ชายาชังของว่าที่ทรราช

The agony of having my flesh torn apart and devoured by fish had finally ended. Yet instead of disappearing, I found myself trapped at the side of the one who had set everything in motion: Lucian Crowe.

The heater filled the room with a gentle warmth, so comfortable it almost made the bone-deep cold I had endured before death feel like nothing more than a distant dream.

A call came in from Damon Cross, the bodyguard assigned to watch over me.

Lucian spoke first.

"Has Iris Malone finally admitted her fault?" His voice was cold, laced with contempt. "If she had behaved this obediently from the start, she wouldn’t have suffered so much. Bring her up. Make her kneel properly in front of Selena’s grave and repent. Otherwise, she shouldn’t even think about returning to the Crowe family."

Every word dripped with scorn. In his mind, I was already the culprit who had killed Selena. If I refused to confess, then I was unforgivable, beyond redemption.

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

"Sir… that’s not it," Damon said hesitantly. "Madam has been tied up for a whole night. The oxygen tank has already run out. I’m calling to ask if we should proceed with a rescue."

Silence fell over the room for a brief second.

Lucian, who was always so composed, suddenly grabbed the wine bottle in front of him and smashed it against the floor. The sharp crack echoed through the room, yet it still wasn’t enough to contain his fury.

"Rescue? What rescue! What is there to pity about a murderer like her? At this time of year, even if the tide comes in, that area won’t be submerged. At most, she’s just getting splashed by seawater. What danger could there possibly be?

"And where did that oxygen tank even come from? She killed Selena. How does she still have the nerve to enjoy something like that? Take it away!

"No one is allowed to save her! Isn’t she refusing to admit her mistake? Then let her experience what it felt like for Selena—helpless, suffocating, and waiting to die!"

Each icy word struck my heart like a hammer.

Enjoy?

Was he talking about being submerged in the freezing February waters for an entire day and night, right after a forced abortion?

Or enduring the tearing pain in my abdomen, watching blood flow endlessly beneath me as fish gnawed and ripped at my flesh, while I had no way to call for help?

Besides, even that so-called "enjoyment" wasn’t something he had ever allowed me.

In the end, what I thought was the last trace of affection he still held for me was nothing more than a kindness from someone else, given without his knowledge.

Grief and bitterness wrapped around me, blurring my vision.

On the other end, Damon spoke again, his voice filled with unease, "But, sir, it’s February. The seawater is freezing. Madam just underwent an abortion. Her body might not be able to handle it."

Lucian’s brows furrowed slightly.

For a fleeting moment, I thought he would finally show me a shred of mercy.

A cold laugh shattered that illusion.

"If something happens to her, she deserves it. For the sake of that useless lump of flesh, she stood by and let Selena die. The sea swallowed Selena, and we never recovered her body. She feels pain? And Selena didn’t?"

The rest of his words faded into a dull roar.

The phrase "lump of flesh" echoed over and over in my mind like a curse, eating away at my heart.

He said it was just a lump of flesh.

It wasn’t.

It wasn’t a lump of flesh.

That was my child—the child I had begged and prayed for, the child who had been with me for three months, who hadn’t even had the chance to step into this world.

Tears spilled uncontrollably from my eyes.

I still remembered kneeling outside the operating theatre, begging Lucian over and over again to let me keep the baby.

My child had curled up inside me, tiny hands and feet just beginning to take shape. In another month, it would have stretched and moved inside my womb, greeting me, telling me that I had been chosen—firmly, surely—by my baby to be its mother.

And yet, my own husband had destroyed all of it.

I couldn’t understand it.

That was his child, too.

How could he be so cruel?

Very soon, I understood.

After hanging up the phone, he seemed like a puppet with its strings cut, collapsing onto the sofa.

All his rage vanished.

With a tenderness I had never received, he reached out and gently caressed the face in Selena’s memorial photograph. His eyes were bloodshot.

"Selena, if I had forced her to abort the child to save you back then, would you still have died? Why… why wasn’t it you who met me first?"