Chapter 1

Nine years ago, Charlotte Green willingly bound herself to a companionship system to save her sister.

The system guided her to the side of Eric Lorvis, a man adored by fate and envied by the world. Her role, as dictated, was to pursue him under the guise of being mute.

Before long, everyone in their social circle knew of the mute woman who loved Eric with a fervor bordering on madness.

At a gathering one evening, he finally relented. "If you make yourself look like Emily, I'll allow you to stay by my side."

Without hesitation, Charlotte borrowed money to undergo plastic surgery. She reshaped herself to resemble Emily Spencer—Eric's first love. With painstaking precision, she molded her preferences to match his, learned to cook his favorite dishes, and catered to his every need.

Yet to him, she was no more than a housekeeper. He neither hid his disdain nor spared her his indifference. His insults, his cold stares—she bore them all in silence. She didn't care. As long as she fulfilled her task, the day would come when she could finally leave this world behind.

However, when Charlotte truly died, the cold and aloof Eric, who had always appeared so composed in front of others, lost his mind...

Chapter 1

Nine years ago, Charlotte Green willingly bound herself to a companionship system to save her sister. The system guided her to the side of Eric Lorvis, a man adored by fate and envied by the world. Her role, as dictated, was to pursue him under the guise of being mute.

Before long, everyone in their social circle knew of the mute woman who loved Eric with a fervor bordering on madness.

At a gathering one evening, he finally relented, though his words were as cold as the winter wind.

"If you make yourself look like Emily, I'll allow you to stay by my side."

Without hesitation, Charlotte borrowed money to undergo plastic surgery. She reshaped herself to resemble Emily Spencer—the woman Eric revered as his untouchable ideal. With painstaking precision, she molded her preferences to match his, learned to cook his favorite dishes, and catered to his every need.

Yet to him, she was no more than a housekeeper. He neither hid his disdain nor spared her his indifference. His insults, his cold stares—she bore them all in silence. She didn't care. As long as she fulfilled her task, the day would come when she could finally leave this world behind.

...

It was 1 a.m., and Charlotte sat in the living room, waiting. She had been waiting for five hours.

Yesterday was her birthday. It was also the seventh anniversary of her marriage to Eric.

Her neck ached as she rubbed at the tension. Rising from her seat, she picked up the lavish meal she had painstakingly prepared—nine dishes and a soup—and dumped it into the trash.

The clatter of porcelain and the splatter of broth left the kitchen in disarray, yet she stood frozen, dazed by the scene.

Nine years ago, she had entered Eric's life under the system's orders, masquerading as a mute to capture the heart of this man who seemed to have everything. The world mocked her for her obsessive love, calling her a fool chasing after the unattainable.

But she had done what was asked of her.

At a gathering one evening, he finally relented, though his words were as cold as the winter wind.

"If you make yourself look like Emily, I'll allow you to stay by my side."

Without hesitation, Charlotte borrowed money to undergo plastic surgery. She reshaped herself to resemble Emily Spencer—the woman Eric revered as his untouchable ideal. She molded her preferences to match his, learned to cook his favorite dishes, and catered to his every need.

To him, she was no more than a housekeeper.

Yet Charlotte didn't mind. She had no intention of staying beyond the nine years the system required. This wasn't love—it was duty.

Even marriage, in all its humiliating pretense, was a box she ticked off for the sake of her mission.

Eric, of course, knew nothing.

At 1:30 a.m., Eric pushed open the door, his expression darkening as his eyes swept across the cold, empty living room. A wave of quiet anger rose within him.

No matter how late he came home in the past, Charlotte had always waited for him. Tonight was the first exception.

His irritation found release as he slammed an untouched plate onto the table, the sharp clang reverberating in the stillness. Tugging off his tie, he stormed into the bedroom and yanked Charlotte out of her sleep.

"Charlotte, today is our wedding anniversary. How dare you go to sleep without waiting for me?"

Groggy and disoriented, she moved her hands, signing an explanation.

Eric's impatience only deepened. "Stop waving your hands. I can't understand a word you're saying. Go run my bath. Now."

The force of his grip suddenly loosened, and Charlotte, unprepared, stumbled backward. She fell onto the ground.

A sharp pain seared through her elbows and knees. She couldn't suppress a low, guttural whimper, the sound breaking through her tightly held silence.

Eric's frown deepened, his voice colder now. "What are you just standing there for? If you don't want to do this, there are plenty of others who will. Don't forget—it was you who begged to stay by my side in the first place."

The physical pain brought tears to the corners of her eyes. She bit down on her frustration, swallowing her emotions as she rose and headed for the bathroom. Just as she reached for the faucet, Eric grabbed her arm again, pulling her back.

"Forget it. Don't bother with the bath. Stay with me tonight," he said, leaning closer, his lips hovering just above hers.

Charlotte's gaze flicked to the faint lipstick mark on his chest. Her heart paused for a beat before returning to its steady rhythm. Calmly, she signed, "I'm on my period."

His expression shifted to one of disgust, and he let her go. Disappointed, he muttered under his breath before retreating to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

Moments later, the sound of his laughter echoed through the walls.

"Emily, how about I take you for private dining tomorrow? You've gotten so thin since returning to the country. Oh, and I brought back that bracelet you loved at the auction…"

His voice grew louder as he hummed a tune, carefree and unabashed.

