When I said nothing, Ira sat quietly by the bed and gently held my hand.
“Don’t be sad,” she said softly. “It doesn’t matter if we can’t have a child. I’ll always stay by your side.”
I leaned my face against her shoulder. Hidden from her view, my lips curved into a smile—one uglier than crying.
---
After a month in the hospital, I was finally discharged.
Strangely, Ira didn’t come. She only sent a driver to pick me up.
I pushed open the familiar front door. This place that once held warmth and laughter now echoed with silence. The only reason I stayed was to dig out the truth—to find evidence of my father’s and brother’s murder.
Then I heard movement.
The door opened.
A tall, handsome man stepped inside. Lipstick stains still clung to his shirt collar.
Ira froze when she saw me. Then she quickly composed herself. “Omar, he…”
She paused, eyes flickering. “Last week I was attacked by a competitor. He shielded me and got hurt. He needs time to recover. His health isn’t good… I couldn’t just leave him out on the street.”
I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat and nodded calmly. “I understand.”
Relieved, she turned to the staff. “Take good care of Mr. Duncan.”
---
The days that followed were deceptively calm.
Until one evening at dinner, Devin raised his glass and insisted on pouring me wine.
I batted his hand away, irritated. “Don’t touch me.”
He retracted his hand, his smile chillingly cold.
Then, without warning, he clutched his abdomen and doubled over in pain.
“The wine…” he gasped. “The doctor said alcohol could reopen my wound!”
He pointed at me, voice shaking. “You… you did this on purpose! You’re trying to hurt me!”
“I didn’t touch you,” I replied flatly.
Ira’s expression turned to ice. She rushed to his side. “I’ll take you to the hospital.”
---
They returned late that night.
Devin’s face was pale. Ira’s voice was sharper than a blade. “Omar, that was too far.”
A pang shot through my chest.
Devin leaned weakly against the doorframe, voice trembling with just the right hint of performance. “Mr. Moyer… I know you’re struggling with being… unable to have children. But you can’t take that out on others. You could’ve killed me.”
I let out a low laugh, saying nothing.
Ira suddenly grabbed my wrist, her eyes ablaze. “Apologize!”
“I did nothing wrong!” I snapped, trying to pull free.
Devin began coughing violently at that exact moment.
The fury in Ira’s eyes burned hotter.
“Fine,” she said through clenched teeth. “Since you won’t apologize…”
She gave a subtle nod.
Two bodyguards appeared and dragged me out into the courtyard.
They forced me to the ground.
A tray was brought out—a bowl piled with steaming shrimp.
I froze. My heart dropped.
“You don’t want to apologize?” Her voice was as soft as ever, but now it was edged with cruelty. “Then try this.”
The hot shrimp meat was shoved into my mouth. I choked, and my body began to tremble. My vision blurred, rashes bloomed across my skin, and breathing became harder with each second.
“Apologize!” she screamed, eyes filled with disgust.
I turned my face away, jaw clenched.
The suffocation hit me like a wave. My limbs spasmed. Darkness rushed in.
She knew. She knew I was deathly allergic to seafood.
And she still did this.
---
I blacked out.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back in a hospital bed.
Ira stood over me, her expression unreadable, but her voice was trembling with rage.
“Omar,” she said coldly, “why do you always refuse to bow your head? Why can’t you just admit when you’re wrong?”
At that moment, Devin appeared at the doorway, his eyes red and rimmed with tears.
“Miss Ira, let it go,” he said weakly. “Mr. Moyer looks down on people like me… nightclub trash. He wants me gone. I understand.”
As he spoke, his gaze shifted, almost imperceptibly, toward Ira’s abdomen.
