Chapter 2

“Mrs. Valentina, you’re awake?”

I opened my eyes to the cold white fluorescent lights above me in the family’s private clinic.

The doctor stood beside my hospital bed, a medical chart tucked under his arm.

“Your right arm has a hairline fracture, your left leg has soft-tissue damage, and you suffered a minor spinal contusion. You also sustained blunt-force trauma to the abdomen, along with multiple cuts and bruises across your body. You’re out of danger now.”

My lips were cracked, and my throat was so hoarse that I could barely make a sound.

“During the emergency treatment, we discovered that you’re six weeks pregnant.”

“But unfortunately, the baby couldn’t be saved.”

I stared at the ceiling as a buzzing filled my ears.

I was pregnant.

I was actually pregnant.

For this baby, I had spent two whole years taking medication to prepare my body. I had given up alcohol, avoided anything cold, and undergone monthly checkups with a private doctor.

Every time it didn’t happen, Lockard would coldly say, “There’s no rush.”

Every time I was disappointed, I told myself that next time would be different.

But now, I was finally pregnant.

And the baby was gone.

And the person who had caused his death was his own biological father.

I turned my head, picked up the encrypted communicator beside my bed, and called Lockard’s private line.

It rang for a long time before he finally answered.

The sound of an orchestra flooded through the connection, mingling with the crisp clinking of glasses and the laughter of the guests.

Camilla’s voice was close by, sweet and syrupy.

“Lockard, come help me cut the cake.”

I tightened my grip on the communicator and spoke in a hoarse voice.

“Lockard, I’m at the family’s private medical facility.”

“So?” His tone was dismissive. “What are you throwing a fit about now?”

“I’m pregnant.”

There was a second of silence on the other end.

I continued,

“The baby is gone.”

A sharp, hurried gasp suddenly came through the communicator.

“What did you say?” His voice tightened abruptly. “You—you don’t move. I’m coming right now—”

Camilla’s soft, sweet voice suddenly interrupted in the background.

“Lockard, what’s wrong? We haven’t cut the cake yet. Everyone’s waiting for you.”

He fell silent.

Camilla added, lowering her voice slightly, though it was still just loud enough for me to hear through the line.

“Didn’t you just say that she’s always using things like this to manipulate you? Tonight is the day I came back, and she just had to make a scene now. Don’t you think that’s a little too convenient?”

Lockard swallowed.

When he spoke again, his tone was as cold as if someone had doused him with ice water.

“You’re lying in the medical facility with doctors watching over you. How could anything happen to you?”

I gripped the communicator tighter.

“I jumped from the third floor.”

“Enough.”

He scoffed.

“Tonight is Camilla’s dinner. Did you really have to pick today?”

I lowered my voice.

“Why don’t you come see for yourself?”

There was a long silence on the other end.

So long that I thought he might finally relent.

Then Camilla’s voice floated over again, soft and coaxing.

“Lockard, the candles are almost burned out. Everyone’s waiting for you to make a wish.”

The call was disconnected.

The dead tone lingered in my ear for a long time before I slowly lowered the communicator and opened the family’s private social channel.

Camilla had just posted an update.

In the photo, she stood smiling brightly in front of a seven-tiered cake, while Lockard stood behind her with one hand resting on the back of her chair, his gaze lowered toward her with a tenderness reserved for something precious.

The caption read:

[He said that from now on, he’ll spend this day with only me every year.]

I stared at it for two seconds before closing the page and sending an encrypted message to the family liaison officer.

[Draft a formal petition requesting the dissolution of my marriage.]

The reply came instantly.

[Ma’am, have you finally made up your mind?]

I replied:

[As soon as possible.]