Charlotte's face remained expressionless. She knelt on the floor, carefully tending to her wounds with slow, deliberate movements. From her pocket, she pulled out an old watch, its back concealing a faded photograph of her and her sister—a moment frozen in time, from what felt like another life.

It was her happiest memory.

Her voice silent as ever, she murmured in her mind, 'System, how much longer until the companionship task ends?'

A mechanical voice replied, cold and distant. [Thirty days, three hours, and fifty-eight minutes remaining.]

For the first time in years, a ripple of emotion stirred within her deadened heart. Relief. She could almost taste it.

The vibration of her phone interrupted her thoughts. A video call. Brian Spencer's voice erupted from the other end, sharp and accusatory.

"Charlotte, what did you do to upset Emily this time? She posted about drinking late at night. Do you know how miserable you've made her? She had to flee the country to get married, and now she's divorced. You're a walking disaster!"

Startled, Charlotte shook her head rapidly, her hands moving to sign a response. "I didn't know. If you hadn't told me—"

"Enough! There's no point in asking you anything. You useless mute, just stay out of the way. Emily's back now, so why are you still holding on to the title of Mrs. Lorvis? Divorce Eric right now!"

Chapter 2

After hanging up the call, Charlotte saw Eric leaning against the doorframe in a bathrobe, his expression unreadable but heavy with discontent.

"So, you want a divorce?" His voice carried a quiet menace. "Who's the man you've been eyeing?"

He moved closer, his large hand gripping her chin. The sudden force made her flinch, and she instinctively tried to pull away, but he tightened his hold, trapping her in an unrelenting embrace.

"But then again, I doubt you'd dare," he said, his voice a low drawl. "You weren't even afraid to die just to stay by my side. So, Charlotte, tell me—why do you like me?"

This time, it was Charlotte's turn to fall silent.

How could she possibly tell him the truth? That she didn't like him at all, that everything she did was for the sake of completing a mission?

She hesitated for a moment before typing four words on her phone: Love at first sight.

Eric chuckled. He didn't press further and turned away, leaving her alone.

The next morning, he was already gone when she woke up. She didn't bother to look for him. Instead, she pulled out her favorite journal and began drafting her plan for the final thirty days of her stay in this world.

The system's voice echoed in her mind.

[Host, as your task is nearing completion, your body will be programmed for a terminal illness to ensure a natural departure. Please prepare yourself for the pain.]

Charlotte closed the journal, her hands steady despite the words. She headed downstairs to have breakfast, only to bump into Brian storming in, his face flushed with anger.

"You've got some nerve, Charlotte! Hanging up on me last night? Tell me, what will it take for you to leave Eric?"

She raised her head, her gaze meeting the man who was, in this world, her biological brother. Bitterness swirled in her chest.

When she had first arrived in this world, she discovered her backstory—a misplaced heiress switched at birth. The girl who had taken her place, Emily, had lived the life of a beloved princess, basking in the unconditional affection of their family for years.

But her mission had demanded proximity to Eric, and it wasn't long before the Spencer family learned of her existence. A simple DNA test later, she was brought back into the family, though no one welcomed her except for her grandfather.

Not only was she forbidden from using the Spencer surname, but the family publicly announced her as an illegitimate child they had only recently acknowledged.

Emily, unable to accept the situation, had fled abroad in a fit of rage and hastily married.

Yet here she was again—back in the country for reasons unknown.

Charlotte didn't respond to Brian's question. She turned to leave, but he grabbed her wrist.

"If it weren't for you, do you think Emily would've married the wrong guy? Do you think she'd be back here, heartbroken?"

Weak and frail by nature, Charlotte lost her balance under his forceful shove. She stumbled, her body tumbling down the staircase until she lay sprawled on the landing, consciousness slipping away.

When she awoke, she was in a hospital room. Brian stood to one side, his expression defiant, while their parents sat nearby.

"Why should I kneel and apologize?" Brian's voice rose in protest. "It's not like I pushed her on purpose. She obviously did it to gain sympathy!"

"Enough!" Their father, Joe Spencer's voice cut through the room, sharp with irritation.

Their mom, Joyce Spencer opened her mouth as if to argue but ultimately swallowed her words, choosing instead to glare daggers at Charlotte.

"Brian is your brother, and you're not seriously hurt. Let's not make a fuss about this," Joe declared dismissively.

They all knew she couldn't speak, and as she frantically signed her protests with red-rimmed eyes, they acted as though they couldn't see her at all.

Charlotte glanced at her leg, now encased in a plaster cast. A dull ache spread through her chest, more emotional than physical.

In her previous life, she had been an orphan. She had always yearned for family. But the Spencer family had no place for her in their hearts. Especially Brian, who worshipped Emily and despised Charlotte for "taking everything" from her.

But who had taken from whom?

When the others left, Charlotte sat in silence, her thoughts adrift. Her time here was running out, and she needed to start letting go of everything in this world.

The sound of the door opening interrupted her reverie. Emily stepped inside.

Seven years had passed since they'd last seen each other. Emily's impulsive marriage had removed her from the Spencer family's plans, forcing them to push Charlotte into an arranged marriage with Eric to secure their alliance with the Lorvis family.

No one had cared about Charlotte's opinion. To them, a mute girl like her should have been grateful for such a "fortunate" match.

