It wasn't until my follow-up appointment that I discovered, completely by accident, that I was pregnant.
When the faint, steady rhythm of my baby's heartbeat filled the ultrasound room, tears I thought had long since dried up spilled down my cheeks again, beyond my control.
I had no one left in this world. Not a single family member. Not a single person who loved me.
But this child—this child made me greedy.
I wanted to keep it.
I didn't dare let Sebastian find out. I was terrified he'd force me to terminate the pregnancy.
Before I could figure out what to do, disaster struck.
During my second prenatal checkup, a fire broke out in the hospital.
As I fled, I saw Sebastian carrying Narelle out of another OB-GYN room.
The moment our eyes met, I was shoved by the stampeding crowd and lost my balance, crashing to the ground.
Panicked feet trampled over me, one after another.
Crimson blood pooled beneath me, spreading across the floor in an instant.
I screamed for help, terrified. Sebastian's gaze lingered on me for barely a second—then he turned away, Narelle still in his arms, and never looked back.
I lay there in agony, frozen.
So this is where we are now.
I pulled myself out of the memory. My pillow was already soaked with tears.
My hand drifted to my stomach, still aching with a dull, phantom pain. I apologized in silence.
I'm sorry, baby. Mommy couldn't protect you.
And your father... he really, truly doesn't love me anymore.
I should have let go a long time ago.
Just then, a courier arrived with a delivery to my hospital room.
It was an official appointment letter from the Federal Heritage Administration.
When I'd returned the restored manuscripts to the museum, Dr. Margaret Winslow had been astonished by my work. She'd immediately recommended me to her contacts higher up.
They had already promised: the moment I confirmed my acceptance, the government would automatically dissolve my marriage.
After completing my discharge paperwork, I walked out through the hospital's main entrance.
Sebastian's Maybach was parked right outside.
He stood with one hand braced against the top of the car door, carefully helping Narelle inside.
His eyes swept over me. A cold, dismissive smirk tugged at his lips. Then he slid into the car and signaled the driver to leave.
The moment his car pulled away, the vehicle the Administration had sent for me arrived, as if on cue.
I climbed in. The car made a U-turn and headed straight for the airport.
