"Alex!"
His voice cracked with panic. I watched Lucas collapse to his knees, screaming my name.
"Alex! Stay with me!"
I'm here, I wanted to tell him. Don't be afraid.
But darkness swallowed the words before they could leave my throat. My consciousness slipped away, and I fell into a deep coma.
When I finally woke, the doctor delivered the sentence: I would never be a mother again.
Lucas lay by my bedside, face buried in the sheets, weeping until he had no tears left. In his grief, he sought redemption. He went to the temple, bowing every three steps until his forehead bled, praying for our lost child's soul. He lit an eternal lamp in the sanctuary and established a charitable foundation in our baby's name.
He did it all with one hope—that our child would find peace and be reborn into a life without suffering.
Back in the present, I stared at the phone screen in Yara's hand.
She tapped play.
On the screen, Lucas stood before a monk in the temple.
"If I extinguish this lamp," Lucas asked, his voice thick with sincerity, "will Yara be able to conceive?"
My breath hitched.
"I'm not young anymore," Lucas continued. "I need an heir by my side. I can't let the memory of one lost child prevent me from ever being a father."
He reached out and picked up the eternal lamp. A desolate expression crossed his face—a look I couldn't quite decipher—before his grip tightened.
Then he smashed it.
The lamp shattered against the stone floor. The sound tore through me, visceral and sharp, as if he'd driven a knife straight into my chest. I felt my heart split in two.
"Do you understand now, Alex?" Yara sneered, pulling the phone back. "You're nothing but a burden to Lucas."
Memories of that year flooded back. The year Lucas lit that lamp, I had proposed divorce, willing to let him go so he could have a family. But it was Lucas who knelt before me, sobbing, begging me to stay.
"Alex, I've already lost the child. I can't lose you too."
"If I ever wrong you, may I die a gruesome death."
"If I ever betray Alex Henson, let me rot in hell."
I stared at Yara. I didn't scream. I didn't curse her shamelessness. I didn't give her the catfight she so desperately wanted.
Instead, as I saw Lucas rushing toward the café window, a low, hollow laugh escaped my lips. I stepped closer to Yara.
"Yara."
Lucas burst in, his frantic gaze sweeping the room until it locked onto us. He opened his mouth to call out to her.
"Did Lucas ever tell you," I asked softly, my eyes fixed on her, "how we secured the order that saved the company during our hardest year?"
Lucas froze. His face went pale.
He started toward us, steps heavy with dread. Yara looked confused, but I just smiled at her—cold, jagged.
"It was me."
I laughed, the sound hollow.
"I hadn't slept for five days preparing that proposal. I rushed to the client's company, only to find Mrs. Abbott going into premature labor."
I took another step toward Yara, invading her space.
"I dragged my heavy, pregnant body to save her, ignoring the pain. I secured that order. I made Lucas who he is today."
"What are you—"
My hand shot out and snatched the fruit knife from the table.
Lucas skidded to a halt, his voice booming across the café.
"Alex!"
I didn't hesitate. I wound my free hand through Yara's hair, yanked her head back, and pressed the cold blade against her throat.
"Back then, I gambled my life for Lucas's future," I whispered into her ear, my voice trembling with rage.
"Now..." My laughter grew louder, manic. "Why wouldn't I dare gamble my life to take yours?"
I pressed the blade closer.
"Worst case? We die together."
Yara's arrogance evaporated. She trembled violently, her body going limp against me.
"Lucas!" she shrieked. "Save me! She's crazy!"
"Alex, put it down!" Lucas roared, stepping forward.
"Don't come any closer!" I snapped.
Yara sobbed, terrified. "If you hurt me, Lucas won't let you live! He'll kill you!"
I watched Lucas charge toward me. He reached for the knife in my hand, his expression arrogant, certain I wouldn't dare harm him.
I didn't hesitate. I shoved Yara aside, gripped Lucas's wrist, and locked my gaze on the doorway.
A smile curled on my lips.
"Lucas."
Go to hell.
I yanked his hand—the one clutching the knife—and drove the blade straight into my own abdomen.
He didn't even have time to blink.
The doors burst open. Reporters surged in, cameras flashing like strobe lights, capturing the exact moment Lucas appeared to stab me.
"Murder!"
"He's killing her!"
"Call an ambulance! Hurry!"
Panic seized him. He stood frozen, unable to comprehend what had just happened. Before he could utter a word, the knife was wrestled from his grip and he was tackled to the floor. Pinned down, he could only scream helplessly at the flashing lenses.
"It wasn't me!"
"I didn't do it!"
"She did it herself!"