Chapter 3

"Charlotte, what happened? I heard you fell down the stairs?" Emily's voice carried a saccharine concern as she sat heavily on Charlotte's injured leg.

Charlotte clenched her teeth, suppressing a cry of pain.

"Now that I'm divorced," Emily said, a smug smile curling her lips, "do you really think Eric would still look at you? Using my face to cozy up to him—don't you feel disgusted with yourself?" She tilted her head, her smile as radiant as sunshine piercing through a frozen landscape.

Charlotte clenched her teeth tightly, refusing to let a cry of pain escape her throat.

Emily suddenly slapped her own face.

"Charlotte, don't be angry. If you need to hit me to vent, go ahead. I'll even forgive you as long as you forgive Brian. He didn't mean it..." Emily's voice quivered, her eyes glistening with perfect tears that trailed down her cheeks, fragile and pitiable.

Before Charlotte could react, the door flew open with a loud crash. In strode Eric, his face a mask of icy fury. He scooped Emily into his arms, his gaze cold and piercing as it landed on Charlotte.

"You dared hit Emily?" His voice cut through the room like a whip. "Getting bold, are we, Charlotte? Apologize to Emily now—on your knees."

The realization of Emily's calculated ploy hit Charlotte like a wave. She reached for her phone, typing swiftly: I didn't hit her. It's not true.

Emily let out a delicate sob, burying her face into Eric's chest. "Eric, please don't be angry. I believe Charlotte didn't mean it. This is all my fault. I shouldn't have come back..." Her voice trailed off into heart-wrenching whimpers, further hardening Eric's already stone-cold expression.

Eric yanked Charlotte upright, ignoring her frailty. "You have until the count of three. Kneel, or you'll never set foot in the Lorvis family home again."

Pain shot through her body as she collapsed to the floor, every movement a fresh wave of agony. Yet she lowered her head and knelt, her pride crushed beneath the weight of his command.

Eric scoffed, his derision clear. "You should learn your place."

Emily sniffled, her tears now a steady flow. "Eric, I shouldn't have brought up the past. I only wanted to see Charlotte again. Maybe... I should've stayed abroad forever."

"Enough of that," Eric said, his voice softening as he tightened his hold on Emily. The scene was picture-perfect, a tableau of a man comforting his beloved.

Inside, Charlotte's mind churned. 'Only twenty-nine days left. Soon, this will all be over.'

The system broke its silence, its tone surprisingly gentle. [You don't have to endure this, Host. I can retrieve the security footage from the hospital.]

'No need,' she responded inwardly. 'Eric only believes what he sees, and what he sees isn't me. Just let it be. Twenty-nine days will be over soon.'

After three days of recovery, Charlotte was sent back to the Lorvis residence—not for her own comfort, but because Emily had a craving for her cooking.

As she maneuvered her wheelchair into the kitchen, she was greeted by Brian. "Still playing the good little housekeeper, huh? Don't you have any self-respect?"

Charlotte ignored him, steering her wheelchair away.

But Brian grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her backward. Her fragile body collapsed onto the floor, pain flaring in her still-healing leg.

"I'm your brother," Brian sneered. "Show some respect when you see me, you uncivilized brat." He laughed, his voice sharp and grating. "Do yourself a favor and leave while you still can. Or are you too shameless to realize everyone's laughing at you? A pathetic stray clinging to Eric like some desperate mutt."

Emily entered then, her delicate hands tugging lightly at Brian's sleeve. "Brian, don't be so harsh. Charlotte's just trying her best. After all, it's normal to have feelings for someone as wonderful as Eric."

Her tone was sweet, her words laced with feigned modesty. She glanced at Charlotte, her expression both kind and cruel.

"Oh, by the way, I'll be staying at the Lorvis residence for a while. Eric said it'd be more convenient this way since I haven't yet found a place to stay."

Charlotte nodded, gripping the arms of her wheelchair as she struggled back into the seat.

Eric arrived shortly after, his gaze lingering on Charlotte's impassive face. For a fleeting moment, something unspoken stirred within him.

"Emily will be staying here for some time," he announced. "She's particular about her meals, so you'll need to wake up at five every morning to prepare her breakfast."

"Eric, isn't that too much to ask of Charlotte? She's still recovering..." Emily's protest was gentle.

Eric dismissed it with a shake of his head. "Charlotte loves cooking. It's her honor to take care of you."

Charlotte smiled faintly and typed out a single line: It's no trouble at all.

Chapter 4

Brian's smug grin surfaced as he shoved a bag of groceries into Charlotte's arms.

"What are you standing there for, mute? Get cooking already. Or should I tell Eric you've been slacking off again?"

Charlotte glanced at the groceries—mostly seafood and meat, with not a single vegetable in sight. She sighed quietly. She was allergic to seafood and disliked meat; clearly, this meal wouldn't be for her. Still, the thought of the remaining twenty-something days reignited a flicker of determination.

Barely half an hour had passed when Emily came rushing into the kitchen.

"Charlotte, why isn't the food ready yet? Don't tell me you don't want to cook for me?"

"She wouldn't dare," Brian barked, his voice laced with impatience. "Charlotte, hurry it up! Emily's hungry!"

With a resigned breath, Charlotte moved to reheat the broth and adjust the portions. But before she could, Emily suddenly snatched the pot of steaming soup from her hands. In a swift, calculated motion, she pretended to stumble, sending the boiling liquid splashing onto Charlotte's back and arms.

