"How Pablo arranges this home is his decision. The storage room is fine. I can stay there," I said, lowering my head, my voice barely a whisper.

Pablo’s expression was a mask. He gave nothing away, but he didn't seem pleased.

Seeing him like that, a wave of unease washed over me. I had already conceded on every front for the person he cherished most. Why was he still not satisfied?

The worst part happened at dinner.

The table was laden with a lavish seafood feast, all of Scarlett's favorites.

Pablo was carefully shelling king crab legs for Scarlett, who beamed at him with a brilliant smile.

I kept my head down, silently picking at the vegetable salad in front of me.

"Willow, why don't you try some of this?"

Scarlett's sweet voice rang out as she reached over to serve me a bowl of clam chowder.

I didn't move, silently pushing it to the side.

"Willow, do you have a problem with me? You won't even drink the soup I served you."

Her expression instantly turned wounded, and Pablo's face immediately darkened.

"Willow! Drink it. What's with the attitude?"

I looked up, a heavy weight pressing on my chest.

"I can't drink this," I said softly.

I am severely allergic to shellfish. At home, there had never been a dish on our table that I couldn't eat. But now, almost everything on this table was something I couldn't touch.

He'd forgotten. Again.

"What do you mean you can't drink it? Scarlett is trying to make peace with you. Don't be so ungrateful. Drink the soup."

"It's okay, Pablo. It's my fault. The kitchen made all my favorites today. It's understandable that Willow is upset on her first day back. Willow, just tell the kitchen what you want to eat, and they'll make it for you."

Scarlett's eyes gleamed with a deliberate, victorious taunt.

But none of it could provoke me anymore.

"She's not that delicate. Just because you like it doesn't mean she can't touch it. Willow, stop making things awkward for everyone. Be sensible."

Pablo's face was dark, his brow furrowed—a clear sign of his impending rage.

Once again, he didn't give me a chance to explain, immediately assuming it was my fault.

At Clear Path, they taught me: I must obey the person who provides me with shelter and food.

I couldn't make Pablo angry. If he was angry, it was my fault.

"Fine, I'll drink it."

I lowered my head and forced myself to gulp it down, desperate to avoid his impending wrath.

As he watched me drink it obediently, his tight frown finally relaxed.

I choked back the roiling nausea in my stomach and ate whatever they served, including that fatal bowl of chowder.

But soon, my neck began to itch. Then an unbearable stinging spread across my entire body. My throat constricted violently, as if someone were strangling me.

My trembling hands could no longer hold my utensils. I crumpled to the floor.

Scarlett screamed and threw herself into Pablo's arms. His first instinct was to hold her tight.

It wasn't until I was writhing on the floor, desperately clawing at my throat, that he finally reacted.

"What's wrong with you?"

A flash of genuine panic crossed his eyes when he saw the red welts spreading rapidly across my skin and my swollen lips.

"You're having an allergic reaction! You're allergic to shellfish! How could I have forgotten?"

By the time I was rushed to Harborview Medical Center, I could barely breathe.

Fortunately, the intervention was timely, and I narrowly escaped death.

As I lay in the ICU bed, Pablo sat nearby, completely absorbed in comforting the weeping woman in his arms.

"It's all my fault. If I hadn't made her drink that soup, this wouldn't have happened."

"Stop crying. It's not your fault. She's the one who's acting foolish—knowing she's allergic and drinking it anyway. She was just trying to guilt-trip me."

Heh. So it was my fault.

"You're awake, Willow."

Scarlett turned, her tear-streaked face a mask of feigned surprise and concern, and walked toward me.

However, Pablo spoke first. "Why didn't you say you were allergic? Why did you drink it anyway?"

"I told you I couldn't," I trembled. "But you would have been angry if I refused."

Pablo's face grew even darker.

"Are you doing this on purpose? Are you trying to punish me? To make me feel guilty?"

Did I insist on drinking it?

I shook my head in fear, not knowing what I had done wrong again but knowing I had to admit fault.

"It's my fault, Pablo, but I didn't do it on purpose. Please, don't be angry."

"You..."

He stared at me, took a sharp breath, and then left in a rage, pulling Scarlett with him. He never came back to see me.

Two days later, a nurse came to collect payment for the substantial ICU fees.

I anxiously opened my mobile banking app to check my balance, only to find less than a hundred dollars left.

"Can I call my family?" I asked hesitantly.

The nurse raised an eyebrow but nodded. "Go ahead."

Pablo didn't answer my calls. I tried again and again, but he remained unreachable. The nurse grew impatient.

"What about the medical bills?" she urged.

"I'll pay them," I replied, heat flooding my face under her suspicious gaze.

Another day passed with no word from Pablo.

The nurse returned, her tone sharper.

"You're not planning on skipping out on the bill, are you? You're an adult. Can't you reach anyone? Do I need to call the police?"

"I... I..." I stammered, trying to find the words. "I can leave something as collateral and come back with the money later."

The only valuable thing I had was the bracelet my mother had left me. It was her final gift to me before she died, and it had been my sole comfort during countless desperate nights at Clear Path.

It was also the only thing I had left.

I pawned the bracelet for enough money to settle the bill, and the hospital finally agreed to discharge me.

"Is this the way?"

My memory was failing me. I didn't recognize the familiar streets.

With the help of a police officer, I finally staggered back to the apartment, exhausted and disoriented.

By nightfall, I reached the front door. The wind was biting, and as I shivered outside, I discovered my fingerprint no longer worked on the smart lock.

I couldn't get in. Through the vast floor-to-ceiling windows, I could hear their laughter and celebration.

"Do you like your gift?"

"A Porsche! Oh my god, Pablo, this must have cost a fortune!"

"It's to celebrate you signing with the new brand. It's nothing. As long as you're happy."

The tenderness in his eyes as he looked at her was undeniable.

Held in his arms, Scarlett was radiant with happiness.

For a moment, I was in a daze.

Every year on my birthday, Pablo would prepare a gift for me in advance, putting so much thought into it.

Back then, he had looked at me with that same tender gaze.

I pounded on the door, again and again.

Eventually, Pablo came to open it.

"What are you doing here?" He seemed surprised. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming back?"