“Mr. Callahan, maybe we should just forget it,” Peyton said pitifully. “I must have done something to offend Miss Brooks. That’s why she doesn’t like me.”
Then, all of a sudden, her face lit up.
“How about I take care of her while she’s in the hospital—as a way of apologizing?”
David frowned at her words.
I kept my expression cold. “That won’t be necessary.”
But Peyton persisted.
With her back to David, her face twisted with malice. Then—she pressed down hard on my stomach.
Fresh out of a miscarriage surgery, pain shot through me so violently that my whole body spasmed and a scream tore out of my throat.
I shoved her hand away, my arms instinctively wrapping around my belly, but there was no life there anymore.
David stepped forward—not to protect me, but to shield Peyton. Then, without hesitation, he slapped me across the face.
“Have I been too soft on you, that you think you can do whatever you want? You’re just an orphan—how dare you bully Peyton?” His eyes blazed.
He then turned to Peyton, his voice gentle.
“Don’t be afraid, Peyton. I’m here. As long as I’m around, she won’t dare hurt you again.”
I stared at the bedsheets, already soaked in red, my hands trembling as I reached for the emergency bell—only for David to swat my hand away.
“Still pretending? Apologize to Peyton right now!” he barked. “Even if the King of England himself showed up, no one would dare save you unless you apologize to her!”
The wound had split open again; cold sweat drenched me, my face drained of blood, lips pale to the point of ghostly.
David hesitated, a flicker of pity crossing his eyes—
“Oh wow, Allie, you’re really something,” Peyton chirped suddenly, holding up her phone. “I knew you looked familiar. Turns out you’ve acted in those short web dramas before. Not like me—I couldn’t even fake a stomachache during military training.”
Her voice was all innocence, as if she were simply discovering my past, showing David old clips I’d once filmed for fun. I’d deleted them long ago, but fragments still floated around online.
The hesitation in David’s eyes vanished, replaced by outright disgust.
“I really don’t understand you,” he sneered. “All this drama just to avoid saying sorry?”
I wanted to tell him it wasn’t an act—that the pain was real—but he was already walking Peyton out of the room without a single glance back.
Through the haze in my mind, I caught his voice, “You don’t have to take care of her. She’s nothing but bad luck.”
When I came to again, a nurse was removing my IV. Her gaze was full of pity.
“Where’s your family, miss? You’ve had a miscarriage and been hospitalized and no one’s here to care for you?”
The thought of how David treated Peyton earlier sent a sharp, twisting pain through my chest—like thousands of ants gnawing at my heart, or a dagger stabbed right through my heart sending me a hellish pain.
Maybe out of sympathy, the nurse shared some gossip she’s just heard. “I heard that there’s a big shot brought in the top medical team in the city to take care of a girl who faints at the sight of blood. And tonight, just to cheer her up, he’s lighting fireworks for her.”
Her words had barely landed when a loud boom split the night sky.
Colorful fireworks bloomed brilliantly above.
And just like that, whatever lingering attachment I’d had to David Callahan vanished without a trace.
Under the dazzling fireworks, my phone rang—it was the hospital. They told me my mother had passed away due to lack of proper medical care and asked me to come claim her body.
The phone slipped from my fingers. My body went rigid, my mind buzzing blank.
I’d secretly loved David for ten years, been in a hidden marriage with him for three.
At first, I was just a tool for him to fend off another family’s pressure. But later, I gave him my best—loyalty, support, everything—and in time, he developed feelings for me.
When we finally spoke our hearts, I thought I’d found the light at the end of the tunnel. I saw so many futures with him.
Even if he didn’t understand romance.
Even if he wasn’t the type for grand gestures.
I stayed by his side without complaint, handling everything behind the scenes for him.
Three years and I never received even a single bouquet of flowers, while Peyton got her own personal firework show in just three months.