"Ah!" A guttural sound of pain tore from Charlotte's throat as she bit down hard, refusing to cry out. The scalding soup soaked through her clothes, leaving her shaking in agony, her body humiliated by the burns.

"Charlotte, are you okay?" Emily's voice trembled with feigned concern, though her crocodile tears betrayed her. She cradled her own hand, where a faint blister had begun to form. "I-I only wanted to help… Oh, this hurts so much!"

Brian arrived on cue. Supporting Emily, he muttered, "Emily, your delicate skin… This could scar! We need the doctor immediately."

Eric burst into the scene shortly after. Without sparing Charlotte so much as a glance, he scooped Emily into his arms and stormed off.

"Charlotte," his cold voice echoed behind him, "you can get yourself to the hospital. The family doctor's needed for Emily."

As the chaos subsided, Charlotte remained behind in the kitchen, her body trembling from pain and her lips curled into a bitter smile. The farce was over, leaving her alone to fend for herself.

She gestured for a servant to fetch her a set of thicker clothes to cover her injuries, but the staff paid her no heed. Instead, they fussed over Emily, offering her various ointments and pain relief remedies.

Left with no other choice, Charlotte gritted her teeth and pulled herself together. She retrieved some clothes on her own, carefully draping them over her blistered skin, and hailed a cab to the hospital.

By the time she arrived, her injuries had worsened. The doctor frowned deeply as she examined the burns. "Your clothes are fused with the skin. This will be painful to treat," the kind-faced doctor said. "You should have come in sooner. Do you live alone?"

Charlotte's throat tightened at the question. She shook her head silently, her fingers quickly typing out a message on her phone: Doctor, I'm mute. Please just write down the instructions for me. Thank you.

The doctor paused, a pang of sympathy flashing across her face. "Alright," she sighed. "Make sure you apply the ointment regularly, and avoid getting the burns wet…"

When Charlotte finally returned to the Lorvis household, the sky had already turned dark. Her body, swathed in bandages, appeared pitiable yet faintly comical. A junior maid, pitying her plight, helped maneuver her wheelchair up the stairs.

"The Madam really has it rough," the maid whispered to another as they passed. "She's covered in injuries, yet Mr. Lorvis is still doting on Miss Emily."

"You're too naive," the other retorted. "That woman has plenty of tricks up her sleeve. She's clung to Mr. Lorvis for years like a stray dog, even as a stand-in for Miss Emily."

"Serves her right, then," another chimed in. "Who told her to take over someone else's place? Everyone laughs at how shameless she is."

The whispers reached Charlotte's ears, but she didn't react. Instead, she typed out a request for the junior maid: Could you come to my room after nine to help with the ointment? I can't reach the burns.

The maid flushed, momentarily stunned, and nodded hurriedly.

When Charlotte entered the house, the dining room scene greeted her like a twisted tableau. Eric and Emily sat close, practically intertwined, feeding each other like starry-eyed lovers.

"Emily, try this," Eric murmured, his gaze dripping with tenderness. Emily giggled, her cheeks pink with joy.

Charlotte's expression remained calm, though a fleeting thought crossed her mind—if they seemed so perfectly suited now, why hadn't Emily married Eric in the first place?

The moment Emily spotted her, she leapt to her feet with exaggerated nervousness. "Charlotte, you're back!"

Charlotte nodded and moved to leave, but Eric's voice stopped her.

"Did you treat your injuries? Do you need me to help with the ointment?" His tone was that of a benevolent master offering charity, which made her chuckle inwardly.

She typed a response on her phone, holding it up with an unbothered smile: No need. Please enjoy your meal. I'll rest now.

Without waiting for his reply, she wheeled herself away, leaving Eric staring after her with a furrowed brow.

She didn't notice the sudden shadow over his expression.

A thought took root in his mind, both ridiculous and undeniable. Was Charlotte angry? Was she… jealous?

Chapter 5

At precisely nine o'clock, a knock came at the door.

Charlotte, expecting the maid, got out of bed and opened it, only to find Eric standing there. He was holding a bundle of gauze, iodine, and ointment.

"I know you're upset," he said, "but you have to understand, Emily has always seen me as her brother. There's nothing between us."

Charlotte's gaze lifted to meet his eyes, and for a fleeting moment, she caught a flash of guilt. Calmly, she began gesturing to express her thoughts.

"I believe you," she signed. "But it's unnecessary. I can handle this myself."

She reached for the medicine in his hand, but he didn't let go. They stood there, locked in silent resistance, until a maid came rushing toward them, panting.

"Miss Emily slipped in the bathroom! You need to come quickly!"

Without a moment's hesitation, Eric dropped everything and left, disappearing down the hallway without a backward glance.

Charlotte stood frozen for a second, an inexplicable bitterness welling in her chest. Once upon a time, if she had been the one injured, he would have scolded her while carefully tending to her wounds. Now, he left without so much as a second thought.

But the feeling passed just as quickly as it came. She pushed it aside. No matter how good Eric was—or had once been—he was destined to be someone else's. And truthfully, he hadn't been good to her in a long time.

Later, the maid arrived, looking sheepish and tearful.

"I'm so sorry, Madam," the girl stammered, wringing her hands. "Mr. Lorvis insisted on taking the medicine earlier. I had no choice—"

Charlotte shook her head to reassure her. There was something endearingly genuine about the young maid's guilt.

