"Fine, fine, fine. You're the Sanchez family's precious little princess, the only treasure in your brother's heart. Whatever you say goes."
Ruth let out a satisfied hum.
She sauntered ahead of me, clapping her hands as she broadcast my so-called "affair" to anyone within earshot.
"Everyone, come look! This shameless woman cheated on my brother and still expected him to raise another man's child! A cheap, worthless tramp—watch your husbands around her, or she'll sink her claws into them too!"
The stares came from every direction, each one a blade.
Someone's temper snapped. A thermos container flew through the air and cracked against my chest, splattering hot congee across my body.
Scalding. A blister rose instantly on my exposed skin.
Cyril didn't spare me a single glance.
He stayed at Ruth's side, quietly kicking small stones out of her path, devoting himself entirely to clearing every obstacle from her way.
Watching this, my chest felt crushed beneath something waterlogged and heavy—suffocating, as if I might never draw another full breath.
By the time I gritted my teeth and made it to the standard room, my legs had turned to jelly.
I collapsed onto the hospital bed, too weak to do anything but curl around my daughter.
My little one, you don't have a father anymore.
But that's okay. After tonight, we'll start over. Just the two of us.
That night, Nora burst into wails, her tiny body burning up.
I dragged myself upright and carried her to the door—
Only to be blocked by the guards.
"Miss Pruitt, apologies. Without orders from Mr. Sanchez or Miss Sanchez, you're not permitted to leave this room."
I clutched my daughter tighter against my chest, my voice rising to a desperate shout. "Move! My daughter has a high fever—she needs medical attention now!"
The guard's expression didn't flicker.
"Apologies. Until you've repaid the eight hundred eighty thousand dollars in bride price, you're not taking a single step outside. If you run, Mr. Sanchez will hold us accountable for that debt. Please don't make this difficult."
Ice spread through my veins. Something in my mind detonated.
Eight hundred eighty thousand in bride price.
Everyone said I'd struck gold marrying Cyril Sanchez—a sparrow landing on a phoenix branch, destined for a lifetime of luxury as a wealthy man's wife.
But no one knew the truth.
Because of one offhand remark from Ruth: "If she really loved you, she wouldn't spend a single cent of your money. Otherwise, what makes her different from all those gold-diggers after the Sanchez fortune?"
From our wedding day until now, every expense of mine fell outside the household budget.
The haute couture gowns for galas. The glittering jewelry. Even the luxury car that drove us to events together—
Ruth would extend her palm the moment the party ended, demanding I pay for the ride.
Three short years as Mrs. Sanchez.
I had already burned through every penny I'd saved from my entire working life. My account didn't even have a hundred dollars left.
Where was I supposed to find eight hundred eighty thousand to give Cyril?
The baby in my arms had cried herself hoarse from the fever, her little face scrunched in misery.
I turned pleading eyes to the guard, my voice sinking into the dirt with humiliation.
"I'll find a way to pay it back."
"Please, just this once—let us through. She's premature. She's already in danger being out of the incubator. If this fever keeps climbing, she'll die..."
Three days ago, Ruth's appendicitis had flared up.
The doctor scheduled surgery for three months out—the exact same window as my due date.
Ruth had dissolved into sobs.
"If my surgery happens while she's in labor, you'll abandon me to take care of her, won't you?"
Cyril tried to comfort her.
But Ruth only cried harder.
"You've changed! The old you would never have let me get appendicitis in the first place! Now that you have her, you don't love me anymore—your whole heart belongs to her now! I'm going to tell Mom and Dad in heaven that you're bullying me!"
