By the tenth trip, Stefanie sighed theatrically. "Actually, let's go back to the seafood porridge."
By then, Venice's legs were soaked with blood. Still, she limped all the way back to the VIP ward, clutching the steaming bowl.
Just as she reached for the doorknob, laughter drifted out from inside.
"Kevin, did you really make this porridge yourself?"
Kevin's deep voice replied, warm and indulgent. "Yes. I cooked it for two hours. My princess, have a taste."
Venice heard the sound of him blowing on the spoon, feeding it to her.
The bowl in her hands slipped and shattered with a sharp clang.
The smell of seafood filled the hall, mixing with the metallic tang of blood.
She stumbled back, her knees buckling—and a passing doctor caught her just in time.
One glance at her, and the color drained from his face.
"Young Miss?!" he blurted in shock. "What on earth are you doing here?"
Venice froze when she saw the doctor's face—she recognized him instantly. He was the same physician who used to conduct her father's annual checkups back in London.
She hadn't planned on revealing her identity so soon, and her mind raced for a way to bluff her way through.
Just then, she heard footsteps behind her. Kevin stepped out of the ward, his voice sharp.
"What ‘Young Miss'?"
The doctor was about to answer when Venice quickly stepped forward, blocking him from speaking. She signed rapidly.
[Nothing. The doctor was referring to Miss Cervantes—he's here to check on her.]
Then she turned and gave the doctor a meaningful look.
Though confused, the doctor caught on and nodded, pushing the door open to enter the room.
Venice turned to leave—but before she could take another step, her wrist was seized in a harsh grip.
"Venice!" Kevin's voice was low and furious. "Stefanie is in the hospital because of an allergy, and you still won't stop? You actually followed me here?"
Venice turned back, her expression icy.
He reeked of Stefanie's perfume; she could practically see the woman's shadow clinging to him. Yet he saw none of the blood that had soaked through Venice's clothes—none of the pain from her reopened wounds.
[I didn't follow you.]
[Miss Cervantes asked me to come. But since it's handled, I'll be leaving now.]
She shook his hand off and walked away.
Kevin stood there, watching her limp down the corridor, her steps uneven and weak. Tiny droplets of blood trailed behind her on the white tiles.