A slightly rough female voice echoed from behind the screen."Waitth, ere's another needle on the floor? Gazelle, did someone drop it?"
Gazelle was carefully shaping my eyebrows, clearly not wanting to be interrupted. She finished drawing the last stroke before turning around with a sigh.
"As if I would ever be that careless."
"But it's strange… I'm sure I packed away all my sewing needles yesterday! Fine, I'll look for it. If it ends up hurting the young mistress, that would be a disaster."
She hurriedly knelt down to search the floor.
I was used to such scenes. My head still ached a little, so I simply closed my eyes while Gazelle continued applying my makeup.
"Where's Nick?" My morning voice was still a bit hoarse.
"Master Bateman is waiting outside the hallway for you to wake," Gazelle said while bringing over a case of lip colors. I picked one and pressed my lips together lightly. A deep carmine red appeared so vivid it seemed to drain the color from the sky itself.
Not long after, a young maid rushed in.
"Miss Leah is waiting at the door and would like to see you."
My hand froze slightly as I was choosing a hairpin. My fingers trembled.
March 7th… the day had finally come.
At that moment, a shadow flickered past the window. Then a piercing scream erupted from the courtyard.
Chaos followed immediately shouts from startled servants, hurried footsteps pounding across the tiles, frantic cries echoing through the residence. I frowned and glanced at Gazelle. She understood instantly, dropped the makeup tray, and rushed out of the room.
The door remained open. I turned my head toward the window... No sign of Nick.
Strange. Normally he grabbed every chance to sneak in and check on me. Today… was too unusual.
A moment later, the courtyard fell quiet again. Gazelle returned, her expression grim.
"Young mistress," she said as I fastened on an earring, "something happened to Miss Leah."
I finished placing the earring, unfazed. I picked up the other one calmly.
"Mm. What happened?"
Gazelle recounted everything from the start:
"Miss Leah came to visit you. When she heard you had just woken, she waited in the courtyard. The servants felt bad and told her to rest in the sitting room, but Miss Leah insisted on standing outside. They didn't dare force her."
Gazelle inhaled deeply as if recalling something horrifying.
"Because the sun was strong, Master Bateman politely suggested she stand under the big tree for shade. It was both respectful and cooler."
She hesitated.
"And then… a frog fell from the tree.It fell straight into Miss Leah's… bodice."
My hand jerked, the sharp tip of the earring pricking my ear painfully. I widened my eyes and turned toward Gazelle.
"A frog? In the tree?"
"I couldn't believe it either," Gazelle said. "But when I got to the courtyard, a frog really was hopping around. Miss Leah was crying hysterically, covered in red welts quite a terrifying sight."
Shakira walked out from behind the screen, shaking her head irritably.
"Hmph, she'd better get used to it. Miss Leah is clearly a daughter of the family's secondary bloodline, but she insists on copying the young mistress in everything talking, walking, even makeup. If she hadn't stood in that courtyard pretending, none of this would've happened. Outsiders might even think you're mistreating your poor cousin."
I rubbed my aching forehead and said quietly:
"Shakira, don't say things like that outside this room. She's still the master's daughter. If anyone hears you, they'll twist your words and drag all of us and the young lady into trouble."
Shakira paled.
Gazelle immediately grabbed her and ushered her out, scolding her as she went."The young mistress is trying to protect you! Miss Leah is still a member of the household. We're just servants watch your mouth."
I ate breakfast alone. The porridge was warm with a faint medicinal taste. I was used to taking heart and neurological support medications every morning.
Outside the door, I heard Gazelle flick Shakira lightly on the forehead.
"Talk less. The second branch of the family may be distant, but they still have power. Don't give them anything to use against us."
I had just lifted a spoonful of porridge when I spoke:
"Gazelle, go find Nick for me."
She hadn't even answered "Yes, milady," when a shadow swept past like a gust of wind. Nick was already standing in my doorway, then shut it with a decisive thud. Everything happened so fast the two maids only managed to gape.
