A bitter, dry laugh escaped my lips. With shaking fingers, I compiled the audio recording and the video I'd taken from the window. Without hesitation, I sent the files to a group chat containing my three brothers: my eldest brother, a business tycoon; my second brother, a partner at a top-tier law firm; and my third brother, who owned a renowned martial arts gym.
That night, the Abbott family would implode.
And Rhys Abbott—the man currently calling me unreasonable—would be on his knees, slapping his own face until it bruised, begging me not to divorce him.
——
The moment the message was sent, my eldest brother's reply popped up instantly.
"Scarlett, don't panic. Forget that bastard Rhys for now—you and the child come first!"
"My friend lives directly below you; he's a doctor. I've already alerted him. He's coming up to take you to the hospital."
Seconds later, a sharp knock echoed on the door.
Through the peephole, I saw a tall man in a heavy down jacket. I opened the door, leaning heavily against the frame. He wasted no time.
"Excuse me," he said, his voice steady and professional.
He quickly assessed my condition, seeing that I was lucid despite the pain. He grabbed my hospital bag with one hand and supported me firmly with the other, guiding me toward the elevator.
As we moved toward the underground garage, he remotely started his car to warm it up. Every few steps, he checked on me, instructing me to tell him immediately if the pain worsened.
He treated me with the care and attentiveness of a devoted husband.
But until five minutes ago, he was a complete stranger.
Meanwhile, my actual husband was busy playing hero for another woman, ignoring the wife who had carried his child for ten months and was currently in labor.
The injustice hit me like a physical blow. I couldn't hold back any longer. A loud, racking sob tore from my chest.
The man beside me immediately handed me a tissue.
"Let it out," he said softly. "Holding it in will only hurt you."
I thanked him, wiping my eyes, but my heart turned to ice.
As his car drove out of the underground garage, fate twisted the knife one last time. We rolled right past them.
Rhys and Emily were walking side by side, carrying grocery bags and a cake box. Talking and laughing. Rhys was beaming—a grin so wide you'd think he'd won the lottery.
Fueled by fresh rage, I deliberately dialed his number one last time.