My name is Lu Danni, and I'm thirty years old. To my peers, I was the woman who had it all, the object of their simmering envy. I lived in a sprawling villa in the most exclusive district of Qingcheng. My husband wasn't just young and handsome; he was attentive, doting on me as if we were still in the first blush of love. Everyone agreed—he was the model husband, a man whose reputation preceded him. His name is Deng Jia-zhe. He had been a well-known senior stylist, while I had owned a lucrative medical supply company. After we married, I had three beautiful children in quick succession. He worried about me juggling a career and motherhood, so he offered to quit his job to manage the company for me. Under his hand, the business flourished. Eventually, I settled into the life of a full-time homemaker—raising our children, tending to our home, and becoming, in everyone's eyes, the ultimate success story. But then my health began to fail. The hair loss started first, followed by an overwhelming lethargy. My body grew thinner by the day, my memory began to fade, and a constant listlessness settled over me, leaving me in a perpetual daze. My husband said it was a classic case of anxiety. He consulted countless renowned doctors, who prescribed a potent herbal medicine that our nanny, Ms. Zhen, was to brew for me daily. I never could have imagined that this would be the beginning of my descent into a nightmare, one that would nearly cost me my life. That day, a sharp pain in my head jolted me from a deep sleep. In my daze, I knocked over the bowl of medicine Ms. Zhen had just brought me. While I was still fighting off the fog of sleep, our greedy cat seized the opportunity and lapped up every last drop of the concoction it had apparently been eyeing. By the time my head cleared, the cat was already perched on the windowsill, contentedly grooming itself. When Ms. Zhen came to collect the bowl, I didn't mention a thing. I couldn't bear the thought of her having to brew another dose. To be honest, I was sick of the medicine anyway. It wasn't doing a damn bit of good. If it weren't for the trouble my husband went through to find it, and his constant reminders to drink it on time, I would have poured it down the drain long ago. Since I'd fallen ill, the entire household had fallen on Ms. Zhen's shoulders. She was on her feet from dawn till dusk, never once complaining. Sometimes, the guilt was overwhelming. She chatted with me for a moment before efficiently taking the empty bowl and bustling out to get back to her work. I turned my head and glanced at my pillowcase. It was covered in another layer of my black hair. The sight was startling. With a sigh, I gathered the fallen strands, twisted them into a small ball, and stuffed it into the pocket of my housecoat. Suddenly, a dull *thud* from behind made me jump. I pressed a hand to my chest, waiting for my heart to slow. Cautiously, I peered over the other side of the bed. Rewa, who had been lazily watching the world from the windowsill, had fallen to the floor. She was lying there, sprawled on her back, utterly still and silent. An inexplicable sense of foreboding washed over me. “Rewa!” I called out. Not a twitch. A chill shot down my spine, and the hairs on my arms stood on end. This had never happened before. They say cats have nine lives, that their balance is perfect. How could she possibly fall from a windowsill and end up like… this? Was she… dead? My heart leaped into my throat. Trembling, I leaned closer to inspect her. Her breathing was heavy, labored. Not dead, then. Asleep. But this wasn't normal sleep… Suddenly, a terrible thought sliced through my mind. I scrambled out of bed, instinct taking over. I scooped Rewa into my arms. She was limp, completely unconscious, with no defenses left. I couldn't help but think of myself. Was this how I slept every day? Just like this? Could it be… The thought sent a violent shiver through me, as if I'd been plunged into icy water. I didn't dare follow it to its conclusion. Before I could process anything further, I heard familiar footsteps outside the door. It had to be Deng Jia-zhe... On pure instinct, I scrambled back into bed, clutching Rewa. I threw the covers over her strange, still form and forced my breathing to even out, feigning sleep. At that exact moment, the doorknob clicked. My heart hammered against my ribs like a war drum. I could feel a gaze sweeping across my back, a sensation so sharp it felt like being flayed alive. Beneath the blankets, my hands began to tremble uncontrollably. But the footsteps I expected didn't enter. Instead, they retreated. Just as the door was about to click shut, I heard Deng Jia-zhe's voice. “Did she drink the medicine?…” The rest of his words were cut off by the closing door. The second the latch clicked, my eyes flew open. A terror unlike anything I had ever known flooded me, consuming my very soul. For a moment, I didn't even know where I was, whether this was real or just another nightmare. But the scene before me forced me to one, inescapable conclusion: the medicine. I'd had Rewa for years; she'd never been like this. The only thing different today was that she had drunk my medicine. The implication sent a wave of cold dread through me. Could it be? Was someone really trying to harm me?