"You still look like a living corpse, Seren," Beatrice's voice greeted her, cold and judgmental. She placed her bag on the dining table with a deliberate thud to attract attention. "Did Mark not sleep in your room again last night?"
Seren looked down, her fingers squeezing the edge of the clean white apron she was wearing. "Mark... he came home very late, Mother. He went straight to bed."
Beatrice snorted, a short, dismissive laugh. She walked around the table, inspecting every corner of the furniture with her lace-gloved index finger, looking for any dust that might have been missed.
"Of course he went straight to bed. Who wants to see your pale, sad face in the middle of the night? Mark is a busy man, he needs refreshing scenery, not a burden like you."
Beatrice stopped right in front of Seren. She opened the amber glass bottle. Immediately, the pungent smell of medicine, a mixture of fishy metal and overly strong herbs, filled the dining room. The smell was so strong that it made Seren's empty stomach churn with nausea.
"Drink this!" Beatrice ordered. She poured the thick, dark black liquid into a silver spoon.
Seren stared at the liquid in horror. Every time she drank it, her head would throb intensely for hours, and her vague childhood memories seemed to drift further and further away, covered by a thick fog she couldn't penetrate.
"Mother... can I drink it after breakfast? My stomach isn't feeling well this morning," Seren tried to bargain in a voice that was almost gone.
Beatrice's gaze immediately sharpened. Her eyes, lined with dark eye makeup, looked like the eyes of an eagle ready to pounce. "Don't argue. This is the best fertility supplement, bought directly from abroad. It costs more than all the clothes you're wearing right now. I'm doing this because your womb is dead, Seren. It's been three years, and you haven't produced any results."
"Mom, the doctor said I'm healthy, it's just that—"
"Our family doctor said your womb is weak!" Beatrice interrupted in a voice an octave higher. "You want to accuse my doctor of lying? Who do you think you are? You're just a woman my father-in-law took in out of pity. You owe everything to this family, and the only way to repay them is by giving birth to an heir."
Beatrice thrust the silver spoon right up to Seren's lips. "Drink now! Don't let a single drop go to waste. I don't have all day to wait on you."
Seren swallowed hard. Fear of Beatrice's threats—threats that always involved the orphanage where she had grown up—forced her to open her mouth. As soon as the liquid touched her tongue, an extreme bitterness spread through her throat. It didn't taste like ordinary medicine—it was almost like a poison burning the nerves on her tongue, leaving a strange numb sensation.
Seren swallowed the liquid with difficulty. Her eyes immediately filled with tears.
"Good," said Beatrice, closing the bottle with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Remember, Mark's guest will arrive in an hour. She is a woman far more useful than you. She carries Mark's blood. You must make sure she feels comfortable here. Don't let your fake heart condition get in the way of your duties as her servant."
Seren froze. Her world seemed to stop spinning. The statement hit her harder than any physical slap. For three years she had swallowed bitter pills, allowed her womb to be criticized every day, and endured heartache that was considered a joke, only to hear that Mark had given his seed to another woman out there. The nausea from the medicine in her stomach now mixed with the suffocating pressure in her chest.
"A servant?" Seren hissed, her eyes widening—disbelief hitting her. "Mother wants me to be her servant?"
Beatrice straightened her jacket, staring at Seren with the coldest gaze Seren had ever seen. "Your status in this house is determined by what you can provide. Since you failed to be a wife who could bear children, you have been demoted to a nanny for the woman who can. Don't dare show your jealous face in front of Mark. He is already sick of you."
Beatrice turned to leave the dining room, but she paused briefly near the trash can. Her eyes caught something shiny there—the blue velvet box that Mark had thrown away the night before.
Beatrice picked it up with her fingertips, opened it, then laughed cynically. "Cheap silver cufflinks? You really want to embarrass Mark with something like this? No wonder he hates you."
Beatrice threw the box back into the trash with a contemptuous gesture, then walked away, leaving Seren, who was now feeling dizzy. The scene in front of her began to sway, and a faint rumbling sound began to ring in her ears.
The sound of Beatrice's footsteps slowly faded away, replaced by an eerie silence in the dining room. Seren remained frozen in place, one hand clenching the edge of the teak table until her knuckles turned white. The bitter taste of the amber liquid not only lingered at the back of her throat, but seemed to crawl up to her nerves, creating a painful rhythmic throbbing.
Seren tried to reach for the glass of warm water she had just poured, but her hands were shaking so badly that the water in the glass sloshed around.
Why did her world seem to spin every time she took this supplement?
Seren closed her eyes tightly. She tried to recall her mother's face, or at least one sweet memory from before she was taken to the orphanage over a decade ago. But the more she tried to dig, the thicker the gray fog covering it became. Her memories felt like the pages of a book whose paper had become wet and sticky; if forced open, they would tear and crumble.
"Seren! Why are you still standing there like a statue?"