She typed out: It's fine. Let's get started.

The maid hesitated, then smiled as she finally noticed the words displayed on the screen.

That night, Eric didn't return to their room. Charlotte didn't mind. Instead, she started sorting through her belongings—things accumulated over the years. It didn't take long; there wasn't much.

Her clothes were plain and practical. The few pieces of jewelry and dresses she owned had only ever been worn with his approval.

The gifts she had given him over the years were all collecting dust somewhere, discarded without care. A wind chime she had made by hand, a tie she had painstakingly stitched, a custom ring—none of them had meant anything to him. The most expensive was a watch worth over 15,000 dollars, something that had taken her a full year of scrimping to afford.

But that was her reality. Without the support of a family like the Spencers, and being mute, job opportunities were scarce. When she had finally landed a job as an editor, Eric had forced her to quit, deeming it "undignified." She had lived on the edge of frugality ever since.

Not that it mattered anymore. Soon, she'd be leaving this world altogether. Money and possessions would mean nothing.

With that in mind, she carefully packed up the gifts he had spurned, along with clothes she no longer wore. They were destined for the orphanage. The next morning, she quietly hailed a taxi, her phone dead, and slipped away unnoticed.

At the orphanage, the children swarmed her as soon as she arrived. Their voices chimed in unison, bright and eager.

"Charlotte, you're finally here! We missed you so much!"

One boy, Leslie, clung to her arm, his face glowing with pride. "Charlotte, I've learned all the everyday signs in two weeks! Even the director says I'm really smart!"

Charlotte couldn't help but smile, signing back, "Leslie, you're amazing! So clever."

The day passed in a blur of smiles and chatter. She handed out gifts, one by one, watching their excitement bubble over. The joy on their faces reminded her of a time long past, a time when she had someone who cared for her.

Her thoughts drifted to Meghan Vanderwall, the woman who had raised her in this very orphanage. Sister, mother, protector—Meghan had been all of these and more. Although they were not related by blood, Charlotte had always treated Meghan like a sister.

Nine years ago, Meghan had died in a chain-reaction car crash while rushing to the school after hearing Charlotte had fallen. Meghan was only twenty-five then.

The memory hit Charlotte like a tidal wave. She hadn't even realized she was crying until her vision blurred. She could still see Meghan's bloodied body, and the ache in her chest felt as fresh as it had that day.

Clutching the locket that held Meghan's photo, Charlotte whispered silently in her heart, "Meghan, wait a little longer for me."

That night, under the children's and the orphanage director's insistent pleas, Charlotte stayed at the orphanage. When she finally left the next day, she carried the warmth of their laughter with her.

It wasn't until she borrowed the taxi driver's charger that her phone buzzed back to life. The screen lit up with over 300 missed calls—more than 200 of them from Eric.

The phone rang again almost instantly. It was Brian.

"So, you've finally decided to answer," his voice snapped, dripping with disdain. "Did you know how worried Emily was? And Eric? He's been searching for you everywhere. What's your game, Charlotte? Playing hard to get? Let me tell you something—no matter what you do, Eric will only ever love Emily. You're nothing but a substitute, so stop dreaming of taking her place."

Chapter 6

Charlotte scratched her head, a vague sense of unease settling over her. For the past few days, Eric had been coming and going at odd hours, barely leaving a trace of his presence in the villa. Why would he suddenly need to call her?

She didn't return the call—not because she held any grudge, but because it seemed unnecessary. Besides, she couldn't speak.

It wasn't until she stepped back into the Lorvis family's sprawling residence that the young maid came rushing toward her.

"Madam, where have you been? You were gone for a whole day, and Mr. Lorvis was beside himself with worry! He wouldn't eat anything, kept yelling at the chef, and even scolded some of the other maids for talking behind your back."

Charlotte's eyes widened in surprise. Was Eric's tantrum really just about unsatisfactory food? What did any of that have to do with her? She had less than three weeks left, and she didn't owe him anything.

The maid ushered her into the living room, where the air was unsettlingly calm. Sensing no reason to linger, Charlotte made her way upstairs to their bedroom, only to find the curtains drawn tight, casting the room in an oppressive gloom. The acrid scent of alcohol hung in the air. Eric was slumped against the cabinet, fast asleep.

She had no intention of disturbing him, but it was too late. His eyes fluttered open, bloodshot and clouded with fatigue.

"Where were you? And what's with the missing clothes from your wardrobe?"

Caught off guard, Charlotte quickly typed out a response on her phone: I went to the orphanage. I gave away some of my clothes and other things to the children there.

His brows knit together, his voice sharp. "Why this sudden charity?"

She found the question strange. She'd been visiting the orphanage for years, but he'd never shown the slightest interest before. She typed another line: Just felt like it.

Eric nodded as he reached out, gripping her chin with unsettling force.

"Fine. But don't you dare leave without telling me again. You're my wife. You'll do as I say."

She nodded, hiding her anger beneath a calm facade. Internally, though, she was cursing him with every fiber of her being.

"Good. Now go make me breakfast."

Her defiance was instant. She shook her head, pulling out her phone again to explain: I burned myself pretty badly. I can't touch water.

Eric froze for a moment, clearing his throat to mask his unease.

