The following day, I went alone to the hospital to collect a detailed report.
As I turned the corner of the OB-GYN department, a familiar tearful voice reached my ears.
“Daniel, your wife is pregnant. What about my baby?”
It was Olivia’s voice.
Daniel’s so-called “sister figure”—and my supposed best friend.
I froze in place, my body rigid, cold sweat running down my skin.
Then Daniel’s voice followed.
“Silly girl, she’s having a daughter. The Scott family doesn’t recognize daughters.”
“Don’t worry, the family has arranged a car accident. Clean and neat—it’ll look like an accident.”
“You’re the one carrying the Scott heir. Once she loses that ‘burden,’ I’ll divorce her and marry you.”
“By then, you’ll be the rightful wife of the Scott family.”
The hallway fell silent for a few seconds before Olivia’s sobs shifted into a smile.
“Really, Daniel? You’re not lying to me?”
“When have I ever lied to you?” Daniel’s voice dripped with a tenderness that could drown—but for me, it was an icy plunge into despair.
My world spun. Every sweet moment between us instantly twisted into the most nauseating of lies.
I clutched the cold wall just to keep myself from collapsing.
So that “little princess” post wasn’t love—it was my death sentence.
So all his tenderness and care had been nothing but a façade.
So he had already been with Olivia—and she was carrying his child.
And I, along with the daughter in my womb, was nothing more than an obstacle to their happiness.
An obstacle to be “accidentally” erased at any moment.
I didn’t storm out, didn’t scream, didn’t let those two see my despair.
Instead, I quietly turned, step by step, into the empty stairwell.
My trembling fingers found a number buried in my contacts for three long years.
The call was quickly answered. A low, magnetic male voice came through.
“Hello.”
Just one word, yet it carried such authority and pressure that it caught me like a net before I could fall apart.
“Mr. Blake, this is Rachel Carter.”
“Three years ago, you said if I gave the word, you could destroy the Scott family.”
“Does that still hold?”
The other end was silent for several seconds—long enough for me to think he might refuse.
“It holds.” Ethan Blake’s voice was steady, filled with a quiet reassurance.
“I’ll give you an address. Meet me tomorrow.”