My head felt heavy and clouded with pain, the ache growing sharper with every passing moment.

I opened my eyes with difficulty as I struggled to breathe, eager to catch my breath and lessen the headache.

When I opened them, I saw a beautiful young woman sitting at my bedside.

"Joshua, you're finally awake!" she exclaimed, thrilled. She jumped and rushed out, calling down the hall, "Doctor! Nurse! The patient's awake—please, come check on him!"

Doctors and nurses quickly entered to examine me. One of them, looking concerned, asked, "How is your anemia this severe?"

I forced a bitter smile, unsure what to say. Was I supposed to tell them I had been treated like a personal blood bank for years, letting people drain my blood whenever they felt like it?

The doctor didn't press for more, only advising me to get plenty of rest, avoid alcohol, and never donate blood again.

"Don't do any o

I looked up at Ariana, surprised. "You've already heard about it, huh?"

She nodded, her gaze intense as she stared at me. "Yes. I know everything about you."

Before I could respond, she moved to sit on the edge of my bed.

"Joshua, I also know you're not like the rumors say. You're putting up with all this at the Smith family—for your sister's medical treatment. Isn't that right?"

As our eyes met, I sensed a different emotion in her gaze. That long-suppressed feeling seemed about to burst forth.

"Why would you still care about me, even from abroad?" I asked with difficulty.

Ariana just laughed, waving it off. "You were my deskmate—I know you too well. You would never sacrifice your dignity purely for money. Something serious must've happened to force you into this."

Her words struck me to the core. At that moment, she wasn't just a classmate but a friend who understood and valued m

Vernon's exaggerated movement quickly drew the attention of curious onlookers, who turned to see what was happening. He looked at me with a pitiful expression while wiping the wine off his face and saying in a hurt tone, "Joshua, I just wanted to say hello. Why did you throw wine at me?"

I stared at him in shock, not understanding the point of this act he was putting on. But it suddenly made sense as I noticed Racquelle storming toward us, her face filled with rage. This was a show he was putting on just for her.

But why? Why would he go out of his way to frame me in front of Racquelle? To her, I was nothing more than a tool, a servant to the Smith family. I couldn't care less about a woman like her, so what did he stand to gain by setting me up?

Before I could figure it out, she had already reached me and slapped me hard across the face.

The sharp sound echoed in my ears, leaving my eardrum ringing. Racquelle quickly went to help Vernon up, then pointed at me. Her voice was furious as she shouted, "Joshua, how dare you! You're courting death, hurting someone I care about!"

Vernon, ever the gentleman, waved her off with a bitter smile. "Racquelle, don't blame him. I just thought he looked lonely on the balcony and went to chat with him. I didn't expect... Forget it. Everyone has bad days—maybe he didn't mean it."

While his words seemed generous, every line painted me as the aggressor, which made him look even more vulnerable.

Her anger flared further. She snatched a bottle of liquor from a waiter and thrust it into my hands.

"Drink this whole bottle and apologize to Vernon, or you'll face the consequences."

The bottle felt as heavy as lead in my hands.

The doctor had warned me to avoid alcohol and spicy foods and to rest. Racquelle knew that too, yet she was forcing me into this. Her goal was obviously to make a public spectacle of me.

A crowd had gathered around us, and they weren't even trying to keep their voices down.

"Hey, isn't that the Smith family's adopted son, Joshua Smith?"

"It's really him! Guess the rumors are true; he really will do anything for money."

"I know, right? How humiliating. He's a grown man, but he's still willing to put up with all this."

"I went to college with the guy—he was a business prodigy, and back then, women lined up to date him!"

I didn't dare go against Racquelle. Julianna's life was still in her hands. So, I took the bottle without hesitation and tried to open it. But even twisting the cap felt like an immense effort.

She sneered as she watched me struggle. "Go on! Keep acting helpless!"

She threw me a bottle opener and snapped, "If you don't want to drink, you can leave now."

"I'll drink." I opened the bottle, and the sharp scent of the liquor hit me like a slap.

Bracing myself, I tilted the bottle back and took a long gulp. The alcohol burned my throat, bringing a wave of nausea, but I forced myself to keep drinking. I was unwilling to give Racquelle an excuse to prolong my misery here.

But my stomach roiled, and before I could stop it, I started to gag. Finally, I couldn't hold back—I doubled over, coughing up a mouthful of blood.

Initially, Racquelle looked at me with disdain and disgust. But when she saw me spitting up blood, she suddenly froze in shock.

"What… What's wrong with you, Joshua? It's just a bit of alcohol! Are you even a man? How should you handle the business world if you can't handle a simple drink?"

Vernon backed away, hiding behind her as if he wanted no part.

"I…" I tried to speak, but another wave of blood came up, flooding my mouth.

The crowd gasped, and someone shouted, "What are you all staring at? Call an ambulance!"

My strength was fading fast. My knees buckled, and as dizziness overcame me, I stumbled backward.

"Joshua! Watch out!" A concerned woman's voice rang out—but it wasn't Racquelle's.

My head felt heavy and clouded with pain, the ache growing sharper with every passing moment.

I opened my eyes with difficulty as I struggled to breathe, eager to catch my breath and lessen the headache.

When I opened them, I saw a beautiful young woman sitting at my bedside.

"Joshua, you're finally awake!" she exclaimed, thrilled. She jumped and rushed out, calling down the hall, "Doctor! Nurse! The patient's awake—please, come check on him!"

Doctors and nurses quickly entered to examine me. One of them, looking concerned, asked, "How is your anemia this severe?"

I forced a bitter smile, unsure what to say. Was I supposed to tell them I had been treated like a personal blood bank for years, letting people drain my blood whenever they felt like it?

The doctor didn't press for more, only advising me to get plenty of rest, avoid alcohol, and never donate blood again.

"Don't do any of that unless you're trying to die," he added firmly before leaving the room. I nodded gratefully at

Chapter 7