"Are you upset because I had the doctor look at Emily first? She's been spoiled since she was a child. She's soft and delicate. You, on the other hand, have thick skin. You'll heal quickly."

His words landed like stones, each heavier than the last. "Fine, I won't ask you to cook for her anymore. But stop making a fuss over such trivial things. You're lucky I married you at all."

Charlotte felt her worldview shatter into jagged pieces. Eric always had an endless supply of justifications, each more infuriating than the last.

She nodded wordlessly, turning away to ask the maid to prepare the guest room for her. She needed rest. More importantly, she needed to face her remaining days with composure. She was finally going to meet Meghan, and she wanted to look her best when that moment came.

The system's voice reminded her of the inevitable. [Host, I've scheduled a full-service lung cancer treatment. Ten days and all this will be over. Endure, and victory will be yours.]

At the hospital, the diagnosis was handed to her with little fanfare: terminal lung cancer. She stared at the paper, her face serene, while the doctor explained options she had no intention of pursuing.

Seeing that the patient nodded no matter what he said, the doctor found it a bit strange. It wasn't until Charlotte handed him her phone with a few words typed on it that he realized Charlotte was mute.

"There's hope," the doctor said, mistaking her calm for resignation. "Chemotherapy can extend your life by a few months. Do you have family who can support you?"

She typed her reply quickly and handed him the phone: No family. I won't seek treatment. Thank you.

The doctor's expression grew heavier, but Charlotte was already walking away. As she turned a corner, she stumbled upon a scene that froze her in place: Eric stepping out of the obstetrics department, his hand hovering protectively over Emily's arm. Her hand rested lightly on her belly.

The three of them locked eyes. An unbearable tension filled the hallway.

Eric's voice broke first, unsteady and tinged with defensiveness. "Emily's pregnant. Brian couldn't be here, so I accompanied her for the check-up. Why are you here?"

Charlotte nodded, her gaze lingering on Eric. The explanation rang hollow, yet she didn't challenge him.

She simply lowered her head and began typing: The orphanage director is ill. I accompanied her for tests. The results were only ready today. Please keep this private. I don't want her to feel worse.

Relief flickered across Eric's face, though it was brief. He glanced at the paper in her hand, his voice faltering.

"That diagnosis—it's not yours, right?"

She shook her head, her eyes betraying no emotion, though her fingers trembled faintly as she typed her reply: It's not mine.

Eric felt an inexplicable pang in his heart as he looked at the redness around Charlotte's eyes.

He must be overthinking it. Charlotte was perfectly healthy. Seven years ago, she had taken three stabs for him and even survived alcohol poisoning. How could someone so young possibly have cancer?

Chapter 7

Emily shot a resentful glare at Charlotte, then tugged at Eric's sleeve, her voice laced with a hint of tears. "Eric, my stomach hurts…"

Panic flickered visibly across Eric's face. Without hesitation, he scooped Emily up gently in his arms and rushed her into the obstetrics department.

Inside Charlotte's mind, the system's voice chimed in urgently. [Host, why didn't you tell him you have cancer?]

'I'm worried it'll complicate things and hinder my plans to leave,' she replied calmly. 'Besides, I want to restore my face before I go.'

Wasting no time, Charlotte booked an appointment with the same clinic where she had undergone her original plastic surgery. She made it clear that her request was to reverse the alterations and return to her natural appearance.

"You've finally come around," Dr. Jim Sagal remarked when he saw her. "I told you back then not to do it, but you were stubborn."

Charlotte offered a faint smile but didn't respond.

Dr. Jim studied her expression. "No need to type. I've learned sign language since then—it's more interesting than I thought."

Her eyes lit up at his words, and she quickly used sign language to outline her request: remove all the implants, minimize the incisions, and ensure a swift recovery.

He nodded, observing her silently. Seven years ago, he had known Charlotte as the true heiress of the Spencer family, later becoming Mrs. Lorvis. He had also heard that it was Eric who pressured her into reshaping herself to resemble the Spencer family's fake heiress. The irony had not escaped him then, and it didn't now.

She had been his only patient out of thousands who insisted on making herself less attractive—a decision he hadn't been able to dissuade. Now, it seemed, she had finally awakened.

On the fifteenth day before the end of her mission, Charlotte returned to the Lorvis family home to pack her belongings. Her surgery was scheduled for the next day, and Dr. Jim had informed her that she would need at least a week in the hospital to recover.

Determined, she packed swiftly and contacted a lawyer to draft divorce papers.

She had made up her mind. If she was going to see Meghan again, she needed to sever every tie to the life she despised.

As she stepped out of the house with her suitcase, she ran into Eric at the door.

"Where are you going?" he asked, his voice sharp.

She handed him a note she had prepared in advance. "I'm going to the hospital to take care of the orphanage director. I want to spend one more week with her."

Eric frowned, his first thought being that she was still upset with him. After a pause, he pulled a bracelet from his pocket—a dazzling piece that was unmistakably expensive.

"This is for you. Don't be mad anymore, okay?"

Charlotte's brows knitted in confusion. This was the first time he had ever spoken to her in a conciliatory tone while giving her a gift. In the past, he had tossed things at her casually, often laced with disdain.

Before she could react, Brian walked in, his gaze landing on the bracelet. His mouth fell open.

"Eric, don't tell me that's the bracelet you spent 5 million on at yesterday's auction? Weren't you going to give it to Emily?"

