Elisa walked out of the kitchen, removing her apron, and upon seeing Hamish sitting at the dining table, her dark pupils deepened. She adjusted her custom-made gloves, designed for warmth, grip, and stability when holding things.
Hamish served Elisa a bowl of soup at her usual spot. “I haven’t had your cooking in a long time,” he said.
Elisa sat down. “Then you better eat plenty later.”
Hamish was momentarily surprised, then a spark of joy flashed in his eyes. He hadn’t expected Elisa to respond.
“Okay, I definitely will,” he said, his voice trembling with excitement.
Elisa sipped the soup, and Hamish immediately offered her some vegetables. While eating, she observed Hamish’s hand, a well-defined and strong-looking hand.
Without a word, Elisa tightened her grip on the silver fork and asked, “Can I see your palm?”
Baffled, Hamish extended his left hand. Elisa took it, her expression unusually focused as she examined the lines on his palm.
The three lines-love, career, and life-revealed a broken lifeline on Hamish’s palm.
According to old superstitions, a broken lifeline in a man’s palm signifies the ability to achieve success. Indeed, Hamish was a successful businessman, known for prioritizing profit over emotion.
“What are you looking at?” asked Hamish, enjoying Elisa’s proximity, even if it was just their fingers touching.
“I’m reading your fate,” she replied.
Taken aback for a moment, Hamish then asked, “Since when did you start reading palms? Did you see something?”
Elisa nodded slightly, her long hair falling loosely around her face, a strand resting gently on her long lashes. She raised her gaze and, holding his palm, said, “This is the love line,” pointing to a messy line. “This is the career line,” she indicated a fine line closer to the base of his thumb. Softly, she asked, “Do you know what this line is?”
Following her lead, Hamish queried, “What line is it?”
Suddenly, Elisa forcefully drove the silver fork into the line on Hamish’s palm, the prongs piercing through and nailing his hand to the table.
The silver fork gleamed with a cold, white light, and blood stained the table. Hamish screamed in agony, slumping over the table. Two dishes closest to him fell to the floor, a blend of oil stains and the metallic scent of blood filling the air.
“That’s the line of death,” Elisa answered calmly, releasing her grip. Thick blood oozed from Hamish’s palm, the pain leaving him pale, trembling, and shivering uncontrollably.
After a final howl, Hamish gritted his teeth, his eyes fixed on Elisa, a tinge of crimson in his gaze.
Elisa disposed of the bloodied gloves as if nothing had happened. “Sorry for stabbing you, but it’s not my fault. After all, I’m unwell, aren’t I?” Having been diagnosed with a nervous disorder by Hamish, she believed that even if she actually killed someone, she wouldn’t go to prison.
Hamish’s expression was complex, a mix of disbelief and comprehension. He had not anticipated Elisa’s second attack to be at this moment.
Although a hand injury wouldn’t be fatal, the pain was excruciating.
Upon hearing the commotion, the others rushed in. Mr. Clegg promptly called for emergency help, while Mrs. Protich fetched a first aid kit to tend to Hamish. The sight of the fork embedded in his palm was terrifying, leaving everyone frozen. Eventually, it was Hamish who, gritting his teeth, removed and dropped the fork to the ground.
Half-kneeling, his palm now a bloody hole, the pain convulsed through his entire arm.
At meal times, Mimi would always dart into the dining room. Oblivious to the situation, its big blue eyes stared blankly at everything. Elisa called it over, cradling it in her arms and scratching its chin.
“Does it hurt?” Elisa looked down at Hamish, now in a wretched state, and couldn’t help but let out a cold laugh.
“The pain you feel is nothing compared to one percent of what I endured. I’m actually afraid of pain. When my gastritis acts up, the pain brings tears to my eyes. And when you ordered the removal of the child from my womb, the agony… it felt like my insides were being torn apart. That kind of pain, you will never understand in your lifetime.”
Struggling with the pain, Hamish weakly smiled and, in an unsteady voice, replied, “You’re right. My pain doesn’t compare to one percent of what you’ve suffered. Not even one in a million.”
In his efforts to saveLila, he had handed Elisa over to Finn, resulting in her fingers being pierced by 28 steel needles, a true case of shared pain. What did a mere piercing by a silver fork amount to?
After enduring the pain, Hamish stood up. “I need to go to the hospital. I’ll be back soon. Can you save me some food? I really want to eat your cooking.”
Elisa remained silent, her gaze as cold and mocking as Hamish’s had been before.
Soon, the butler’s summoned car arrived. With his wound bleeding profusely, the gauze soaked through, Hamish sat in the car, the confined space quickly filling with the scent of blood.
Upon arrival at the hospital, it was discovered that due to excessive blood loss from the wound not clotting properly, and a portion of bone being broken due to the pierced nerves, surgery was necessary.
The operating doctor was surprised at the ghastly wound. “How did this happen?” he inquired.
Hoarsely, Hamish replied, “I accidentally stabbed myself with a fork while eating.”
The doctor sighed inwardly. It was remarkable to think that one could maim oneself while simply eating.
The surgery was lengthy. When Hamish was wheeled out, he lay there with closed eyes, unclear if he was awake or asleep, his healthy complexion now remarkably pale.
Before the anesthesia had fully worn off, Hamish awoke. He raised his left hand and the doctor informed him, “Nerve repair won’t be perfect. It won’t affect your daily life, but activities involving fine or heavy work won’t be possible.”
The words sounded familiar, as he had heard similar ones last year. Now, retribution had finally caught up with him.
After the doctor left, with a grave tone, he emphasized the need for rest. Hamish was to stay put for the next two weeks.
Fortunately, the injury was to his left hand, making it less inconvenient for his usual dealings. Besides, he had more than enough money and people to take care of him.
Hamish nodded in response to the doctor’s instructions.
He had to stay at the hospital, receiving intravenous drips to prevent infection. Hamish called the mansion, and Mrs. Rugger answered.
“Mrs. Rugger, is there any of the food Elisa made tonight left over?”
“It’s all gone. Mrs. Burns threw it in the trash. Are you hungry? I can have something brought over for you,” Mrs. Rugger offered.
Hamish’s expression dimmed. “No, I’ll just order takeout.”
After stabbing Hamish, Elisa couldn’t shake the image of the bloodied hand from her mind. She hadn’t even finished her meal before throwing it in the trash.
She was in the living room when Hamish called, so she overheard Mrs. Rugger’s response.
After the call, Mrs. Rugger turned to Elisa. “I don’t think Mr. Burns will be back for a few days. He’s quite badly injured.”
“It’s just as well that he’s not coming back,” Elisa said, scratching Mimi’s chin. “Mrs. Rugger, I want to give you some money. Please quit your job.”
She had a sum of money kept with Constance, more than enough to support Mrs. Rugger.
“I can’t do that. I have a contract to work for two years, and it’s only been one year.”
“A year… time flies,” Elisa murmured, her face pale and distant.
Mrs. Rugger gazed at Elisa, her heart aching. “Elisa, you’re overthinking. I know you’re worried about me, but this is Chiwood. Hamish cannot control everything. You should do what you want, without considering me. Even if something were to happen, I wouldn’t blame you.”