervene mid-collapse.”
From fever?
Just like that?
I rasped mentally, coughing weak into my palm.
“Yes, exactly.
Silvia found you burning up unresponsive—called her aunt, who was a doctor immediately.
She took care of you through the night: blankets piled, fluids monitored, meds administered on schedule.”
She took care of me?
The ice bitch?
My heart stuttered disbelieving.
“Yes, she did—stayed bedside reluctant but steady.
First thaw crack.”
You’re kidding me, aren’t you?
No way.
I sneezed loud and explosive, spraying mist that burned my raw nostrils, then wiped my runny nose on the bedsheet edge.
I can’t believe that ice queen took care of me after starving me herself.
All this suffering traces back to her cruelty.
Suddenly, the heavy oak door creaked open slow, and Silvia strode in purposeful—freshly showered in a fitted black turtleneck hugging her broad shoulders and gray slacks slung low on muscular hips, brown hair damp-swept, red eyes locking cold as arctic steel.
A tray balanced in her hands: steaming chicken broth bowl fragrant with ginger and herbs, saltine crackers crisp beside it, fever meds in a small cup, and a chilled electrolyte bottle sweating condensation.
I shivered harder under her piercing gaze, an instinctive omega flinch rippling through me, and immediately lowered my head submissive, blonde strands curtaining my flushed face.
“H-honey…”
“Why did you starve yourself like an idiot?” she demanded flat, setting the tray on the nightstand with a sharp clack that made me wince.
“Pushing till fever drop—suicidal much?”
Because of your damn punishment lock.
“I…
I couldn’t eat because you told me not to share breakfast,” I mumbled weak, voice cracking hoarse.
Silvia’s brows furrowed sharp.
“I told you not to eat at all?
When?”
no sharing,” I whispered, peeking up through lashes at the broth’s inviting steam.
“Are you a child or something, Lyra?
Do you think I’ll play nursemaid every time you get yourself a fever from stupidity?” She crossed her arms tight, pheromones spiking faint irritation.
“S-sorry, honey…” I whimpered, flinching deeper into pillows.
“Don’t call me that word—ever!” she snapped, voice slicing whip-crack.
I flinched hard at the volume, body jerking like struck.
The cat’s lying.
She didn’t take care of me at all—probably wants me gone now.
“I-I’m sorry…” I am sure that she must have tried to throw me out of her house.
“I should throw you out right now—useless burden!” she growled low, red eyes flashing.
See?
Told you.
Correct all along.
“I am so sorry…
it won’t happen again, I swear,” I pleaded, tears welling fresh.
Suddenly, she reached down swift and pinched my ear lobe firm—not brutal, but sharp enough to sting hot and yank a cry from my throat.
“This should never happen again, understand?
No more self-sabotage.”
“No!
It won’t—ow, promise!” I yelped, batting weak at her hand.
She released me abrupt, rubbing her fingers as if burned.
Silence stretched tense.
Then, quieter: “Why don’t you just divorce me and end this farce?”
I froze shocked, heart plummeting—what?
Divorce now?
Missions half-done, points short—escape shattered?
“Host!
Don’t let her push divorce yet—play the strings!” CVWRS buzzed frantic.
I know that!
Tears burst free then, sobs heaving my chest as fever weakness amplified every crack.
“I-I a-am…
s-sorry…
I-I w-won’t get sick a-again…
n-next t-time…
j-just l-leave m-me…
a-alone…
s-suffering…” I sniffled loud, snot bubbling.
“N-no o-one c-cares a-anyway…”
“Tch!
Are you guilt-tripping me now with those crocodile tears?” Silvia scoffed sharp, her powerful stance shifting uneasy on the spot as her muscular arms uncrossed just a fraction, betraying a flicker of hesitation beneath the ice-cold facade. Read the latest chapters at g.com.
“No…
I-I am n-not…
I am j-just…
sorry a-about t-this whole mess…” I curled foetal even tighter under the heavy blankets, wiping messy tears and snot on my damp sleeve with trembling fingers.
“M-my p-parents…
are n-no m-more now…
s-so it’s really f-fine if you want…
I-I c-can t-take c-care of m-myself somehow…
g-go ahead and do whatever…”
“You!” Silvia barked sudden, her voice cracking with frustration as she raised her hand high in a swift, instinctive motion toward me, red eyes flashing stormy conflict.
I flinched violent on pure reflex, arms flying up desperate to shield my face as I shrank deeper into the pillows, heart hammering wild terror through fever-weak veins.
Is she going to hit me now?
After everything?
“D-don’t…
h-hit me, please…
I-I am so sorry…
I’ll do better, I swear!”
Silvia froze mid-air, hand hovering tense like she’d been burned, her smooth cheeks flushing faint under the room’s soft lamplight.
She lowered it slow, fingers flexing awkward as alpha pheromones spiked sharp pine-iron regret in the air.
“You…
I wasn’t going to hit you, idiot.
Calm down,” she muttered gruff, turning half-away to rake a hand through her damp hair, jaw clenched tight.
“B-but…
you raised your hand…
I thought…” I whimpered softer now, peeking out from under my defensive curl, eyes wide and glassy with fresh tears, breaths coming in shaky hitches.
“It was instinct—frustration, not violence,” she snapped defensive, but her tone softened a hair, red eyes flicking guilty to my trembling form.
“I don’t strike the weak.
Tch.
Just…
eat the broth before it cools.
And stop sobbing like a child—it’s grating.”
“R-really?
You…
p-promise?” I sniffled loud, uncurling fraction as sobs tapered to hiccups, wiping my nose again on the blanket edge.
Silvia exhaled sharp through her nose, grabbing the tray closer with deliberate roughness.
“Yes, really.
Doctor’s orders—drink it all, or I’ll force-feed you myself.” She hovered a beat too long, then turned sharp for the door.
“Rest.
No more drama.”