Frantically, I scrolled up, my eyes scanning every message—until I found her words.
[That night, when the villa caught fire, it was Henry who carried me out, unconscious, risking his life. If not for him, I would have turned to ash. In this lifetime, Henry is my everything. No matter the cost, I will fulfill his every wish.]
Henry was her everything?
Then what about me?
The one who had been crushed beneath the falling beams, breaking two ribs?
The one who had been burned so badly that the scars still twisted grotesquely across my back?
Did my life mean nothing?
I let the phone slip from my fingers, my body sinking into the hospital bed as laughter bubbled up from my chest—wet and broken, streaked with silent tears.
For a long time, I simply lay there.
Then, with a steady hand, I wiped my face dry and pulled up a contact I hadn't spoken to in years.
Taking a deep breath, I sent a single message.
[Professor, is it still possible for me to join the confidential overseas software research project?]
The response came instantly.