A sharp pain stabbed my lower abdomen. I bent forward, clutching my stomach.
My attendants rushed to my side.
"Miss Esther!"
"I'm fine..." My voice was faint. "Just the old problem."
Ever since losing that child, the cramps came back every time it rained. Not even the best gynecologists could cure it.
Perhaps it wasn't just the body that hurt—perhaps the heart made it worse.
This time, it was unbearable enough that I went to the hospital.
There, I walked straight into a storm.
Penelope was in the ward, sobbing and screaming. "Why didn't you kill her? That bitch is no more than an ant to you! Crushing her should be effortless!"
"I want her dead! If you won't do it, I'll kill her myself!"
She snatched up a dagger, ready to storm out.
Derek seized her wrist and yanked her back with brutal force. The blade cut into his palm, blood welling instantly.
Penelope collapsed into his arms, weeping.
With his bleeding hand, he cupped her face. Her tearful eyes looked up at him—and then their mouths crushed together in a fierce kiss.
The dagger clattered to the floor.
The room filled with the sound of their breath, their intimacy, their entanglement.
Once, Derek and I had embraced in blood.
Now, Penelope kissed him in blood.
The door opened and she saw me.
"Esther!"
The dagger was snatched up in an instant—then clattered back onto the ground with a sharp clang.
Her hair was tangled in my fist, forcing her to kneel before me.
Derek seized my wrist. "Enough. Stop lowering yourself to her level."
I sneered, staring straight into his eyes. "Mr. Vazquez, you're the one who refuses to divorce. Since you insist on acknowledging me as your wife, then I must live up to the title. Or do you think your wife is just some pitiful doormat anyone can bully?"
Smack!
My palm landed viciously across Penelope's face.
"Esther!" Derek's furious shout split the air.
He tore me away from her. My ears caught the sound of her sobbing, pitiful and weak.
I yanked free from his grip. "I gave you a chance. Since you refuse divorce, don't blame me for what comes next—"
Suddenly, qsharp pain lanced through my waist.
I spun around almost on instinct and kicked Penelope squarely under the chin.
She slammed into the wall, the dagger she had hidden for a sneak attack flying out of her hand.
"Ahh—!" She clutched her stomach, blood seeping again from a body not yet healed.
"Attacking me? You're courting death!" I snarled and raised my hand high, ready to strike again.
But the slap that followed wasn't hers—it was mine.
The sting exploded across my face.
Derek loomed above me, his eyes filled with a cold fury I had never seen before.
My fingertips brushed the corner of my lips and came away smeared with blood.
"Don't be afraid, it's alright. I'm here..."
He pulled Penelope into his arms, letting her tears soak through his expensive shirt.
The tenderness, the urgency in his gaze—I had only seen it once before.
The day I lost our child.
That sunset was stained in blood. He had clutched my hand to his chest, his own tears threatening to fall as he forced a smile, stroking my face over and over, repeating the words he once said countless times, "Don't be afraid. It's alright. I'm here..."
But now, when his eyes turned on me, there was only ice.
"If it's divorce you want—then we'll divorce."
A laugh broke from me, sharp and bitter.
So this was it. A divorce I couldn't win, even with death as leverage—yet the moment Penelope bled, it became possible.
Pain tore through my lower abdomen, sharper than the day I miscarried.
I bent over, clutching myself, when his shoulder collided with mine. Derek brushed past, carrying Penelope away without a backward glance.
I collapsed to my knees.
The bodyguards rushed in.
Just before I lost consciousness, someone shoved a divorce agreement into my hand.
So men truly could be ruthless—when they chose to act, it was swift and merciless.
I shoved the papers back at the bodyguard.
"Burn it."
I've always been stubborn.
When I was a child, my father told me if I didn't obey, he'd beat me to death. I stiffened my neck and courted death anyway.
When I grew up, I swore to live and die with Derek. Eight months pregnant, I had stormed into a rival's den, wielding a machete to save him.
And now? I had said it before—the last divorce negotiation was his only chance.
He refused.
Then from this moment on, my marriage has only two outcomes: widowhood, or nothing at all.
—
When I woke up, Penelope was already discharged, safe and sound.
This time, she sent over a file.
The bodyguard handed me her handwritten letter.
Her delicate script carried a smug arrogance that bled through every stroke.
[Did you really think Derek still had feelings for you? Are you curious why he loves me and not you?]
[You probably don't even know who I am yet, do you? Well, I've got a surprise for you~]
I tore open the file, and my breath hitched.
