Chapter 3

At seven that night, Damian had reserved a table at a restaurant on the top floor overlooking the river.

White roses on the long table. A violinist playing something soft behind the partition.

Damian was already seated, his shirt collar slightly open, looking visibly exhausted.

I walked over and sat down. In my clutch was the divorce agreement he had already signed, and the four-week prenatal report.

I had already booked a morning flight to Zurich.

I'd agreed to this dinner only to make things clear about the divorce, and... the baby.

"Vivian, I'm glad you came." Damian seemed relieved. He took my cold hand. "About Clara being pregnant, actually..."

The phone on the table buzzed violently.

The screen showed the head nurse's extension from Clara's private ward.

A flicker of intense annoyance crossed Damian's eyes. He instinctively wanted to decline. But his finger hovered over the screen, and in the end, he gritted his teeth and answered.

"Mr. Damian! Miss Clara is on the rooftop terrace! She's emotionally unstable and threatening to jump! She says without you by her side, life isn't worth living! Please come quickly!"

The head nurse's sharp, panicked voice shattered the elegance of the restaurant.

Damian's face went white. He shot to his feet, knocking over the high-backed chair behind him.

"Damian." I stayed in my seat. A sudden, sharp pain tore through my abdomen.

That downward, ripping sensation hit hard. Cold sweat instantly soaked my back.

My vision went black. I couldn't even sit upright. I collapsed onto the table, my fingers clawing into the tablecloth.

"Vivian? What's wrong?" Damian grabbed my shoulder, his eyes full of panic.

"I... my stomach hurts..." I was gasping, my forehead against the cold tabletop, my voice faint. "Damian, call a doctor..."

Damian touched my palm. It was slick with cold sweat.

"Your hands are clammy, your face is this pale... did you skip dinner again?"

His expression shifted from panic to a familiar diagnosis. His tone even carried a note of reproach and resignation. "It's definitely acute low blood sugar, plus a stomach cramp. You always get like this when you're starving."

The head nurse's hysterical scream came through the phone.

"She's got one leg over the railing! Mr. Damian, please hurry!"

Damian's whole body jolted. The last bit of reason in his eyes was swept away.

He hauled a nearby waiter over and slapped a black card on the table.

"My wife has low blood sugar. Call an ambulance and get her to City Hospital. Put everything on my account. Give her some warm sugar water."

Then he turned, leaned down, and pressed a hurried kiss to my sweat-soaked forehead.

"Vivian, this is life or death. If Clara jumps, it's two lives. You go to the hospital and get some glucose. Be good. I'll save her and come straight to you."

He pulled back, grabbed his coat, and ran out of the restaurant.

My fingers slipped limply off the table. My consciousness sank into darkness.