"You’re just a substitute for Karin. She’s only asking for a simple apology—you should be grateful and beg for her forgiveness."
Carrie struggled against his grasp, her voice strained. "Admit to something I didn’t do? Never."
Just then, a phone notification broke the tense silence:
"Happy 25th birthday to Miss Carrie."
Jared froze. His grip loosened, veins throbbing in his temple.
Gasping for air, Carrie collapsed to the ground, coughing violently.
She had almost forgotten—it was her birthday today.
She used to celebrate with Art, who always prepared surprises for her. The memories made her smile unconsciously.
Last year, Jared had given her an expensive necklace. She had tossed it into a drawer and left it to gather dust.
Realizing he had nearly strangled the frail woman in front of him, Jared felt a rare pang of fear.
Then, as if shaking off the momentary guilt, he said, "Today is also Karin’s birthday."
Carrie’s expression turned cold. "And what do you want me to do about that?"
"If you apologize to her today, she’ll forgive you right away. She’s in a good mood."
She stared at him as if he were a fool, then turned away.
But in the end, he still dragged her to the hospital.