I froze, finding Bryant both pitiful and detestable.
I couldn’t tell if his emotions were genuine or just for show. And I didn’t want to
bother figuring it out. After all, it wouldn’t be long before Bryant and I had
nothing to do with each other.
I sniffled, forcibly waking Bryant up. “Take your medicine before you go back
to sleep.”
Knowing it was me, he didn’t resist when I brought the medicine to his lips.
Instead, he cooperated and obediently fell back asleep.
His fever was scorching, not something that would subside soon.
I asked Gary for some burn ointment and applied it to the burns on the inside

of Bryant’s wrist. I didn’t return to my room until his fever started going down.
Thanks to Bryant’s generally good health and youth, Gary came the following
morning to report that Bryant’s fever had broken.
However, by the afternoon, a servant delivered several couture dresses. “Mr.
Bryant wants you to accompany him to a gala tonight.”
“A gala?” I was perplexed.
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In our three years of marriage, since it was kept a secret, he had never taken
me to any events outside of Ferguson family gatherings, always attending
alone.
Gary nodded. “Yes, it’s Gladys Larson’s 80th birthday celebration.”
It was as if I suddenly understood his intention of presenting me as a married
woman in front of the Larson family, cutting off any thoughts I might have of
marrying Mark.
How ridiculous. Bryant seemed more reasonable when he was sick.
I frowned. “Where is Bryant?”
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