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."

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?

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.