Victoria's cheeks burned crimson as she stumbled over her words. "Mr. Whitmore, you've misunderstood... I-I just skipped lunch to grab something with Alexander..."

Theodore Whitmore arched a brow, unimpressed. "One hour, Victoria. If you're not back by then, you'll owe me double the time. Two hours late? That's four extra hours of work."

Alexander frowned, stepping forward. "Isn't that excessive?"

"Rules exist for a reason," Theodore countered sharply. "As a CEO, would you tolerate employees coming and going as they please?"

"But she isn't your employee," Alexander pointed out.

Theodore smirked. "I'm treating her terminal condition for free. The least she can do is run errands for a few days. If she doesn’t value her own life, why should I?"

Alexander fell silent, his jaw tightening.

Victoria seethed, her fingers curling into fists. She wanted to expose Theodore as a fraud right then—she was certain he was deliberately making this difficult. But she couldn’t. Not without revealing her own lies.

This had to be Amy’s doing. Amy must have conspired with this old man to humiliate her. The thought made Victoria’s resentment burn hotter.

Alexander turned to her, his voice softer. "Do you want to come with me to get checked, or stay?"

He wasn’t blind. The cut on her hand was barely a scratch—no bandage needed, already scabbed over.

Victoria had hoped to use this as an excuse to escape, but Theodore’s ultimatum trapped her. She’d already wasted half the day here. Leaving now would mean making up the entire day later.

Forcing a smile, she shook her head. "No, it’s fine. You go ahead."

Alexander checked his watch. A meeting awaited him. He hesitated, then nodded.

"Alright. Take care."

With that, he strode away, leaving Victoria standing there, her nails digging into her palms.

She turned—only to catch Amy watching her, lips curved in that infuriatingly knowing smile. Is that all you’ve got? it seemed to say.

Victoria bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. Alexander had forgotten all about her missed lunch.

The hours dragged. Victoria gritted her teeth, sorting through wild herbs tangled with thorns and dried vines. Every prick made her flinch, her eyes stinging with unshed tears.

By dusk, Oliver had finished three batches. Victoria hadn’t even completed one.

As darkness fell, Theodore dismissed them. Outside, Nathan leaned against his flashy sports car, cigarette dangling between his fingers.

Victoria rushed to him like a damsel spotting her knight. "Nathan..."

Amy barely spared them a glance as she left with Oliver. She didn’t need to guess—Victoria was off to spin her tale of woe.

The next morning, Amy arrived to find Victoria absent.

Half an hour later, hurried footsteps echoed at the entrance—along with Victoria’s tearful voice.