Chapter 6

When Iris woke up in the hospital, the ward was empty. She heard the nurses whispering in the hallway: “I heard that Mr. Moore was hand shaking when he rushed in carrying Miss Charlotte.” “That's right. She only had a bruised ankle, but he insisted on staying in the VIP ward.” “But the one in the next ward had two broken ribs and internal bleeding. There was not even a visitor.” “Same person, different fate...” Iris slowly closed her eyes, tears silently streaming down her face. During her seven-day hospital stay, she changed her own bandages, ate alone, and stared at the ceiling in a daze. On the day of her discharge, she bumped into Darius at the hospital entrance, carrying a food box. “Iris?” Darius looked at her in surprise. “Why are you at the hospital?” Iris’s gaze fell on the paper bag in his hand. It was the most famous dim sum in the south of the city, and the queue would take at least two hours. Darius, who had always hated waiting in line, had bought them for Charlotte. She spoke calmly, “That day, you pushed me aside to find Charlotte, and I was trampled into the hospital by the crowd.” Darius’s expression changed abruptly as he grabbed her wrist. “I’m sorry, Iris. I didn’t know… Where are you hurt? Does it still hurt?” “The worst pain has passed,” she said, pulling her hand away. “I’m sorry…” Darius’s eyes were filled with guilt, his voice trembling, “Can I make it up to you? What do you want? What do you want to eat? What do you want me to do? I can do anything…” Iris was about to refuse, but suddenly remembered she hadn’t taken her funeral photos yet. A nearly vengeful thought crossed her mind, she wanted Darius to take her funeral photos himself. “Then come with me.” She took Darius to the mall, bought a snow-white dress, and then went to the sunflower fields on the outskirts of town. “Take a photo of me.” She handed her phone to Darius. Though confused, Darius took several photos of her seriously. Iris looked at her pale reflection in the photos and whispered, “That’s enough. Go be with Charlotte.” “That’s it?” Darius was stunned. “You forgive me?” “Yes.” She smiled. “You’ve already taken the most important photo of my life.” The most important funeral portrait. Darius felt something was off: “Iris, are you hiding something from me?” Just as she was about to speak, his phone rang—it was Charlotte. After hanging up, he hurriedly said goodbye, “Iris, Charlotte is waiting for me to go back and cut the cake. I'll come see you tomorrow.” Iris watched his back and silently returned home. In the following days, she watched through Charlotte's Instagram as Darius took her to the Eiffel Tower in Paris, to Hokkaido to see the snow, to Venice to row a boat... Every post was so sweet but it hurt her. Meanwhile, she woke up in pain, fell asleep coughing up blood, and took painkillers like they were food. Until that day, Darius suddenly visited. “Iris, today is Charlotte’s birthday party—I hope you can come,” he said softly. “She knows she was wrong and has been wanting to make amends with you. You used to be besties, just fulfill her wish.” Her heart felt like it had been torn open, with cold wind blowing in. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. He stood there, speaking only of Charlotte’s feelings, but what about her pain? Those ten nights of attempted suicide, those days and nights of betrayal, those heart-wrenching nights watching them be happy—did they mean nothing to him? Seeing her silence, Darius glanced at his watch and half-coaxed, half-dragged her into the car. The banquet hall was lavishly decorated, and Charlotte stood at the center in a purple dress, like a true princess. The elite gathered around her, flattering her, while she held Darius’s arm and smiled sweetly. In a daze, Iris recalled the past. Every year on her birthday, Darius would host a grand banquet for her. She said it was too much trouble, but he insisted: “In high society, appearances are everything. My Iris must stand at the pinnacle.” Now, he had bestowed that honor upon someone else with his own hands. Throughout the banquet, Iris watched Darius shield Charlotte from drinks, watched her lean affectionately against his shoulder, watched him bend down to adjust her skirt—every movement as familiar as if he’d done it a thousand times. She clenched the wine glass in her hand so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Suddenly, the lights dimmed. “Now, let the lovers kiss!” the host's voice echoed in the darkness. In the dim light, Iris saw Darius cup Charlotte's face. His movements were so gentle, as if holding a priceless treasure, and then he leaned down and kissed her. In that moment, memories from her youth flooded back— On the day of their first kiss, the young boy was so nervous his eyelashes trembled, his voice low and hoarse: “Iris, I’ve practiced for so long…” His lips were soft and warm, with the sweetness of mint candy. After the kiss, he blushed and asked her, “Am I... am I qualified?” And now, in plain sight, he was kissing someone else with such skill and passion. It just like a burning iron pressed against her heart, scorching her until tears streamed down her face. She bit her lip so hard until she tasted blood.