I led my own people into the fight and saved him—at the cost of our child and nearly my life.
Every time I miscarried, Weston knelt before me in tears, blaming himself.
And every time, I comforted him, telling him it wasn't his fault—that it was just fate.
But now I knew.
He already told me the truth. I had just been too blind to see it.
Hot tears streamed down my cheeks, my chest tightening until I could barely breathe. I clenched my fists and took shaky breaths, trying not to fall apart.
Inside the office, Patricia rested her head on his chest, tracing circles on his shirt with her finger.
"Weston," she murmured, feigning hesitation, "the doctor said if my sister loses another baby, she might never be a mother again. That's too cruel for her. Maybe we should just forget it. Don't save me."
Her teary eyes made his heart ache.
"No, Patricia," he said firmly, "you're the most important person in my life."
"Denise stole everything that should have been yours. If she loses the ability to have children, that's only fair. Compared to what you've suffered, it's nothing."
"Besides, she already has everything—wealth, status, my name. What more could she possibly want?"
His cold words pierced through me like knives.
Eight years of love, of fighting side by side, of sharing every joy and sorrow—and in his eyes, I was nothing but a greedy, ungrateful woman.
He knew how much I longed to be a mother. He knew I'd trade everything just to protect this child.
And still, he was the one who destroyed my dream.
Weston, how cruel can you be?
My heart shattered completely.
"Weston, I love you," Patricia whispered tearfully. "As long as you're by my side, nothing else matters."
Her lips brushed his throat, her hands sliding over his body.
"Patricia, you're pregnant... we shouldn't..." he murmured hoarsely, his breath growing ragged.
"The doctor said after three months, it's fine."
On hearing that, all his restraint vanished. He tore off her clothes and kissed her fiercely, their muffled moans filling the office.
I gripped the doorknob so tightly that my knuckles turned white, fighting the urge to burst in and confront him.
If he truly loved my sister, why did he marry me in the first place?
And he was my child's biological father, how could he bear to kill his own flesh and blood with his own hands?
But reason held me back.
I couldn't let them hurt my baby. Not again.