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.

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.