"Judy."
His voice was deep, slightly hoarse.
I frowned slightly.
"Call me 'Sister Judy.'"
He strode to the table, sat opposite me, rested his chin on his hand, and tilted his head staring at me unblinking, as though in his world only I existed.
I didn't speak. He didn't either. He simply stared like a sulking child. After a moment, he let out a tiny, defeated huff.
"Judy… Sister Judy."
He turned his face away immediately, sulking again.
Technically speaking, since we weren't blood siblings, he shouldn't freely enter my private room. But my mother had allowed Nick to live in my wing as my personal guard. I had grown so used to his presence that without him, the house felt unbearably quiet.
If one counted my previous life, I was twenty-two, seven years older than him. In my eyes, he was still the same boy from years ago.
When I first returned to the Johnston family, my father arranged a separate room for Nick. But two days later, my heart condition and neurological sequelae suddenly relapsed. I collapsed and nearly stopped breathing.
Early that morning, when Nick heard the news, his face turned ashen. He broke down the door, ignoring everyone trying to restrain him, and rushed straight to my room.
He tore open the curtains, pulled me into his arms, and turned me onto my side to stabilize my breathing. His hands shook violently, yet every movement was swift and chillingly precise.
The doctors exchanged panicked looks as my body began convulsing more violently. The medicine they had given me was immediately rejected; my pulse became erratic, blood pressure plummeting to a dangerous level.
"She's not responding! Her body is resisting the medication!" one doctor cried.
Everything sounded muffled to me like I was sinking underwater. My heartbeat faltered. My breath stuttered. In the haze, I felt Nick's arm tightening around my shoulders trembling, burning.
He reached into the inner pocket of his coat and pulled out a small glass vial clear but shimmering with a faint blue glow, like reflected moonlight.
"What is that? You can't..."
A doctor didn't even finish before Nick glanced up, his eyes flickering dark red for a split second.The doctor fell silent.
Nick snapped the vial open, lifted my head, and pressed the rim to my lips.
"Wake up, Judy… Please."
His voice cracked.
The liquid touched my tongue bitter, icy enough to make my entire body shudder. For a moment, I truly thought everything inside me would stop.
Then, my heart slammed back to life.
As if someone inside my chest dragged me up from the brink of death. My spasming muscles loosened, my breath steadied, and my blurred vision sharpened bit by bit.
"That's it… that's it." Nick whispered, resting his forehead against mine as though he had traded his soul for my life.
A doctor checked the monitor and gasped.
"My God… her vitals are stabilizing! But what was that? We've never..."
Nick didn't answer. He clenched the empty vial in his fist, icy calm only barely hiding the tremor in his hands.
Every movement Nick made was fluid, practiced so natural it felt like he had done this countless times. The Johnston family members turned away in discomfort. Though my father was heir to the Zotopia Corporation and the central branch of the Johnston family, he never had a strong opinion. The sight of Nick holding me, performing emergency procedures… felt disgraceful to him, so he glanced at my mother as if seeking approval.
My mother looked at the boy stubbornly guarding the bed curtains, silent for a long time before making a bold decision:Nick would stay in the room next to mine.
Though raised in the European aristocracy with polished manners and a sheltered life, my mother was not a rigid woman. She was sharp, intuitive, and lived her life doing only what she believed was right, never fearing judgment or gossip.
Years ago, she had deliberately chosen to marry my father, a match the world dismissed, yet their life became blissfully peaceful: a warm family, a faithful husband, and one cherished daughter, me.
Her choice to let Nick stay near me was not impulsive. When I fell gravely ill at twelve and was taken to Saint Claire Abbey for treatment, she had consulted an elderly priest about my fate. He warned her that I bore a "thin life," prone to danger and early death and that I could only survive to adulthood if a person with a "death-bearing fate," someone with an overwhelmingly strong life frequency remained by my side to suppress all misfortune aimed at me.