From A Stand-in to Sweet Love
The screen displayed a large photograph, proclaiming the wedding announcement of Davis Blake and Elisa Riddle.
In the photo, Elisa wore a bespoke champagne-colored gown, her veil draped over Davis's shoulder; the smiles on their lips were sweetened like sugar yet pierced my eyes with pain.
Suddenly, a brutal force struck my back.
It wasn't a mere shove, but a spiteful blow, so powerful it sent me stumbling forward.
I had no time to turn around, nor to make out the figure behind me before my body lost its balance.
Beneath my feet were the spiraling mall stairs, and I rolled down the steps.
My consciousness blurred as I fell, and when I opened my eyes again, I found myself beneath the hospital's white ceiling.
I moved my finger slightly; an IV line was inserted into my wrist, the skin around the puncture tinged with purple-blue.
The nurse pushed the door open, saw that I had awakened, and said flatly, "It's good that you're awake. The doctor said you injured your throat and have temporarily lost your voice."
While recording the data, she added, "Your family came by and said to tell you when you woke up."
My memories were hazy, leaving only a vague silhouette of my "Husband"—a tall figure in a dark suit, speaking in a low voice.
I couldn't recall his face or how we met, only hearing a voice inside me urging, "I must find him."
When Davis arrived at the hospital, the sky had already darkened.
He pushed the door open, the cold from outside still clinging to his suit, his tie hanging loosely around his neck.
Seeing me leaning against the headboard, he didn't come closer, only stood at the door with no trace of concern in his eyes—only impatience.
"Stop playing these games." He spoke, his voice as cold as ice, "The news of my marriage to Elisa has already been announced. No matter how much you feign illness to gain sympathy, it's useless."
I looked at him, and tears suddenly streamed down.
I wanted to explain, to tell him I wasn't pretending, but not even a sob could escape my throat.
Davis frowned, clearly annoyed with me. "I don't have time to waste on you. The medical expenses have been stopped. Handle it yourself."
With that, he turned and walked away; the door slammed so hard the walls trembled slightly.
When the nurse came in to change the dressing, she noticed the empty medicine tray by my bedside and sighed.
"Miss, please don't blame us. Mr Blake said he would no longer cover the fees, so we have no way to provide you with medication."
She gently pulled out the empty IV bag. "You'll have to manage your meals yourself as well; the hospital cafeteria doesn't offer free meals."
I nodded, feeling as though cold water had been poured over me, chilling me to the core.
Fragmented memories surged like a relentless tide, disordered and broken into shards.
The first fragment was an attic without windows.
I sat on a worn wooden plank bed, starving for three days.
I reached beneath the pillow—no hidden cookies remained. The few I had secretly saved before were long gone.
Outside the door, Elisa's voice rang out: "Fiona Sweeney, Davis loves me. You were nothing but a substitute."
I clenched my fists tightly.
Until that time, I realized that all this time I had only been Elisa's substitute.
No wonder Davis always wanted me to keep my hair long and wear white dresses, and called me "Elisa" every time he was drunk.
Another fragment of memory flashed before me.
The same hospital, but an earlier ward.
Elisa came in carrying a bowl of chicken soup: "Fiona, your body is weak. You haven't fully recovered from your fall last time. Have some chicken soup to nourish yourself."
The fragrance of the chicken soup overwhelmed all other scents.
I took the bowl, hesitated briefly, then took two sips.
No sooner had I swallowed than my stomach began to churn violently.
I suddenly vomited.
Immediately after, Elisa grabbed the glass cup on the table and smashed it to the floor.
Shards scattered everywhere; she picked up a piece and lightly slashed her arm.
Blood instantly welled up.
"Ah! Fiona, you're insane!" she screamed, her voice piercing enough to draw the attention of the entire floor.
The nurse and Davis quickly rushed in.
Davis saw the cut on Elisa's arm, then glanced at the broken shards on the floor and my pale face; the disgust in his eyes threatened to spill over.
"Fiona, you really disgust me." His voice was like an ice pick.
Elisa leaned against him, her shoulders trembling with sobs: "Davis, I only wanted to bring Fiona some food. How could she do this to me..."
Davis patted her back to comfort her without so much as glancing at me: "Leave her alone. I won't let her come near you again."
Since then, no one has come to visit me ever again.
A vague fragment of memory suddenly slipped in—warm, completely unlike the pain I had known before.
It was at the wedding; I was dressed in a white wedding gown.
I don't know why, but I cried uncontrollably.
At that moment, a man approached and handed me a white handkerchief.
His hands were warm as he gently wiped the tears from my cheeks.
"Don't cry," he whispered softly, "From now on, I will be here for you."
I couldn't recall his face, but that fleeting comfort felt etched into my very bones.
At dawn, I sat on the hospital steps, dew dampening my patient gown.
Suddenly, my fingers brushed the necklace at my throat.
It was pendent in the shape of a little box, and I tried hard to open it.
Inside lay a simple silver ring.
Engraved inside was a tiny "Carson."
My heart leapt violently, as if it had been struck.
That vague "husband"—not Davis, but Carson Blake! He is Davis's younger brother.
I turned around and saw Elisa standing nearby.
Her gaze fell on the ring in my hand; her eyes instantly gleamed like a wolf spotting prey.
She hurried forward and snatched at it, "This isn't yours! Give it to me!"
Her long nails scraped the back of my hand, leaving several red scratches.
I gripped the ring tightly, veins bulging on the back of my hand: "This is mine!"
Though I couldn't make a sound, the resolve in my eyes caused Elisa to pause.
During the struggle, Davis approached.
He had just stepped out of the car, and upon seeing our quarrel, his brows instantly furrowed.
Elisa immediately adopted a look of innocence, releasing my hand, her eyes red: "Davis, Fiona stole my things and even pushed me. Look, my hand's all red."
She held her arm up in front of Davis; there was indeed a faint red mark on it.
Davis didn't ask why; he raised his hand and slapped me hard.
The slap was fierce, and blood immediately seeped from the corner of my mouth.
"Fiona, don't get any more arrogant." His voice was laced with impatience. "You even dare to snatch what belongs to Elisa? What exactly do you want?"
After saying that, he took Elisa's hand and left. As Elisa passed by me, a smug smile curled at the corner of her lips.
The nurse approached, holding my discharge papers.
"Don't come back again. Mr Blake said that if you linger any longer, he'll call the security guard." She shoved the paperwork into my hands.
I clutched that thin piece of paper, my fingers trembling.
As I stepped out of the hospital gates, the sunlight fell brightly on my face, almost blinding me.
Clad in a faded patient gown, I wandered aimlessly along the street.
Suddenly, I found myself standing before a towering silver skyscraper.
It was the Blake Business, the building's entrance teeming with people coming and going.
Just then, I saw Carson Blake.
He was emerging from the building, his assistant close behind, a document in hand as he spoke softly, eyes downcast.
Without a second thought, I rushed towards him.
The assistant saw me and immediately stepped forward, trying to stop me: "Lady, you can't..."
Carson raised his hand to stop him.
I ran over and tightly embraced Carson's waist.
My voice hoarse, I summoned all my strength to utter a faint sound, repeating over and over, "My husband...my husband..."
Everyone in the hall was stunned.
The security guard moved to pull me away, but Carson gently patted my back and said to him, "It's okay, she's someone I know."
His palm was warm as it rested on my back, like a gentle current of warmth, dispelling all my unease.
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