It was as if someone had carved a piece out of my chest—so deep I couldn’t even feel the pain.
At some point, Daniel had returned, sitting at my bedside, his eyes rimmed red. He took my hand and choked out, “Claire, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean for this to happen…”
He awkwardly pulled the blanket up over me, speaking in a tentative, coaxing tone. “Don’t worry—once I’ve taken care of Sophie and gotten the Whitmores’ approval, I’ll make it up to you. I’ll give you a better life…”
I stared at him, numb, watching him play the role of the devoted husband. It was nothing short of a cruel joke.
Make it up to me? With what?
Our child was gone. The last tie between us had been severed completely.
What he didn’t know was that the Whitmore recognition he so desperately craved, the favor he’d hoped to earn with that unborn child, had died along with my baby.
I quietly pulled my hand away, gazing out at the pale sky beyond the window, my palm resting over my now-flat stomach.
Daniel Reed, your good days are over.
My sweet baby… Mommy will avenge you.
After three days in the hospital, I could finally get out of bed.
In all that time, Daniel Reed’s name only came up in the nurses’ idle chatter—he had spent nearly every moment in Sophie Lane’s VIP ward, even personally watching over her bird’s nest soup as it simmered.
The morning of my discharge, sunlight streamed brightly through the window. I had just finished packing my small bag when the door to my room swung open.
Daniel stood in the doorway holding a gaudy bouquet of red roses, looking awkward. “You… you’re leaving today?”
I didn’t look up. My fingers slid across my phone screen, eyes fixed on the message from my lawyer: The case against Daniel Reed and Sophie Lane for intentional injury has been officially filed.
At the sound of his voice, I only gave a faint “Mm.”
He stepped closer, his eyes flicking to my phone. “What are you looking at?”
Before I could respond, he snatched the phone from my hands. The screen had just gone dark.
“You’ve even set a password? What could you possibly be hiding from me?”
Leaning back against the bedframe, I let a cold smile tug at my lips as I watched him try to unlock it. “The password is my birthday.”
His fingers froze, then tapped in a few digits. The phone lit up with Incorrect Password in red.
He frowned, tried again, and failed once more. On the third attempt, the screen displayed Locked for 15 minutes.