Where Flames Consume Love

As the fire raged fiercely, I took my husband's hand and tried to rush out of the banquet hall with him.

However, Frank Winston shook me off and turned to run toward his assistant, Johanna Scott.

As I stood frozen in disbelief, the cabinet beside me collapsed with a rumble and pinned me beneath it. I yelled out for Frank, but he simply picked Johanna up and hurried off without a single glance back at me.

Flames and thick smoke enveloped me. I watched helplessly as Frank and Johanna moved further and further away until I eventually lost consciousness.

When I next regained consciousness, a doctor informed me that I had barely escaped death, but my unborn child was not so fortunate.

I stared blankly at the ceiling with tears streaming silently down my face.

I always had trouble conceiving throughout the seven years I had been secretly married to Frank. We had finally been blessed with a child after going through great pains.

I remembered how excitedly Frank hugged and kissed me back when he found out I was pregnant. He wanted nothing more than to tell the whole world that he was about to be a father.

I recalled how scandalous rumors had spread throughout the company after Johanna became his assistant. Yet, I had clearly heard him declare to someone over the phone back then that he would always only love me.

I also recalled how he had promised to announce my identity as his wife during the company banquet yesterday. Even after the banquet was over, he hadn't mentioned a thing.

In the end, he told me that he had forgotten about it.

I always assumed he was completely devoted to me. It wasn't until I saw him running toward Johanna without hesitation that I finally realized just how laughably foolish I had been to trust him.

My phone vibrated twice.

One of the notifications was a message from Frank. "Where are you right now, honey? You weren't hurt in the fire yesterday, were you?"

At the same time, Johanna also sent me a message. "Take good care of the baby, Ms. Cowell. Don't worry about me. Frank has been taking good care of me."

She had attached a photo of Frank sitting next to her hospital bed, considerately peeling an apple for her.

I clearly remembered him having mysophobia.

He once mentioned that he hated the sticky feeling of foreign matter on his fingers, so he always left the preparation of fruits to me.

Yet, Johanna had become the only person he would make an exception for.

I looked at the diagnosis report at my bedside, upon which the words "miscarriage confirmed" were clearly printed in large font.

After the tears on my face had completely dried out, I smiled as if a burden had been lifted from my shoulders.

I then contacted a lawyer and had him draft a divorce agreement.

This time, I had truly lost all faith in Frank.

Our child was gone, and I wanted him gone from my life as well.