Contract Marriage with My Secret Partner in Crime-Chapter 73: Wiped

Flashback

Twelve years ago, Kendrick woke up in a sterile white hospital room, the faint hum of machines beside him and the distinct scent of disinfectant in the air. His eyelashes fluttered weakly, his throat dry, limbs heavy, like they had been filled with sand.

He blinked slowly, trying to make sense of the blurry faces that hovered over him. One of them, his mother Christy, had red-rimmed eyes and a tissue clutched tightly in her hand. Her other arm was wrapped around a small girl—Levy—who was clutching a stuffed giraffe and staring at him with a worried frown.

"Kendrick?" Christy’s voice cracked with emotion.

The doctor beside her stepped closer, a calm look on his face as he adjusted his glasses. He leaned over Kendrick with a flashlight, checking his pupils.

"He’s awake," the doctor said, half to himself. He looked over at Christy. "He’s conscious, which is good. Reflexes are responding. Just some fever spikes, but we expected that."

"What’s wrong with him, doctor?" Christy asked, stepping forward. Her voice trembled.

"Physically, everything seems stable for now. But he’s still suffering from a high fever. We’ll keep him under observation. His vitals are normal, and there are no signs of head trauma or neurological damage—at least nothing our current tests can detect."

"But he’s been out for a week," Christy whispered, holding Levy closer.

"It’s likely post-traumatic fever. The body’s response to extreme stress or possible viral exposure. Rest is what he needs. Let’s not overwhelm him."

Kendrick’s lips parted. He tried to speak but only managed a hoarse whisper.

"Mom..."

Christy instantly reached for his hand. "I’m here, Kenny. I’m right here."

Levy, clutching a stuffed toy, looked up. "Is Kenny gonna be okay, Mommy?"

Christy nodded, tears in her eyes. "Yes, sweetie. He’s going to be just fine."

---

A week later, Kendrick returned to school. He was met with curious stares and whispers. Everyone had heard about the incident, though the details were scarce.

But it didn’t take long for the whispers to turn into laughter.

He sat through class with his head pounding. The letters on the board swam before his eyes. He couldn’t focus. His hand trembled as he tried to answer a simple math problem. It was wrong.

The teacher looked surprised.

During PE, he collapsed during the first lap. His legs gave out beneath him. He was once the fastest runner in school, the boy who won regional competitions. Now he was just... slow. Weak. Distant.

At lunch, someone snickered, "Genius turned fool."

A week later, his test came back with a failing grade.

The boy who used to be admired now walked with his head down. Even the teachers who once praised him offered nothing more than tired glances.

And then the beatings started.

One afternoon, Christy came home early from work and found Kendrick curled up in bed, his face bruised. Levy sat by his side, holding an ice pack.

"Kendrick!" Christy rushed to him.

He tried to sit up, but she gasped at the sight of his swollen lip.

"Who did this to you?!"

He didn’t answer.

Christy’s jaw tightened. That night, she called the school and withdrew him. From then on, Kendrick was homeschooled. But despite the change, the fevers didn’t stop. He was in and out of hospitals for five years.

And yet, no doctor could explain what was happening.

They ran every test. Blood, MRI, everything. Nothing ever came back abnormal. Only the constant fevers remained.

What no one knew was that Kendrick’s body wasn’t just sick; it was changing. Deep inside, cells were being reconstructed. His nervous system, muscles, and brain were reorganizing. But only advanced tech from Dr. Mystorium’s lab could detect it. And that lab was gone, along with Kendrick’s father.

---

On his eighteenth birthday, Kendrick stood in the kitchen, trying to open a juice bottle. He barely twisted it and the cap exploded off, shooting across the room and denting the fridge.

"Levy!" he called out.

She appeared in the doorway, brushing cookie crumbs off her shirt.

"What now?"

"Did you glue the cap shut or something?"

"What? No. Why would I do that?"

He held the bottle up. The neck had cracked.

"You broke a glass bottle? With your fingers?"

He looked stunned. "I didn’t even try."

Later that day, he tripped on the front steps and scraped his arm. Blood oozed out. By the time he reached the bathroom, the wound was already closing.

He stared into the mirror, wide-eyed.

"What the hell..."

His senses were heightened. He could hear Levy humming from three rooms away. He could smell someone cooking curry next door. Something wasn’t right, but he felt more alive than he ever had.

---

Back in the present, Kendrick sat in his room inside the luxurious apartment. The glow from the screen reflected in his eyes as he looked through the public files about himself.

He frowned.

There were school records. Photos. But nothing about the hospitals. No mention of his five-year-long medical history.

He leaned closer.

"Gone? All of it?"

Christy once kept everything—receipts, prescriptions, notes from specialists. But now? Nothing.

He pulled up his college records next. Irregular attendance, yes, but not unusual. Still, no red flags. No signs of his frequent absences or medical excuses.

He leaned back.

"It’s like someone wiped it all clean."

No wonder people assumed he just disappeared after middle school.

---

Unknown to Kendrick, Zephany had lived a life oddly similar.

After the incident, she too returned to school. But she kept falling sick. High fevers. Dizziness. Once, she passed out during music class.

Reynold pulled her out and arranged for private tutors. He kept close watch over her health, his usual aloof nature softening whenever she was ill.

"You’re not going back until you’re stable," he told her one night.

She groaned under the covers. "You’re overreacting. I’m fine."

"You had a fever of 40 degrees yesterday."

She grumbled, "Maybe I’m just allergic to your face."

Still, he didn’t budge.

For years, she stayed home. Until one day, at eighteen, she woke up and noticed something.

She dropped a knife in the kitchen. It hit her foot. It should’ve cut her—but instead, the skin healed before her eyes.

She blinked. "Did I dream that?"

And then, she noticed her hearing. The neighbor’s phone ringing two floors down. The cars outside sounded too loud. Her body felt stronger, faster.

Reynold noticed that she wasn’t sickly anymore but was unaware of her heightened senses. That was when she insisted on going to college.

He gave in. Reluctantly.

"Fine. But no overexerting. And I’ll check in."

"You’re just afraid I’ll have more friends than you," she teased.

He rolled his eyes.

At college, no one recognized her. The musical prodigy had vanished long ago. She kept a low profile. Studied journalism. Took missions under a different name.

Then one day, she searched herself online.

Just like Kendrick—nothing.

Her medical history? Gone.

She stared at the screen.

"Who wiped this?" she whispered.

Now, facing her first on-camera interview as a journalist who was once a musical prodigy, she had no idea what to say.

Pia popped her head in the door.

"Hey, you ready? They’re setting up."

Zephany twisted her hands. "Not really. What do I even say when they ask why I disappeared?"

Pia smirked. "Say you went on a soul-searching retreat in the Himalayas."

"Pia!"

"Okay, okay. Seriously, just be you. Honest, clumsy, adorable you. People love that."

Zephany sighed. "What if they don’t?"

"Then you run. Or I trip the host. We improvise."

Zephany managed a small laugh.