[Sister, if you think you can just break off the engagement with Paul, you need my permission first.]
[I won't let you get what you want. Paul will hate you for the rest of his life—you'd better be prepared.]
My vision blurred as I read the messages. A chill settled deep in my bones, freezing the blood in my veins.
After Paul took over the company, he became a ghost in our home. On the rare occasions he returned, it was only to spew venom. He called me scheming and sinister, a woman who used dirty tricks to climb the social ladder.
He said looking at me made him sick.
Yet in the bedroom, he was ruthless. Paul never used protection. Whenever he discovered I was pregnant, he dragged me to the clinic to scrape it away.
"Serena Whitmore, didn't you want to be Mrs. Gilbert?" he would say, his voice devoid of warmth. "This is the price."
In three years of marriage, I miscarried four times.
Even when the doctor issued grave warnings about my health, Paul ignored them. A cruel smile played on his lips. "She stole Annie's position. She has to pay."
I cried. I begged for a divorce. But he only swatted my hand away and told me to stop dreaming. He even hunted down the birth control pills I secretly took and flushed them all away.
After the fourth miscarriage, I lay in bed, a hollow shell. That was when Anna sent a photo of her pregnancy test.
[Sister, I'm pregnant! Paul is already picking out names for the baby.]
[It's a pity some people will never see their own children born.]
Something inside me snapped. I dragged my broken body out of bed to confront Anna.
But the moment I got close, before I could even touch her, Anna threw herself to the ground.
Bright red blood pooled beneath her. Paul rushed onto the scene, shoving me aside with enough force to bruise. He scooped her up, his eyes wild with panic as he ran for the hospital.
His parting words were a blade to my heart.
"If anything happens to Annie, I will make you pay with your life!"
The car came to a smooth halt, pulling me back to the present.
"We're here," Paul said.
I opened the door and exited slowly, every movement a labor. My old injuries had left permanent damage; whenever it rained, a dull ache seeped from my bones.
I dug out a handful of loose change and held it out to him.
"Thank you for the ride. This is the fare."
Paul stared at the coins, then at me. His gaze was frosty. "I'm walking you up."
I shook my head. "Really, there's no need."
He didn't argue. Instead, he snatched my bag from my shoulder and marched toward the building entrance.
I sighed. Let him do what he wants.
Does he want to see how pathetic my life is now? Let him look. I don't care anymore.
We climbed eight flights of stairs. By the time I opened the door, my lungs were burning.
Inside, under the warm glow of a yellow bulb, a small figure hurled herself at me.
"Mommy!"
I smiled, the pain fading as I pinched her soft cheek. "Good girl."
Seeing the tall stranger behind me, my daughter shrank back, hiding her face in my coat.
"It's okay," I soothed her. "It's raining hard outside. This uncle brought Mommy home."
She nodded, her large eyes wide. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a handful of candies, and offered them to Paul.
"Thank you, Uncle."
Paul accepted the candy, his expression unreadable. His eyes followed me as I limped to the kitchen to pour water.
"Just now on the stairs," he said abruptly. "Your leg... you have a limp?"
I set the glass of hot water in front of him, ignoring the question. The ache in my leg brought the memories rushing back.
Back then, after Anna's staged fall, she had nearly miscarried.
Paul had knelt outside the hospital room for seven hours, begging Heaven to save Annie and the child. Miraculously, both mother and child were safe.
But after that night, Paul's hatred for me deepened. His eyes held a new layer of vigilance, as if I were a monster waiting to strike.
Shortly after, a servant "found" a USB drive in my jewelry box.
It contained the Gilbert Corporation's core business secrets.
Fueled by rage, Paul didn't wait for an explanation. He struck me across the face, the force of the slap sending me crashing to the floor.
