“You’re the one who said it—between us there’s no divorce, only widowhood.”
I leaned in close. “If Mr. Shaw can’t manage to kill me, then I’ll just have to kill both of you!”
Blood dripped onto the floor.
Only then did he notice that my hand had been cut while smashing things.
His grip on my shoulders gradually loosened.
“Good. I didn’t want that child anyway.”
He lifted my hand and gently wiped away the blood.
When the iodine stung my skin, he blew on it softly, the way he always did.
He’d long been used to treating my wounds this way.
Back when my father used to beat me black and blue, Ethan could only use alcohol to disinfect me. Even though he no longer needed to use alcohol now, he was always careful not to hurt me.
A bloody handprint marked his face.
“Stop. It’s dirty.”
His face tilted slightly, not arguing whether I meant the blood was dirty—or he was.
He simply called for Mr. Walker, the butler, and handed him the medical kit.
The girl’s name was Natalie Reed.
When I tried to investigate further, everything vanished without a trace.
I knew—Ethan was protecting her.
If I hadn’t acted quickly, I wouldn’t even have learned her name.
I confronted Ethan:
“You like her that much, that you’d even block information from me?”
He sighed. “Sophia, what’s the point of holding on to her?”
Once more, I threw the divorce papers in front of him:
“Sign them, and I won’t pursue her any further.”
The papers didn’t last two seconds in his hands before being ripped to shreds.
He flung the scraps into the air.
“I told you, between us there’s no divorce. Only widowhood.”
I laughed.
The next second, a wine bottle crashed against his head.
Red liquid slid down his face, impossible to tell whether it was wine or blood.
I grabbed the knife from the table and drove it toward him.
He caught my wrist in an iron grip, resisting my downward force.
“Ethan.”
Our faces were less than an inch apart.
“You really think I won’t do it?”
Our hands trembled, but I refused to yield.
“Divorce—or one of us dies.”
The standoff lasted only a few seconds.
Then, with a quiet laugh, he shifted the force toward himself.
My hand, trapped in his, sank the blade deep into his shoulder.
Blood splattered across my face.
“I told you, I won’t let you die before me.”
“Ethan!”
Through gritted teeth, I watched him release my hand.
“Do it, Sophia.”
I wrenched the knife free.
He groaned, blood covering my face.
The scent of iron pulled my mind back to that rainy night in high school.
I staggered and fell, but he caught me swiftly.
“Don’t be afraid. It’s okay, I’m here.”
His hand brushed my cheek gently.
Blood from his forehead dripped onto my face, one drop after another.
His eyes held no concern for his own wound, only worry for me.
On countless nights when my father beat me half to death, he had held me the same way. Shielding me with his back against beer bottles, chairs, even knives.
Grinning at me through the curses:
“Don’t be afraid. It’s okay, I’m here.”
We once embraced in blood, kissed in storms.
When love reaches its peak, betrayal becomes all the more monstrous.
I shoved him away.
“Don’t touch me.”
Stumbling, I left that room thick with blood.
For a time, we stayed apart.
And the girl—she remained sheltered under his protection, hidden beyond my reach.
