In the days that followed, Jocelyn was listless. She spent hours curled up in the rocking chair without a word, refusing to touch even the sweet soups she'd always loved.
Ivor assumed it was nothing more than pregnancy hormones wreaking havoc on her mood. He cleared his entire schedule on the spot and planted himself in the villa, never leaving her side.
Worried she couldn't keep anything down, the man who had never so much as boiled water in his life stationed himself in the kitchen every day, simmering broths and soups from scratch. Hot oil spattered his fingertips and raised angry red blisters, but he didn't flinch. He simply carried a bowl of bird's nest porridge to her bedside and coaxed her to eat in the gentlest voice he could manage.
But that tenderness evaporated the instant he found the box of prenatal medication sitting untouched.
Ivor summoned the doctor to monitor the baby, then strode over and pinned Jocelyn down, ignoring every ounce of her struggle.
"Be good. Just bear with it for a second. I know you're uncomfortable, but I can't risk our child."
Her lower back slammed against the edge of the counter. Pain whited out her vision.
The needle pierced her skin. Her whole body seized, and tears fell before she could stop them.
In that moment, Jocelyn's mind hurled her back three years, to the Henson family's ancestral hall.
She had taken thirty lashes of the family rod to marry him. She'd knelt until she blacked out and still refused to give him up.
Ivor had scaled the Henson estate walls in the dead of night, gathered her into his arms, and wept as he swore, "Jocelyn, I will never betray you. Not in this lifetime."
She had believed those lashes were medals of honor, proof of what she'd sacrificed for love.
Now she knew the truth. Everything she'd gambled had bought her nothing but a ticket into the abyss.
The injection finished. Ivor finally exhaled. He pulled her limp body into his arms, fingers fumbling to wipe away her tears.
"Shh, don't cry. I'm only doing this because I'd hate for you to regret it later. It wasn't easy for us to be together. Getting pregnant was even harder. If something happened to this baby, you'd blame me for the rest of your life."
Jocelyn kept her eyes shut, smothering the hatred that churned behind them. Deep inside, she made a vow.
Ivor. Nellie. What you owe me, I will collect. Every last cent, a thousandfold.
After that injection, her morning sickness spiraled out of control. Even a sip of warm water sent her into violent, full-body retching. Ivor was beside himself, scouring Harbor City for every specialist he could find, glued to her bedside around the clock.
Then came another checkup at the private clinic. Jocelyn stepped out of the restroom and heard Ivor's voice drifting from behind the consultation room door, mid-conversation with the doctor.
"Mr. Sanchez, Miss Henson's physical reactions are abnormal. Frankly, that course of medication shouldn't be producing side effects this severe. We strongly recommend stopping it immediately and running a full panel of tests."
Ivor hesitated. When he spoke, his voice was low and firm. "No. If we stop the medication, I'm worried it'll affect the baby. Nellie's had a hard enough time these past few years. I don't want to disappoint her again."
Jocelyn went rigid. The hatred that flooded through her was so vast it nearly swallowed her whole.
That evening, the moment Ivor left to handle business, she picked up the phone and dialed.
"The woman in Switzerland. Nellie Harding. Bring her back to Harbor City. Now."
She hung up, crossed the room, and opened the safe. Inside sat Ivor's private seal, the one that granted access to every asset he owned. She took it without a second's hesitation and sent it straight to the divorce attorney she'd already retained.
