Chapter 3

Miranda snapped, "Why should I apologize? Dorian, can't you see she's insulting me?" She stood in the center of the lobby, her voice trembling with anger. Just moments ago, the sharp edge of the tube had cut her palm, and blood dripped from her fingertips. But Dorian, who had always worried even when she sneezed, completely ignored it. Now, his eyes were fixed only on Joanna, who was clearly faking her tears. For the first time in their three-year marriage, he regarded Miranda with a cold, unreadable expression. "Joanna just speaks her mind, and she's telling the truth," he said. "Miranda, you used to be so pure and kind. How did you become like this after having a child? Yelling in public, causing a scene…" He frowned, as if he could no longer tolerate it, and finally spat out, "Like a shrew!" Dorian's words were like a dagger to Miranda's heart, burrowing its way through her and shattering all the trust and reliance she had placed in him. Joanna smiled triumphantly, linking her arm with Dorian's as she strode away, full of pride. Before they were out of earshot, Joanna laughed loudly, her voice carrying across the lobby. "Dorian, you're amazing for backing me up… I almost got bullied by your ugly wife." "You little troublemaker. I take it Miranda's allergic to that cream?" "How did you find out? I don't care. You only used 11 condoms! Remember the bet? If you lose, I can mess with Miranda however I want." "Fine, I lost the bet. I'll take it." Miranda's face went pale. Amid the laughter and whispers around her, she stumbled home. That night, she came down with a high fever. As she was suffering from a fever and barely conscious, Miranda heard the housekeeper, Eleanor Gill, calling Dorian. "Mr. Cannon, Mrs. Cannon has a high fever. Her temperature just hit 104 degrees." His voice came through the line hoarse and breathless, dripping with impatience. "Give her some antipyretics! Don't bother me with such trivial matters." Then, the call was abruptly ended. "Sorry, I'm just in the way of your little fun with Joanna," Miranda thought bitterly. She tugged at the corner of her mouth, realizing her tears had already dried up. She suddenly remembered that during her attempts to conceive, she had once had a mild fever. Dorian had somehow heard that antipyretics could harm the body, so he became so worried that he wouldn't let her take any. In the middle of winter, he soaked himself in ice-cold water and then climbed into her bed to cool her down with his own body. He stayed like that for an entire day and night until her fever finally broke—only to fall sick himself afterward. Dorian, who had once cared for her so deeply that he had risked his own health for her, had completely changed. Miranda had been burning with fever for three days. On the morning of the third day, she opened her eyes groggily to find Dorian sitting at the edge of the bed, slowly massaging her body. He had once learned massage just for her, his technique gentle and professional. Under his careful hands, her aches and pains eased considerably. For a moment, she felt disoriented, as if the cold, indifferent behavior he had shown over the past two days had never existed. Dorian was still the saintly, impossibly devoted husband she had once known. But the instant the cooling cream touched her skin, the icy sensation made her shiver. "Awake? Joanna specifically found this stretch mark cream. If you don't use it, she'll be upset." His lips curved into a smile, his fingers coated with the cream as he carefully applied it to the stretch marks on her body. But the disgust lurking in his eyes jolted Miranda awake. "Take it away! Dorian, this cream will make my allergies flare, and you know it!" She struggled to push him away, but her weakened body could not resist his strength. "Don't be so delicate. It's not pleasant, but it's good for you. A few minor side effects are nothing. You'll get through it." Dorian smeared the cream over her entire body before finally letting go, then helped her up from the bed. "Change into your dress. We're going to Joanna's celebration party. Hurry up—don't keep her waiting." Miranda felt limp and weak. Her earlier struggles had only made her fever worse, and her vision blurred into darkness. "I'm not going. I'm sick," she said weakly. But upon hearing her words, Dorian simply replied, "You're right. Wear a mask so you don't infect Joanna." He then went into the bathroom and washed his hands repeatedly. The sound of rushing water seemed to crash against Miranda's heart, pulling a bitter, self-mocking smile to her lips. She didn't even know which hurt more—the cold disdain in Dorian's eyes or the way he indulged Joanna. Her body felt numb and weak, her chest tight with pain. Like a helpless, unaware puppet, she let Eleanor force her into a new outfit and usher her into the car. Moments later, they arrived at the venue. She had barely stepped out of the car when Joanna's mocking laughter reached her ears. "Well, Mrs. Cannon, this dress fits you just perfectly, doesn't it?"