I saw Zhao Mingzhen’s expression falter for a moment. Her lips twitched into a tight smile as she quickly set the bowl of medicine on the bedside table. "Let me see!" she said, her voice oozing with a kindness that sent a chill down my spine. I pointed to the spot. "Right here." Her fingers grazed the area, making a show of pressing down. "Here? But there's nothing here at all." I hissed in pain. "It's right there. It hurts!" "It looks perfectly fine!" Her hand roamed to other parts of my head. "Are you feeling uncomfortable anywhere else?" She was trying to distract me. I sat up straight, rubbing the sore spot while keeping my eyes fixed on her. "It's strange. I keep getting this sharp, stabbing pain, like a needle prick. It seems to be happening a lot lately." "There's nothing unusual... It's probably just a nerve thing. I get those little twinges myself sometimes," she said, offering her own experience as a casual explanation. *Bullshit*, I cursed inwardly. My own fingertip could feel the small, grain-like bump, not to mention the trace of blood I’d wiped away earlier. Yet here she was, lying straight to my face, banking on the fact that I couldn’t see the spot myself. I suspected it wasn't just a single prick. I'd been jolted awake by that same sharp pain several times recently; this was just the first time I had been clear-headed enough to register it. After a moment, I feigned a look of contemplation and murmured, "Oh." Perhaps out of guilt, she said, "Ma'am, why don't you drink your medicine first? I should go check on Xiaobao. I don't feel right leaving him playing downstairs by himself." With that, she turned and left. I let out a quiet sigh of relief. This was exactly what I wanted. Otherwise, she would have stood over me until I'd drunk every last drop. Since last night, I had skipped two doses of the medicine. The effect was undeniable. The fog in my head had begun to clear, the heavy, cloying drowsiness was receding, and the feeling of weakness had lessened. Even my heart rate felt normal again. There was no question—I couldn't drink this medicine anymore. I suspected that every one of my symptoms was linked to it. I had to find a way to get this concoction tested. What exactly had she been giving me? And I had to find out if Deng Jiazhe knew what was happening to me. But for now, what was I supposed to do with this bowl of medicine? My eyes darted to where the surveillance camera used to be. A gut feeling told me I couldn't afford to be careless. I still had no idea why Zhao Mingzhen was doing this to me, or what other conspiracies were hidden in the shadows. There had to be a reason, right? I needed a safer way to dispose of the medicine. I couldn't keep pouring it onto the wool blanket; that wasn't a long-term solution and I'd be found out eventually. Ruiva stretched and crawled out from under the covers, nudging her way into my arms. An idea sparked. I hugged her, stroking her fur a few times before reaching for the bowl of medicine. As I expected, Ruiva recoiled, leaping away as if repulsed by the very smell of it. I placed the bowl back down and made a show of dusting off my clothes, creating the illusion that some of the liquid had spilled on me. Then I got up and went into the bathroom. I washed my face, and as I dried it with a towel, I walked back toward the bedside table. With my back to the camera's blind spot, I quickly poured the medicine into the towel, then mimed the action of drinking from the empty bowl. Holding the bowl and the medicine-soaked towel, I walked nonchalantly back into the bathroom, quickly rinsed the towel, and then carried the empty bowl downstairs as if nothing had happened. Though I appeared calm, my heart was hammering against my ribs. I never thought I’d be playing a spy in my own house. From the stairway, I thought I heard Deng Jiazhe's voice. I froze. A lump formed in my throat, and I quickened my pace without thinking. It was an instinct, a deep-seated reliance on him. In this house, he was the person I was closest to. For ten years, he had cared for me meticulously, showered me with affection. Anyone who knew us knew that he treated me like a treasure, that I was the apple of his eye. I desperately needed to know: while I was lying helpless in bed, a lamb to the slaughter, had he known? The low murmur of a man's voice from downstairs, mixed with Sanbao's laughter, almost brought the tears I was holding back crashing down. I rushed down the last few steps, but as I looked up, the sight that greeted me stopped me dead in my tracks, my body frozen in shock.