26 My hand is like a pig's trotter?

Gemma's POV.

My emotions are instantly shrouded in fear. Meanwhile, Luke climbs up from the grass and reaches out to help me up.

"I... I'll drive you to the hospital now." I stammer, almost choking on my fear.

"It's okay, I feel alright for now. I'm not going to die just yet," Luke jokes as he sits in the passenger seat. "Or maybe it'd be better if I did?"

I'm driving the car I borrowed from the guesthouse owner, speeding up to almost 140 km/h. Only after I drop Luke off at the hospital do I dare to take a breath.

After hearing our description of the snake—light brown with a copper-colored head distinct from its body—the doctor confirms it's a copperhead pit viper.

"This snake's venom isn't very strong, so don't worry. The bite is just a bit deep," he says, then begins cleaning Luke's wound, bandaging it, and injecting antivenom serum.

As I watch the liquid being injected into Luke's arm, my heart finally starts to calm down.

"Alright, young man, now you need to stay here for two more hours," the doctor tells Luke, then turns to me. "You're his girlfriend, right? Stay here and keep an eye on him. If there's any allergic reaction or other complications, call me."

"I'm not—"

Before I can finish, the doctor closes the door to the room and moves on to his next patient.

During this time, Luke sits on the hospital bed with his hand bandaged, quietly watching me. I pretend not to notice his gaze and pick up a magazine to read.

His left hand is injured again.

While flipping through the magazine, my thoughts drift to the bandage on his hand, and my mind begins to wander far away.

At some point, Luke's voice softly reaches my ears: "Gemma, can we start over?"

As I turn the page, my hand trembles, and a large tear appears in the glossy paper.

Luke gets up from the bed and slowly walks toward me.

The light casts his shadow on my face, growing longer and heavier. My breath becomes shallow.

Just as I'm about to suffocate, Luke kneels one one knee in front of me, holding my knee with one hand, while his injured, bandaged hand grasps my wrist.

I keep my head down.

"A lot happened between me and Mary," Luke's voice becomes hoarse. "I'm a methodical person. Ever since I was young, I was raised with conventional values—study hard, work hard, find a wife, and build a happy family. So when I got into Columbia, I met my classmate, Mary."

"Mary was smart and beautiful. You may not believe this, but I was always top of my class growing up, and she was the first person who ever made me feel pressure academically. Sometimes I'd be number one, and sometimes she'd take the top spot. I couldn't help but be attracted to her. We started studying together at the library, and eventually, naturally, we ended up together."

"We had the same major, loved sports, and whenever we encountered problems, we always approached them with rationality. We never even quarreled. But slowly, I started to feel tired. There was nothing wrong with Mary—she was smart and calm—but we just weren't right for each other. We were too similar, from our thinking patterns to our living habits. When I looked at her, I felt like I was looking into a mirror. In other words... it got a little boring."

"Mary was really great. Even when I broke up with her, she understood me and said maybe we should stay friends."

"But I never imagined she would die. On my birthday, early in the morning, I got the news of her death. It was snowing heavily that day, and the snow couldn't even cover the bloodstains on the road. The undertaker could only piece together half of Mary's body."

"It had been two months since we broke up. But every night, I thought about her. I lay awake in the dark, wondering if our breakup had caused her death. She was heartbroken, got distracted while driving, and that led to the accident."

"At first, I didn't know you were the recipient of Mary's cornea donation. I just thought you were interesting—someone who seemed easy to knock down, but always bounced back with optimism and endless energy. You were so full of life, and it made my dark world a little different."

"But later, I accidentally found out about your connection to Mary. I felt like I should stay away from you because if we were together, it wouldn't be fair to you. But when you asked to be with me, I couldn't say no. I don't even know why I couldn't say no."

"I don't know if I agreed to be with you because I truly liked you, or because of Mary's cornea in your eyes. I kept delaying thinking about it. After we got together, I became much happier than before, and rarely thought about the painful past. But I didn't know when you might discover this secret. That's why my attitude toward you was so inconsistent—sometimes distant, sometimes warm. Even I wasn't sure where we were heading."

