The Lane Group had always been Weston's greatest rival. Without my adoptive father's covert support over the years, Weston's company would've been devoured long ago. Now, I would cut off his last escape.
Over the next few days, Weston returned often, practically glued to my side. However, I ignored him like air.
On the day I was discharged, he personally drove me home. The villa looked newly redecorated;
I frowned as we stepped inside. Suddenly Patricia appeared from the bedroom—wearing my pajamas.
"Denise, Patricia is pregnant. I was worried about her living alone, so I brought her here. You won't be angry, right?" Weston asked cautiously.
Patricia cowered behind him like a frightened rabbit. "Sister, please don't kick me out."
Watching them exchange those small, intimate glances made my skin crawl.
Expressionless, I nodded then went to my room and started packing.
When I opened the wardrobe, I found a neat stack of tiny baby clothes tucked in the corner. Each shirt had been made with my own hands.
My throat tightened. I had prayed in temples until my voice was hoarse for this child's safe delivery—I had even promised to offer ten years of my life if only the baby could be born safely.
The abbot had seen my sincerity and told me to sew one hundred garments and place them before the shrine for consecration. I had done it all.
"Baby, I'm sorry," I whispered into the fabric, burying my face and sobbing softly. "Mommy... couldn't protect you."
Without warning, Patricia stood in my doorway, smiling sweetly as she picked up one of the tiny shirts. "Sister, these little clothes are beautiful—can I have this one?"
"Put it down." My voice was icier than I intended.
Her smile faltered, and tears immediately welled up in her eyes. "Sorry, sis, I was just curious."
She grabbed my arm suddenly and gripped it hard. "Do you hate me so much? Don't make me leave... please don't hurt my baby."
"Let go!" I flung her hand off and in the struggle, she stumbled and fell to the floor.
"If you don't like me, I'll go. Just—please don't hurt my child!" Patricia sobbed. Weston burst into the room.
"What happened?" he demanded.
"Brother-in-law," Patricia cried, "I only wanted to look at these clothes, but my sister said my baby was the reason for her miscarriage! She pushed me down!"
Weston's face darkened inch by inch. I said nothing; I only watched him, composed and cold.