“Tell me, Ethan—have you lost enough blood to write an obituary for your bastard?”
Ethan’s black eyes bore into me, unreadable.
Moments later, the knife clattered to the floor.
He laughed, then turned and slapped his men across the face.
“You think you’re worthy of pointing a gun at my wife? Put those down!”
He glanced at the gaping wound on his arm, almost down to the bone, then looked back at me.
“Got it all out of your system yet?
Anna, we’re still husband and wife. I’ll let it go this time. Next time you go crazy, think carefully about who you’re targeting.”
Mr. Harris came forward with a tray, carrying the fetus that had just been taken from Grace.
I smashed the tray into Ethan’s face.
“Take your dog and your bastard—and get out.”
Ethan scooped Grace into his arms, his eyes flicking to the thin cut across my neck.
I had been so exhilarated earlier that I nearly lost my chance to slice him open myself.
The blade had left a shallow red mark across my throat.
He reached out as if to touch it, but I pulled away.
“Some dirty diseases can be transmitted through blood. Don’t contaminate me.”
He ignored the curse in my words.
Holding Grace, he kicked apart the cake we’d made for our wedding anniversary, grinding the tiny figurines beneath his heel before leaving without looking back.
At the doorway, though, he turned to remind the butler:
“Make sure Mrs. Carter’s neck is treated with medicine. Don’t let it get wet—she’ll get an infection.”
I stared at the iron rod on the floor. Ethan had still refused to strike me himself.
Which meant, for us, there would be no future.
That night, on our wedding anniversary, Ethan sent a fleet of helicopters and gathered top national surgeons to save another woman. The story even made headlines on the Times Square billboards.
On the screen, he appeared, eyes brimming with concern, cradling Grace as though she were some fragile treasure.
As the butler cleaned the wreckage, his face twisted with anger.
“Mr. Carter went too far this time. You built his empire with him from nothing, gave up so much for him, and you spent an entire day and night making that cake—yet he destroyed it for another woman…”
The cream, red wine, and blood had blended into a nauseating mess.
I spoke flatly:
“It’s fine. Things that get dirty only deserve to be thrown away.”
The doorbell rang. A delivery guy from Uber Eats dropped off a grotesque bouquet made of used condoms.
Holding back his disgust, he handed me his phone, saying the sender required video proof of delivery.
I took it. Grace appeared on the screen, smiling smugly.
“Like my gift? Feels good, spending your wedding anniversary alone, doesn’t it?”
“Don’t say I don’t pity you. Let these keep you company. After all, they smell like Ethan. Don’t be shy—my trash can is full of them.”
“Thanks to you hurting me, Ethan dotes on me even more. He swore he won’t let our baby’s death be in vain. You’ll pay the price!”
She flaunted their intimate photos, eyes alight with madness.
“Ethan says I’m his angel. So Anna, do yourself a favor and step aside. A mad dog like you only belongs in hell!”
At her words, I chuckled softly.
“An angel? How unfortunate. Because an angel who only knows how to spread her legs is unworthy of the title Mrs. Carter.”
Ethan’s warning that I would pay the price wasn’t idle talk.
A few days later, I slipped into my favorite dress, perfected my makeup, ready to welcome back the man I loved most at the airport.
But the bodyguard called, his voice frantic:
“Mrs. Moore, Mr. Carter just stormed in with his men and took your Rosary Beads. He said he’s giving them to Grace as her release gift. We tried to stop him—we were beaten.”
