I was about to sit up when I heard hushed voices from the other side of the curtain.
"It's all my fault. If I hadn't been so insecure back then, if I hadn't begged you to get rid of her baby, she wouldn't have hemorrhaged like that. Her health wouldn't have fallen apart."
"You already lied to her for my sake, and now she's been hurt again because of me. I feel terrible about it."
Damien let out a heavy breath.
"Getting rid of her baby had nothing to do with you. I didn't want it. Her health was already bad. Keeping it would've just been a burden. Besides, I can't give you a title anymore. The only children I'll have will be yours."
"If you really feel guilty, then focus on protecting our baby from now on."
Their voices clung to each other, sickeningly intimate.
It felt like someone had carved a chunk of flesh straight out of my chest.
The pain was suffocating.
He'd told me we'd be just as happy even without a child.
He'd told me I was the only person he'd ever need in this lifetime.
Never in my worst nightmares could I have imagined that the baby I'd mourned through countless sleepless nights had been deliberately taken from me—by the man I loved most—just to soothe his mistress.
I clenched the bedsheets until my knuckles went white. The tears came anyway.
A dull sound of water hitting the floor. Then the curtain was pulled open.
Damien met my eyes—devastated, shattered.
A flicker of guilt crossed his face.
He reached out to wipe my tears.
I flinched away.
He sighed, so faintly it was almost imperceptible.
"Since you heard everything, there's nothing left to explain. Your health was already fragile. Losing the baby was for your own good. Get some rest. I'm taking her to a new room."
The door closed behind him.
I couldn't hold it in any longer. The sobs tore out of me.
I destroyed everything in that room like a woman possessed. The IV stand. The water pitcher. The vase on the nightstand. Everything I could reach, I hurled.
The IV needle ripped sideways through my vein and punctured the skin.
I didn't feel a thing.
If I could choose, I wished I'd died on the operating table during my cancer surgery all those years ago.
Rather than lie here, powerless, while the man I loved most drove the knife in again and again.
Perhaps out of guilt, the gifts poured in throughout the week I spent in the hospital. IV nutrient drips. Herbal tonics. Custom meal plans. Designer jewelry. They flowed into my room like water.
But Damien himself never came.
The doctors mentioned he hadn't left Joanna's side for days. Hadn't slept. Hadn't gone to the office.
The day I was discharged, he came to pick me up.
He reached out to help me stand. I pulled away.
His brow creased for a moment, but he didn't insist.
"I know you're hurting. I'm taking you to an auction tonight. Bid on whatever catches your eye."
"Try to let it go. Don't worry about the money. It's the only thing I can give you now."
That evening, his driver brought me to the auction house.
When I stepped out of the car, Damien was helping Joanna out of another one, his arm wrapped around her waist.
The way they moved together, easy and intimate—it was identical to the way we'd been when we were in love.
I followed them inside and took my seat, numb.
As if venting every ounce of rage in my body, I bid on every single lot. Items worth a few thousand dollars, I drove up to hundreds of thousands. Millions.
But from start to finish, Damien's attention stayed on Joanna and the pieces she liked.
He didn't look at me once.
Disgust. Hatred. They gnawed through me until there was nothing rational left.
I set down my paddle and fled to the restroom.
Ice-cold water hit my face. I looked up at the mirror. The woman staring back was gaunt, sallow, hollowed out.
Joanna appeared behind me. I hadn't heard her come in.
Porcelain skin. A face full of youth and collagen.
We couldn't have looked more different.
I said nothing. I turned to leave, but she caught my arm.
