Dike immediately made a few calls, and within minutes, everything was arranged.
Seven days later, Savina was finally free.
Her marriage with Myron had officially come to an end.
That night, pain consumed her—sharp, raw, and unrelenting. She didn’t go to the hospital, nor did she take any medicine.
She wanted to remember this pain and carve it into her bones. It was the price of loving the wrong man.
She drifted in and out of uneasy sleep, only to be jolted awake the next morning by Myron’s angry voice.
He had come to confront her.
“Savina! You’re the one who reported Helene to the hospital, aren’t you? She’s been suspended because of it. Are you proud of yourself now?”
Her head throbbed, her body hot with fever. Dazed, she forced herself to speak. “It wasn’t me.”
He let out a cold, mocking laugh. “Can’t even admit what you did? Seriously, I’m getting sick of you.”
Before she could defend herself further, Helene walked in—delicate and pitiful as always.
“Myron, let it go,” she said softly. “She probably just thinks I stole you from her. It’s my fault, really.”
Her act of meekness only deepened his pity for her—and his hatred for Savina.
“If you’ve done something wrong, you’ll face the consequences, Savina,” he said coldly. “No exceptions.”
She just stared at him in disbelief.
She had never once admitted to the accusations, but he had already made up his mind.
They spent seven years together, and yet, not once had he truly believed her.
Helene nestled into his arms, casting Savina a triumphant smile.
Then, she said sweetly, “Myron, actually, there’s one way I might be able to return to the hospital. Our lab’s been working on an anti-addiction compound using cannabis, but we haven’t found a suitable test subject. If Savina’s willing, she’d be perfect.”
In an instant, Savina’s face went pale.
Before she could speak, Myron answered on her behalf.
“Sure. Send her there.”
Savina snapped, her voice breaking. “Myron, are you insane?! That’s cannabis! It’s dangerous! You’d really risk my life for that woman?”
Helene raised a brow and smiled faintly. “Savina, that’s a harsh way to put it. Cannabis may be a toxin, but it also has medical value. You’d be doing something for the greater good. What a noble deed.”
Savina grabbed a pillow and hurled it at their faces. “If it’s such a noble deed, then you should go!”
Helene burst into tears, trembling like a victim of unspeakable cruelty.
Myron’s gaze hardened; he called for the guards.
“Take her to the lab. She’s not to return until the experiment is complete.”
Then, with chilling finality, he added, “This is what you owe Helene.”
As he turned and walked away, Savina felt something inside her shatter.
Myron… How cruel could one man be?
Once locked inside the laboratory, she fought back. She refused to be their test subject.
But every attempt to escape ended the same way—dragged back, shackled, her wrists and ankles bound in chains like an animal.
Each time she disobeyed, they shocked her body.
The people in white coats weren’t scientists. They were monsters!
On the first day, they injected cannabis directly into her veins, waiting to watch her body break—to see her beg.
On the second, they flooded her system with new “antibiotics,” testing her tolerance with no concern for her life.
By the third day, her mind was slipping away. But she saw Myron enter.
She cried out, desperate for help.
But he only said, expressionless, “If she can’t survive something this small, then it’s her fate.”
Those words extinguished the last bit of life in her heart.
And then, she stopped begging.
By the fifth day—the day she was supposed to be released—Savina looked unscathed on the outside.
But inside, she knew her body was nearly destroyed.
As she was leaving, she overheard two doctors talking.
“Mr. Lestrange’s child can’t hold on much longer. Should we send him to the hospital?”
“Absolutely not,” the other said. “If we do, everything we’ve done here will be exposed. It’s just one life. If he dies, he dies.”
Savina’s blood ran cold.
Her fists clenched so tightly her nails dug into her palms.
Alonzo…
She searched frantically until finally, mercifully, she found him.
He was barely breathing, his small arms bruised from countless injections.
Fighting back tears, she scooped him up and ran.
She drove as fast as she could toward the hospital, her hands trembling on the wheel. But the road ahead was blocked.
“Please,” she begged the staff, “let us through! My son’s dying!”
One of them shook his head apologetically. “I’m sorry, ma’am. This entire 13.14-kilometer stretch has been closed. Mr. Lestrange rented it out for Miss Helene, his beloved, for her birthday celebration.”
Suddenly, her heart stopped.
Her son’s breathing was growing weaker by the second.
“Mommy,” he whispered, voice fragile as air, “am I dying? Can you hold me again?”
Savina broke down completely. “Baby, please, just hold on a little longer, okay? Mommy’s going to get you out of here. Please, please don’t leave me…”
She clutched him tightly, but his body was growing colder.
He looked up at the sky, where fireworks burst in radiant color.
“Mommy… the fireworks are so pretty. But I won’t get to see them again.”
His lips trembled. “Mommy, I’m so cold. Hold me tighter…”
She screamed and sobbed, her voice hoarse. “Baby, I called the ambulance, please—don’t sleep. Don’t leave Mommy, hm? You’re all I have… Please… don’t go!”
But this time, there was no answer.
Her child… was gone.
At that same moment, as fireworks lit up the sky—the grand display of Myron’s love for Helene—their son took his last breath.
Savina lifted her gaze toward the brilliant night sky, her tears burning with hatred.
Her son was dead.
And she would never forgive Myron or Helene!
