When Camille opened her eyes again, she was lying in a hospital bed.
The stabbing pain in her lower abdomen faded, leaving only a haze of dizziness. She was just about to sit up when voices drifted in from outside the ward—Rafael speaking with the doctor.
"Miss Hudson is nearly two months pregnant now. Next time, you really shouldn't be so reckless."
"I didn't expect her to get pregnant. I'll be more careful in the future..."
Pregnant?
Her trembling hand instinctively moved to her belly. She couldn't believe that there was truly a tiny life growing inside her.
Shock coursed through her, mingling with a wave of uncertainty. Should she feel joy... or dread?
Because this child had come at the worst possible time.
Even worse, there had been no trace of delight in Rafael's voice—only annoyance, maybe even reluctance.
Would he even care for this child at all?
Before she could gather her scattered thoughts, a shrill voice pierced the corridor. Katherine had arrived.
"Rafael, Camille is pregnant? You're not going to abandon me and our child, are you? You can't do this to us!"
"Don't overthink it. Her body might not even carry this pregnancy to term. I won't give up our child for hers."
"But she's your wife. Now that she's pregnant, she'll never accept me and my baby! What if she lashes out at us—or files for divorce with the child? What will you do then?"
Katherine sobbed pitifully, every word probing at his stance.
The next moment, Rafael's cold voice cut through the air.
"She wouldn't dare touch you. As for herself... she has nothing. She's just a fallen heiress."
"For years, she has lived off me, clinging to her so-called sacrifices like some useless parasite. Without me, she couldn't survive a single day—and I won't allow her to take my bloodline away from me."
The words landed like knives, shredding Camille's dignity to pieces.
So this was how he saw her—a freeloader, a burden. She had poured her family fortune into reviving his, and in his eyes, it was nothing but leverage, a debt she still owed.
How pathetic. How laughable.
Anger surged through her, and she wanted to fling open the door, to confront him and strip away the mask. But just as she reached the doorway, Katherine raised the matter of inheritance.
“What’s there to say? Your child has Holmes and Dixon families as support—his future is already bright. Naturally, he's far more qualified to inherit my family’s business.
"As for Camille... She has nothing. Her child will end up the same—a parasite, just like her."
Katherine beamed with delight, leaning sweetly into his arms as though victory was already hers.
Camille's nails dug deep into the wooden doorframe, her teeth biting into her lip to keep from making a sound.
The Holmes family had risen by trampling over the foundation her parents built, thriving on the blood and sweat of the Hudsons.
And now Rafael wanted to hand all of it to an illegitimate child.
Watching them leave hand in hand, hatred burned so fiercely inside her she thought her chest might split apart. But she had no power, no means to fight them head-on.
All she could do was leave—leave with her child, and put as much distance as possible between herself and this filthy, treacherous family.
—
Later that afternoon, Rafael returned to the hospital. He carried a thermos of soup he had prepared himself. His eyes lit up the moment he saw she was awake, his tone brimming with feigned excitement.
"Camille, I'm so happy! I can't believe we're going to have a child!"
"I've already thought of names. If it's a girl, she'll be Felicity. If it's a boy, he'll be Russell!"
"We'll raise the baby together, just the three of us..."
He rattled on in excitement, and Camille couldn't tell if he was simply a gifted actor—or if some part of him truly meant it.
There had been a time, right after their wedding, when they too had dreamed of a future like this. Back then, she had never imagined things would turn out this way.
But his act didn't last long. By evening, the doctor came to take her for a blood test. Halfway through, Rafael got word that Katherine was at the hospital again—claiming her morning sickness had gotten worse.
Without hesitation, he rushed off, leaving Camille behind.
Watching his retreating figure, she told herself she no longer expected anything from him. And yet... disappointment still stung. He knew how much she feared needles. In the past, whenever she needed a test or treatment, he would hold her close, press his warm palm over her eyes, and whisper reassurance until she calmed down.
That man no longer existed. He had become someone else's protector.
Her chest tightened with grief—but suddenly, a sharp, unnatural pain shot through her arm.
Startled, Camille turned her head.
Looking at the man in front of her, she realized the doctor had been switched out. And now, he was injecting a pale green liquid straight into her vein.
