Chapter 2 — May You Be Forever Alone

Phu Van Sinh paused abruptly, his hands halting in mid-air. He gazed down at a slow trickle of dark red blood seeping out from the seam of the car trunk, his brow furrowing into a tight, severe knot.

Even a mere scratch on her finger was calculated to evoke sympathy, he thought bitterly. This elaborate theatrical performance of hers was truly being carried out to the bitter end.

Without another word, he yanked open the driver side door and dropped heavily into the seat. The luxury vehicle reversed violently out of the parking space and tore into the desolate, rain-slicked streets of the midnight city. Phu Van Sinh drove with reckless abandon, accelerating far beyond safe limits. Every time the heavy car barreled over a speed bump, the chassis slammed downward with a jarring, violent jolt. Floating invisibly near the ceiling of the vehicle, I looked down through the cold metal roof at my own lifeless body trapped inside the dark, confined space of the trunk. With every brutal bounce, my corpse was thrown high into the air, only to crash heavily back down against the metal floor. My forehead struck a rusted mechanical car jack, tearing the pale skin open into a long, jagged gash. Warm, crimson blood gushed freely from the wound, staining the cheap plastic lining at the bottom of the compartment until it was thoroughly soaked.

Half an hour later, the car came to a screeching halt within the private courtyard of the Phu estate. Phu Van Sinh slammed his door shut, strode around to the back, popped the trunk, and hauled me out by my bare ankles, dragging me roughly across the concrete. A trail of dark blood dripped steadily from my forehead, marking our path with a gruesome red line. Housekeeper Hue, startled by the commotion, hurried out to the porch to welcome him. The moment she laid eyes on Phu Van Sinh dragging my broken form across the ground with blood leaking continuously in our wake, all the color drained instantly from her face, leaving her chalk-white. The heavy basin of freshly washed vegetables slipped from her trembling fingers, hitting the stone floor with a sharp, echoing crash.

Young master, what on earth has happened to the young madam?

Panicked, Hue spun around and scrambled frantically into the living room to retrieve the emergency medical kit.

Quickly, let me fetch the antiseptic and bandages to tend to her wounds.

Phu Van Sinh strode up the marble steps, his face dark as a thundercloud. With a vicious sweep of his foot, he kicked the first-aid kit out of the old woman's hands, sending it flying. Cotton swabs and medicinal bottles scattered noisily across the tiles.

Tend to what?

Phu Van Sinh commanded with a voice of absolute ice.

She brought this self-inflicted torment upon herself. No one is permitted to show her an ounce of concern. Go into the kitchen immediately and prepare the rock-sugar bird's nest soup that Nan Dien loves. Anyone who dares to spare Shen Qingyan so much as a second glance will pack their bags and be thrown out into the streets by tomorrow morning.

Hue froze in sheer terror, rooted to the spot, her entire frame trembling violently as hot tears welled up in her blurred eyes. Ignoring her completely, Phu Van Sinh reached down, grabbed my ankle once more, and tossed me unceremoniously onto the cold tiled floor of the foyer just like a discarded rag. Outside, the night sky broke into a persistent, chilling drizzle. Finding my pale face slightly offensive to his eyes, Phu Van Sinh reached down beside the shoe cabinet and snatched a filthy, grease-stained floor rag, carelessly throwing it over my lifeless face to hide it from view.

Just let her lie there until she comes to her senses.

He brushed his hands together to rid them of dust. Inside the spacious living room, the television blared to life. A boisterous comedy show—the absolute favorite of Ta Nan Dien—echoed off the walls. Phu Van Sinh and Ta Nan Dien curled up comfortably together on the climate-controlled leather sofa. Nan Dien accepted the bowl of bird's nest soup that Hue brought over with shaking hands, giggling merrily as she leaned against his shoulder. Phu Van Sinh tenderly peeled a plump grape, feeding it straight into her mouth with a soft, affectionate smile curving the corners of his lips. The foyer remained in total darkness, devoid of any lights. I lay there quietly in the shadows, my face entirely concealed beneath the foul, mud-caked rag, completely forgotten by the world.

By three o'clock in the morning, the mansion had plunged into an eerie, profound silence. Ta Nan Dien, clad in a sleek silk nightgown, padded softly down the stairs from the second-floor master suite to grab a glass of water. As she drifted past the dark sitting room, the corner of her eye caught the flash of a white medical box resting innocently beneath the coffee table. It was my personal pharmacy box, packed with the precise anti-allergic medications that kept me alive. Curious, Nan Dien sauntered over and deliberately hooked the toe of her slipper under the edge of the case, before kicking it upward with sudden, vicious force. The plastic latch snapped open instantly, sending various white pill bottles clattering across the floor.

Holding her glass of water, she sipped the lukewarm liquid while stepping right into the middle of the scattered pills. With deliberate malice, she lifted her foot and brought the hard heel of her slipper down squarely onto the medication, grinding the tablets into fine, useless powder under her weight. She cast a smug, triumphant glance down at the white residue staining the floor, letting out a soft, mocking laugh. Then, padding barefoot toward the front entryway, she triggered the hallway's motion sensor light. A dim, amber glow washed over my crumpled form. Nan Dien stopped right beside me, using the tip of her shoe to roughly shove the mud-stained car rag off my face.

Shen Qingyan, you certainly know how to play the martyr, she sneered loudly, her voice dripping with venom. Do you honestly believe that by lying here playing the pitiful victim, Van Sinh will feel a shred of pity for you? Even if you lay here faking your death for ten thousand years, you will never win back his heart.

My body remained perfectly still, mirroring a lifeless object utterly devoid of any physical response. Nan Dien’s expression soured with disappointment as she realized how unamused she was. She pursed her lips in distaste.

How utterly boring.

Turning away, her gaze fell upon the glass of boiling water she had just poured. A wisp of steam still curled lazily from the rim. A cruel, sadistic smile spread across her features. Without a moment's hesitation, she tilted the glass downward, deliberately pouring the scalding water directly over my exposed arm.

Let us see just how long you can keep up this little act.

The boiling water made direct contact with my bruised, discolored skin. Yet it produced none of the violent, instinctive spasms expected of a living human being. There were no shrieks of agony, no desperate attempts to recoil. The skin simply scalded a stark, sickly white within seconds, slowly swelling into a series of dead, fluid-filled blisters devoid of vitality. It was then, at long last, that the dreadful truth dawned on Ta Nan Dien. The mocking smirk froze stiffly on her face. Her fingers began to tremble violently. Slowly, agonizingly, she crouched down, extending a trembling index finger beneath my nose. There was no breath at all.