"That time, when you said you wanted to celebrate my birthday, I got angry and made you leave. At first, I thought I was upset because you brought up a day I didn't want to think about, but later I realized it was also out of fear... You could find out my birthday, and just as easily, you could discover my impure motives for starting a relationship with you."

"On my birthday, I was home alone, drinking, my mind in a mess. Then you showed up, and after that... I did something I regret more than anything in my life."

"But I don't regret what I said, because you're Gemma Dawson, and at that moment, I realized that I had truly fallen in love with *you*, not anyone else. But I shouldn't have lied to you, or hidden things from you. Still, I thought... if I could hide it from you forever, we could be happy together. Then we ran into Mary's parents at the hospital."

"They didn't know Mary and I had dated; they thought we were just classmates and even introduced me to you warmly."

"Gemma, just give me one more chance, just one. Come back to me, and I promise I won't do anything to hurt you again." Luke's voice is filled with sincerity.

But I can't look him in the eye. Trust is like a skyscraper—once an earthquake hits, cracks appear in the walls.

I'm scared.

"The doctor and nurse can take care of you; I should go," I say, trying to gently pull my hand away from Luke.

But he doesn't let go.

"Don't go," he pleads, his voice heavy with desperation.

Luke grips me tightly with his injured hand. It's not bleeding anymore, but it's swollen, like a bear's paw.

"I really have to go," I say again.

Luke says nothing, just continues to look at me.

I avoid his gaze and mechanically repeat, "I have to go."

Slowly, inch by inch, I manage to pull my hand out of his grip.

But still, Luke doesn't let me go easily.

Our shadows overlap on the floor.

At that moment, my phone rings. It's Jacob. When I answer, I hear him shouting on the other end, "Where are you?!"

"What's up?" I lower my voice, remembering I'm in the hospital.

"We agreed to have dinner at 7. I'm waiting downstairs at your place, and have you seen what time it is?"

I glance at my phone—it's already 7:05.

"I'm on my way," I say, hanging up and looking at Luke.

"Is it that café waiter again?" he asks.

"His name is Jacob," I reply.

This time, I easily pull my hand from his.

Without hesitation, I walk out of the hospital room, not looking back at Luke, who's still kneeling on one knee on the floor. I don't look at his swollen wound... or at the past we shared.

When I arrive at the entrance of my apartment complex, Jacob is leaning against his motorcycle, impatiently checking his watch. The passing girls can't help but steal glances at the handsome young man in a leather jacket.

"Hey, I'm here," I walk over.

Jacob looks me up and down, frowning. "Were you on a camping trip or digging trenches? You're covered in dirt."

I don't want to explain. "Are we going or not?"

"Alright." Jacob opens the trunk and hands me a helmet.

He often takes me to various places now, so he keeps a spare helmet in the trunk.

I put it on and lift my leg to get on the bike.

Jacob, already on the moto, moves forward dramatically and says, "Be careful not to get dirt on me."

I slap him playfully on the back.

The motorcycle roars down the street, but today the route seems unfamiliar to me.

"Aren't we going for barbecue?" I shout against the wind.

"Not today," Jacob shouts back.

After twisting and turning, the moto finally stops in front of a Michelin three-star restaurant in downtown New York.

Jacob gets off the moto, pulling me along, but we're stopped by the security guard at the door.

It makes sense because, through the glass windows, I can see all the diners inside dressed in suits and elegant attire, while the two of us are standing there—one in a leather jacket and jeans, and the other in a windbreaker.

"Excuse me, may I ask—"

Jacob, already impatient, blurts out a private room number. The security guard communicates with the staff inside through his radio, and then respectfully opens the door to let us in.

As we approach the door to the private room, Jacob suddenly grabs my hand, as if we're a couple.

"Hey, what are you doing?" I try to pull my hand away, but he covers my mouth. "Relax, I'm not exactly thrilled to be holding your pig's trotter either."

What did he just say? My hand is like a pig's trotter???

I'm about to lose my temper when he glances at the crack in the door and lowers his voice. "Just help me out tonight, okay? Afterward, you can ask for whatever you want."

Without giving me time to respond, he pulls me into the room.

Inside, there aren't many people—just five. Two couples and a beautiful young girl.