Chapter 4

“Mr. Johnson.” David walked in slowly, his expression cold. “If I’m not mistaken… the woman lying in this bed is the wife you’re legally married to. She just survived a car accident, and you’re here forcing her to donate blood. Is this really the Johnson family’s idea of manners?”

Kane’s face shifted. “This is between husband and wife. Stay out of it.”

“Husband and wife?” David smiled faintly. “Then shouldn’t you ask how your wife is doing?”

His gaze swept over Ashley. “As for this young lady—she looks healthy and energetic. I’m not seeing an emergency.”

Kane’s expression went stiff. He turned toward me—almost as if he expected me to do what I always did: explain for him, smooth things over, give him an excuse.

I only said, “Kane, from today on, unless it’s about divorce, I have nothing to say to you.”

And I turned away and didn’t look at him.

Kane tried to argue, but Ashley tugged his sleeve softly.

“Kane… let’s go,” she whispered, glancing at David with visible unease.

Kane shot me a venomous look, but he still helped Ashley out of the room.

The ward finally quieted.

David looked at me, and the sharpness in his eyes softened. “You okay? Scared?”

Only then did I realize I’d been trembling the whole time.

My nose stung, but I shook my head. “I’m fine.”

Seeing his familiar face dragged me back to the concert five years ago.

He’d been backstage with an invitation from the Smith Group in hand, asking if I wanted to join.

Back then I’d said yes to Kane’s proposal instead, smiling as I turned David down.

Now I thought about it and realized: he wasn’t just holding a contract that day—he was holding something he’d never said out loud. Suddenly, I felt that if I had chosen a different path back then, perhaps I wouldn't have gone through these five years of absurdity.

“I knew you’d be starving,” he said. “I had the kitchen make pasta. You used to love this the most.” He handed me a takeout box.

Tomato and basil rose in warm, familiar steam.

I paused before taking it. “It’s been five years, and you still remember what I like.”

My husband never did.

David sat in the chair beside my bed. His voice was steady and serious.

“Anything about you, I don’t forget.”

I lifted my head and met his eyes.

There was no judgment like Kane’s, no tearful calculation like Ashley’s.

His gaze was clean—like an old friend you hadn’t seen in years.

“David… thank you for today,” I said quietly.

“I’m not helping you, Serena.”

He shook his head, then pulled a beautifully designed invitation from the inside pocket of his suit.

“The Smith Group needs a real violinist to represent us at next month’s international music festival. And I want that person is you.”

I stared at the invitation, my fingers curling slightly.

Five years. The title “Mrs. Johnson” had wrapped around me like a thick cocoon, sealing me in.

Stage lights. Applause. The spotlight—they felt like a last life.

But now, the ember that had gone out inside me sparked again.

“I’ll do it.”

I didn’t hesitate. I picked up the pen and signed my name.

At that moment, I knew “Mrs. Johnson” was dying.

And Serena… was coming back.