At that moment, Emily entered the scene, her shy smile directed at Eric.

Charlotte said nothing, and Eric's face twisted in discomfort. Yet he still turned and handed the bracelet to Emily, avoiding Charlotte's gaze as though afraid of seeing disapproval in her expression.

But Charlotte didn't care. She had long understood that Eric's heart belonged to Emily. The lavish gifts sent overseas every year were a testament to that, while the items he gave her could be counted on one hand.

The surgery was over in what felt like the blink of an eye. Thanks to the anesthesia, Charlotte experienced it as nothing more than a long nap. When she woke, she felt the bandages on her nose and chin. They didn't look as unsettling as they had after her first surgery, but her body was noticeably weaker.

The persistent coughs and searing pain in her chest were getting worse. Even Dr. Jim seemed concerned.

"Are you sick? Should I take you to the hospital for a check-up?"

Charlotte looked at him, a man she considered one of the few decent people in this world. She didn't use sign language this time, opting instead to type out a long message on her phone.

"I won't lie to you. I am sick. When I die, I'll need you to help me with one thing—cremate my body and scatter my ashes in the sea. I hate this world, but I have no choice but to stay in it for now…"

Jim froze, the weight of her words sinking in. He hadn't expected the young woman before him, whom he remembered as radiant and full of life at twenty, to be facing the end.

"I promise," he said softly.

Chapter 8

The next few days brought a strange, fragile kind of joy to Charlotte.

Freed from the burden of tending to Eric or enduring the servants' quiet insults, she found herself strangely at peace, even as her body continued to weaken. Sleep consumed her more and more, and there were moments when she coughed up blood, staining the quiet hours.

But none of it seemed to matter—she was going to see Meghan soon.

Dr. Jim, when not occupied, would often visit and tell her stories. In turn, she shared snippets of her past at the orphanage—fragmented memories that carried a bittersweet weight. Their conversations, unburdened by judgment, were light yet meaningful, each exchange a fleeting reprieve from the heaviness of her thoughts.

Meanwhile, Emily made her presence felt in the most insidious way. She sent photo after photo to Charlotte—photos that were far from innocent. Intimate pictures of stolen kisses, warm embraces, the disarray of hotel beds, and scattered clothes. Each image carried an unspoken taunt.

"Did you know? Eric loves this child," Emily texted alongside a picture of her cradling her stomach. "He's going to divorce you soon. When that happens, Charlotte, what will you do?"

The Eric in those photos seemed like a stranger—gentle, doting, a version of him she had never encountered. With a steady hand, Charlotte blocked Emily's number. She stared at her phone for a moment longer, her thoughts drifting to how she might finally make Eric sign the divorce papers.

Five days before her mission ended, she was discharged from the hospital. Before leaving, she handed Dr. Jim the address of the crematorium she had contacted. With a quiet smile, she formed a simple sign of gratitude in sign language.

When she returned to the Lorvis household, she was met with a flurry of activity. Servants bustled about, arranging decorations and preparing the grand hall. Only then did she realize—it was Eric's birthday.

From the living room, she could hear murmurs and low voices. She stepped in and immediately caught Eric's gaze. He froze for a moment, his eyes narrowing.

"What happened to your nose and chin? Did you get hurt?"

Charlotte shook her head and signed, "I had the implants removed. Soon, I'll return to my original appearance."

His hand curled into a fist at his side, his expression tight with something unreadable. "Why now? You went to such lengths to make yourself look like Emily back then, even borrowing money for it."

Her lips curled in a faint, mocking smile as she signed, "I made myself ugly once. What's wrong with wanting to be beautiful again?"

The air between them grew heavy. Eric's face darkened, while Emily, standing nearby, stiffened. Charlotte's calmness unnerved her—why would a mere substitute want her own face back?

"Today's my birthday," Eric said after a pause. "Dress appropriately and show up tonight."

Charlotte rolled her eyes but nodded. The divorce agreement in her room reminded her that compliance was the quickest way forward.

By nightfall, the Lorvis family estate brimmed with life. The elite of society filled the hall, their laughter and chatter mingling with the sound of clinking glasses. Brian arrived with Emily, drawing immediate attention.

"Look! It's the Spencer siblings! And Emily, Eric's favorite. I heard she moved into the Lorvis estate after her divorce. He can't bear to be apart from her, can he?"

"Exactly. As for the current Mrs. Lorvis… What a joke. Isn't she mute? And a lapdog, no less. She's probably off crying in a corner."

Another chimed in with a sneer, "A bastard daughter trying to live the high life. The audacity."

A group of young men close to Eric laughed openly. "Eric's love for Emily is no secret. Didn't they just visit the hospital together recently? Maybe the wedding bells are near."

Amidst the chatter, Charlotte stood by a small table, quietly eating a slice of cake.

Brian, noticing her solitary figure, smirked and sauntered over with a group of friends in tow.

"Back from surgery, are we? Trying to win him over with a new face? Even if you were a goddess, Eric wouldn't want you." His tone was biting. "I've been telling you to divorce him, but you refused. Now look at the spectacle you've made of yourself."

Before she could react, he reached out and ripped off the bandages covering her face. He froze. The room seemed to still as her unaltered features came into view—a striking beauty that had once turned heads, untainted by surgical tweaks.

"You— You've gone back to your original face, Charlotte?"

