Being friends? At the very least, they weren't enemies. They could inquire about each other's well-being upon meeting. At the very least, they wouldn't resort to petty insults.

A few days prior, on the day of the accident, when Kenneth saw Tiffany sink beneath the water, her blood staining the surface, he believed her chances of survival were slim. He thought she was gone. An indescribable guilt overwhelmed him.

Ignoring his ingrained hatred, Kenneth’s guilt consumed him, nearly driving him mad. Then, he saw Tiffany emerge from the water, still possessing the strength to throw a knife at her assailant. Relief washed over him. She was alive.

Later, when Tiffany was strangled and nearly suffocated, Kenneth, knowing he was no match for the shooter, still rushed forward. Rationality ceased; only one thought remained: "I won't let her die!"

Reflecting on his actions, Kenneth realized his hatred for Tiffany was far less than he’d imagined. Friendship, he concluded, wasn't a bad idea.

Tiffany was stunned. "Did he hit his head?"

Seeing her skeptical gaze, Kenneth repeated, "Let's be friends."

"Friends?" Seeing his serious expression, Tiffany laughed. She'd known him her whole life, but never perceived this level of naiveté. "Haha…"

Tiffany thought he was joking, laughing until her sides hurt. Then, she looked at the face she'd once wanted to punch.

Long ago, after Tiffany's release from prison as a scapegoat, she'd gone to Kenneth to fulfill a promise. "I've done everything you asked," she'd said. "Now, will you marry me?"

Anticipation filled her. Despite the countless tortures endured during those five years, seeing him brought a bittersweet ache. She'd never complained.

But it wasn't those five years that crushed her. It was his words, piercing her heart: "What makes you worthy of me?"

What makes you worthy of me? What does he mean? Am I not worthy?

Pulling herself back to the present, Tiffany's smile faded. "I'm not worthy," she said. "What right do I have to be friends with Mr. Harper?" A cold glint appeared in her eyes.

A moment before, they'd spoken calmly. Now, tension, even worse than before, returned. Kenneth was confused. "What do you mean?" He didn't understand her hostility. Perhaps "hate" was the better word.

Kenneth started to speak, but Tiffany pushed away her breakfast. "Thank you, but it's not needed. Take it away." Conveniently, Zoe returned.

Kenneth picked up the breakfast bag, intending to discard it, when he heard a surprised voice. "Eh, is that for me?" Melody appeared, smiling innocently. "That's great! I haven't had breakfast yet!"

Melody accepted the breakfast, thanking Kenneth sweetly. "Thank you, Kenneth. I love cream soup!"

Kenneth was embarrassed. Before he could respond, Melody opened the container and began eating.

Zoe clicked her tongue, touching her arm. "Why do I feel cold in summer? My hair is standing on end!" Tiffany laughed, burying her head in her breakfast.

After two classes, Tiffany couldn't sit still. She took leave and returned to the dorm. Everything was as it had been, except Sandra was gone. Her room and Kenneth's faced each other, though Kenneth didn't live there; he only came for occasional naps during his lunch break.

Tiffany entered her spotless room and lay down. She yawned, preparing for a nap, when her phone rang.

It was Oliver. "Miss Kelley," he said, "you asked me to introduce some people. I have a friend interested in your script. Are you free to meet tonight?"

"Okay, tonight," she replied, hanging up.

Waking refreshed, Tiffany checked her wound. Surprisingly, without medicine, her recovery was faster than with it.

What's going on? Has my vitality increased? She couldn't explain it, but it was a good thing. She could walk without a cane in two days.

After tidying up, Tiffany saw Melody leaving Kenneth's room. Their eyes met.

Tiffany remained calm, proceeding downstairs as if nothing had happened. Melody followed, her face awkward. "I wasn't feeling well, so I borrowed his room to rest."

"Oh," Tiffany replied flatly. "No need to explain. It's none of my business."

Tiffany continued downstairs, then noticed something amiss. Oil slicked the floor. She tried to stop, but it was too late. Her foot slipped.

She grabbed the handrail, preventing a fall. Melody, rushing to help, slipped on the oil and fell down the stairs.

What on earth? Tiffany was stunned.

Kenneth rushed in, picking up the bleeding Melody. Worry and anxiety etched his face. He looked questioningly at Tiffany. "Did you push her?"

"Damn it," Tiffany said lazily. "Yes, I pushed her."

She walked downstairs as Kenneth trembled with anger. He hated her indifference and callousness.

Kenneth prepared to take Melody to the infirmary, but she forced her eyes open, grabbing his arm. "Kenneth, you've misunderstood," she whispered. "Tiffany almost fell. I tried to help, but slipped. What happened to me isn't her fault." She fainted.

Kenneth's frown deepened. He'd misunderstood again. "If you didn't push her, why did you say so?" he asked Tiffany. "Is it that hard to explain?"

"It's not hard," Tiffany said, leaving immediately. "But it depends on who I'm explaining it to."

Some people wouldn't believe her, no matter how detailed her explanation. Others trusted her implicitly, even without explanation. That was her point.

At the door, Tiffany turned, smiling. "You asked if we could be friends. I think you know my answer."