Elliott knew I was allergic to alcohol.

Whenever I attended a gathering, he would go out of his way to ensure juice was prepared for me. Four years of this, without exception. Yet now, he was the one asking me to drink.

Elliott lounged back on the sofa, his gaze detached as he spoke, "If you want the money, drink it all. That's my only condition."

For the first time, I found him unrecognizable. But I had no choice—I needed the money.

"Alright," I said, forcing the word out.

Bottle after bottle, I downed the drinks. I lost track of how many I consumed or even what they were. At some point, I was drinking and vomiting simultaneously, my face drenched in a mix of tears and alcohol.

Everyone watched with a kind of twisted excitement, like spectators at a circus.

At last, the final bottle was empty. Dizzy and trembling, I looked at Elliott, who sat there calmly, utterly unaffected.

"Now can you lend me the money?" I asked.

He glanced at me with disdain. "What makes you different from those women who throw themselves at me? You're just as cheap."

With that, he motioned for the security guards to throw me out.

I collapsed on the pavement outside the bar, unable to move. My vision blurred, the night sky above seemed vast and indifferent.

Elliott, has four years meant so little that you can't even trust me?

That night, I nearly suffocated from an allergic reaction to the alcohol. Fortunately, someone kind-hearted rushed me to the hospital in time.

The next morning, I woke up on a hospital bed to find Conner Wright sitting nearby. He was my mother's attending physician.

When he saw I was awake, his expression darkened. "Do you have any idea how dangerous it is for someone with an alcohol allergy to drink? Are you trying to gamble with your life? What happens if you're gone? Who'll take care of your mother?"

His scolding left me speechless, and I lowered my head in shame.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Wright. I'll be more careful next time," I murmured.

He stood up, lightly patting my head. "You'll get through this," he said gently.

I nodded, and he finally left, reassured.

Just as I was trying to figure out my next steps, my phone buzzed with a message. It was from Tiffany.

Seeing its contents, I didn't even think before throwing off the blanket and leaving the hospital. My stomach churned, but I couldn't let that slow me down.

When I arrived at the café, Tiffany was there, waiting leisurely.

"Will you lend me the seventy thousand?" I asked directly.

She took a small sip of her coffee, her expression mocking. "Sure. But on one condition."

Even if it were ten conditions, I would have agreed without hesitation.

"Stay away from Elliott. If you promise that, the money is yours," she said, pulling a bank card from her bag and waving it lightly in the air.

I hesitated. One side was my critically ill mother, and the other was the man I loved. I had no choice.

I reached for the card, but before I could grab it, another hand snatched it away.

It was Elliott, his face dark with anger.

I stared at him in disbelief. How was he here?

Seeing the smug satisfaction in Tiffany's eyes, I instantly understood.

Elliott snapped the card in half and threw the pieces onto the ground. His voice was cold and sharp.

"Candice, I really underestimated you. The act you put on before was quite convincing, but now, for a mere seventy thousand, you can't keep up the pretense? If you'd played your part a little longer, I might've even given you a hundred and fifty thousand."

I didn't argue. My gaze fell to the broken card on the floor. I reached out, hoping to salvage the situation somehow.

Before I could touch it, his foot stomped down, grinding it into the ground.

"I despise women like you, willing to do anything for money," he said coldly. "If money is what you want, then I'll make sure you get none. Not from me, not from anyone else."

Turning to Tiffany, he added, "If anyone dares to give Candice money, they're going against me. Against my family."

With that, he stormed out, his entourage following close behind.

I sank to the ground, staring at the shattered card fragments. Tears spilled from my eyes, falling unchecked.

My phone rang suddenly, the sound cutting through the silence.

It was Dr. Wright.

"Candice, you need to come to the hospital immediately. Your mother's condition has worsened," he said.

A jolt of adrenaline shot through me. I scrambled to my feet, nearly collapsing from dizziness.

By the time I staggered into the hospital, Dr. Wright met me at the door. He shook his head solemnly, stepping aside to reveal my mother lying lifeless on the bed behind him.

She was gone. Forever.

I collapsed onto the ground, utterly drained of strength.

Dr. Wright knelt beside me, his voice a distant hum of consolation, but none of his words could reach me. My mother's words from long ago echoed faintly in my mind.

"I don't oppose your relationship with Elliott," she had said, her tone cautious. "But we're just an ordinary family. The disparity in your backgrounds will only bring you heartache in the future."

At the time, I was too swept up in the sweetness of Elliott to take her seriously.

"Don't worry, Mom," I had replied with an air of certainty. "Elliott treats me so well. He even promised he'd never hurt me."

But now, the deepest wound I carried was inflicted by Elliott himself.

A man's promises are as fleeting as the wind; believing in them is a fool's errand.

I clung to my mother's cold, lifeless body and sobbed. "Mom, I'll listen to you. I won't have anything to do with Elliott ever again. From now on, I'll do whatever you say. Just… open your eyes and look at me one more time."

Only the hollow echoes of the empty room answered my desperate pleas.

It was a long while before I regained my composure and began the preparations to have her body cremated. But when I arrived at the facility, I was told that the hospital wouldn't release her remains until the fees were paid in full.

Remembering the single-digit balance in my bank account, I wanted to slap myself. Before I could muster the courage to ask if a payment plan was possible, Dr. Wright stepped forward and handed over his card.

"Charge this," he said firmly.

I scrambled to stop him. "Dr. Wright, you've already helped me so much. I can't let you—"

He cut me off before I could finish. "Let's get her settled first. You can repay me later."

I reached for his hand, but it fell back limply to my side. This was the best option I had. Dr. Wright even covered the cost of the burial plot. All I could do now was find a job as soon as possible and repay him.

With his help, the arrangements were completed quickly. My mother and I had few friends, so the ceremony was quiet, just the two of us.

As we drove to the cemetery, the sky darkened, and a cold rain began to fall.

The workers handled her urn with care, placing it gently in the prepared niche. They sealed it, packed the soil, and stepped back.

Her greatest wish had been to see me find a place of happiness and stability. But even in death, she hadn't lived to see that day.

Dr. Wright broke the silence. "What are your plans now?"

"I'll stay here," I replied softly.

He looked at me, puzzled. "Here?"

I explained that the cemetery was hiring. I wanted to stay close to her, even if it meant working in this quiet, somber place.

I had always thought time was abundant, that I'd have endless days to spend with her. But time is a thief, and life can change in an instant. Now, I could only hold on to what little remained.

Dr. Wright hesitated as if to dissuade me but then rested a hand gently on my shoulder. "As long as you live well, that's the greatest comfort you can give her."

After the funeral, he offered to drive me home. I lowered my head. Now that my mom was gone, I don't have a home anymore.

In the end, I asked him to drop me off at Elliott's apartment. My belongings were still there, and it was time to take them back.

I was sure he wouldn't be home at this hour, but as soon as I unlocked the door with my fingerprint, I was greeted by the sight of Elliott and Tiffany locked in a passionate embrace.

Elliott froze when he saw me, instinctively pushing Tiffany off his lap. His first words, hurried and defensive, were, "It's not what it looks like, Candice!"

But the moment passed, and his expression hardened. "Why are you here?"