"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.

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?

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."