Someone else muttered in awe, "She was gorgeous before. The surgery ruined her proportions. Since Eric isn't interested in her anyway, perhaps we could have a go at her."

The words grew bolder, more suggestive, as the group leered at her.

Before she could slip away, one of them shoved her toward the grand, towering birthday cake. She stumbled, falling against it with enough force to topple the ornate confection.

The room erupted into chaos.

Amid the gasps and whispers, she began coughing violently, her frail body wracked with spasms. Blood flecked her lips, staining the ruined cake in vivid crimson—a macabre bloom in the sea of white frosting.

Chapter 9

When Eric arrived, he found Charlotte in a pitiful state, covered in a mixture of cake and blood.

"Someone, call a doctor!" he shouted.

Charlotte slowly tried to rise, shaking her head in refusal. She didn't need a doctor, not really. The cream smeared across her body made her nauseous, a sickly sweetness clinging to the air. Her face was pale, ghostly.

Seeing her like this, Eric couldn't suppress his concern. He reached for her, trying to hold her steady.

Then, a loud cry rang out from behind.

"Help! Emily… it looks like she's had a miscarriage. Someone call an ambulance!"

Eric froze, his hand still hovering near Charlotte. His face tightened, troubled. He hesitated, then reluctantly withdrew, letting her go.

"Take care of yourself. Emily's situation is worse—I have to go to her," he said curtly, turning away to make his way toward the commotion.

The crowd shifted as he walked past, scattering like smoke. No one spared a second glance at Charlotte, this mute, forgotten figure in the corner.

But Dr. Jim noticed. He walked over. "Why did your bandages come off? Should I take you to get them fixed?"

Charlotte smiled faintly, nodding.

They walked in silence. Finally, Dr. Jim couldn't hold it in any longer.

"Charlotte, I just don't understand," he said, his voice low, almost weary. "Eric doesn't care for you. Why do you keep putting yourself through this? Doesn't it hurt?"

Charlotte lowered her gaze, pulling his hand into hers. She began to write on his palm, her fingers moving slowly, deliberately.

"It hurts," she wrote. "But I have to do this. I need to finish what I've started."

The last words hung in the air, and Dr. Jim felt something click in his mind. So she was here for another reason, someone else's purpose, bound by duty rather than choice.

Charlotte said nothing more, as if that explanation had been enough. What she had shared with him was more than enough, too much, maybe. She didn't need to say more.

Later that night, Eric returned, drunk. He stumbled into the room, his eyes half-lidded as he spoke about the evening's events. "Emily drank some fruit juice at the banquet and had a miscarriage…"

His face twisted with anger. "Whoever tampered with that juice—mark my words, they will regret it."

Charlotte couldn't help but smile bitterly at his words. She picked up a note she had written beforehand and showed it to him. "The orphanage is holding a charity dinner. They want to invite you. You don't have to go, just sign here. I'll forgive you for everything that's happened before, if you sign."

Eric blinked, a small laugh escaping him. "Sure. As long as you forgive me, Charlotte. Tell me, will you forgive me for anything I've done?"

Charlotte saw him hesitate, pen hovering over the paper. She sighed inwardly and nodded, forcing herself to comply. Eric signed quickly, then pulled her into a tight embrace.

She hated it, hated the scent of alcohol on his skin, the closeness, but she endured it. She could bear it, just a little longer. For Meghan.

On the third-to-last day, Charlotte burned all her clothes. Eric was at the hospital with Emily, keeping her company while she recovered.

On the second-to-last day, Brian sent someone to question Charlotte, accusing her of causing Emily's miscarriage. She denied it, but before she could explain further, Eric arrived, ordering the staff to shut her in.

And on the final day, Eric arrived with a maid, a witness, to confront her.

"Why did you do it? Why did you hurt Emily? Even if she's pregnant, I won't divorce you, Charlotte. Can't you accept that she and the child are more important than you?"

He didn't even give her a chance to speak, instead binding her before Emily.

"Emily, feel free to take out your frustrations on her," Eric said.

Emily smiled sweetly, directing the bodyguards. One strike after another landed on Charlotte's body, each lash more painful than the last.

Charlotte attempted to sign something, but no one cared to understand. She coughed violently, blood seeping from her lips. The pressure in her lungs was suffocating. As her body seemed to shut down, she reached into her mind, connecting with the system.

'Help me contact Dr. Jim. I don't want my body to fall into Eric and Emily's hands.'

The system responded promptly. In her delirium, Charlotte could hear the seconds ticking away, the countdown to her end slipping past, one moment at a time.

When only five minutes remained, Dr. Jim arrived.

"What have you done to yourself?" he exclaimed, rushing to her side.

Charlotte smiled weakly, struggling to gesture. "Thank you for coming to collect my body. I'll repay you in another life."

As they rushed to the hospital, Charlotte felt the weight lift from her chest. The countdown hit zero, and she let out a sigh, her hand falling limp by her side.

Dr. Jim held her close, tears streaming down his face as he cried for her.

Meanwhile, Eric sat at his office desk, growing increasingly agitated. He couldn't fathom how Charlotte could have harmed Emily. He was convinced Emily had struck Charlotte, and that should have been the end of it.

But then, the phone rang, cutting through his thoughts. It was from the Lorvis estate.

"Mr. Lorvis, you need to come back. A man came and took your unconscious wife away."