After I had daughter with another man, my chubby left me for good.

Blood-red script on ancient parchment branded the Sinclair curse: "Wed a commoner, court death." I, Westbrook's spoiled princess, mocked the warnings—until Lucas Montgomery appeared.

I signed away my birthright without hesitation. In the ancestral hall, I knelt for nine days and nights. Blood from my raw knees seeped into the ancient stone.​

Ninety-nine lashes of the family whip rained down on my back. Yet, as I faced him through a haze of agony, a smile split my bloody lips.

"Lucas," I gasped, spitting out a mouthful of blood, "I'd endure a thousand more to be yours."

The Sinclair elders' laughter echoed like venom in the cold hall.

"You may flee with your mongrel," the matriarch sneered "but first, you'll bear a Sinclair heir—a pure - blooded son sired by the man we choose. ."

From then on, the most frequent words I said to Lucas Montgomery were — "Wait."

The first time, I asked him to wait while I had a child with another man.

I slept with Julian Whitmore thirty-nine times, until I was pregnant with his child.

The second time, I told him to wait again, because the baby was a girl, and the Sinclair family wanted a son.

So, I slept with Julian Whitmore ninety-nine times, until I became pregnant again.

But just when I thought everything was about to settle down, my daughter, who had just had her hundred-day celebration with Julian Whitmore, suddenly fell into a high fever and began vomiting blood. Everyone believed it was Lucas Montgomery who had harmed her.

Julian Whitmore bull, locking his hands around Lucas's throat. "Come for me!" he roared, spittle flying. "How could you harm a child?" Lucas, purple - faced, gasped protests, eyes wide with terror.​

My parents, twisted with rage, lunged like demons. "Our Sinclair heir!" Mother shrieked. "You'll die for this!" Father's shaking fists promised violence.

He was stripped of his clothes and thrown into a cold storage. I stood outside the door. Through the frosted glass, I saw him curled up, trembling, his eyes ful of despair.

I stood outside, my hands trembling uncontrollably, but in the end, I gritted my teeth and spoke: "I said, wait… why hurt my child?"

What a "my child."

I braceleted as Lucas Montgomery bent down in pain, as if his heart was being ripped out. His hollow eyes stared at me, as though he was on the verge of collapsing.

But had he forgotten?

I once knelt in the rain and swore: "Lucas, in this life, I will only have you as my husband."

I'd whispered promises against his chest, breathless after our trysts.

"Only our child will own my heart," I'd sworn, lips lingering on his fingers. "Soon, just us against the world."​

Now. Lucas, his eyes shattered glass, braceleted as I clutched another man's heir.

When the cold storage door opened again, Lucas Montgomery's frozen fingers were tightly clenched in his palms. He didn't look at me.

At that moment, he didn't wait anymore.

He dialed the Sinclair family's old house phone.

"Cut clean," Lucas's voice sliced through the receiver, cold as steel. "Send me to the ends of the earth—anywhere she'll never reach."​

A chilling laugh crackled from my mother. "Took you long enough," she sneered, venom dripping from each word. "A glorified clerk dreaming of Sinclairs? The freezer taught you well. Now crawl back to your gutter where you belong."​

My father snorted disdainfully: "In half a month, we'll arrange everything. From then on, never appear in front of Sophia."

After the call ended, Lucas Montgomery stood at the gate of the villa, his fingers still trembling.

And I, was teasing my daughter, with Julian Whitmore beside me, smiling gently and warmly.

Lucas Montgomery stood there, braceleting us, his expression as cold as an ice cave.

"Mr. Montgomery's back?" Julian Whitmore was the first to notice him and immediately sat up straight, the smile on his face fading slightly.

I almost reflexively handed the child to the servant: "Take her upstairs."

I was afraid he would hurt my child.

The words "our child" now tasted like ash on my tongue.

I stood between him and the stairs, a human shield against the Sinclairs' fury.

But Lucas looked at me as if I were the monste.​

As soon as the nursemaid disappeared with the wailing infant, I lunged forward, fingers grazing his bruised wrist. "Lucas, the cold storage—"​

He flinched back like I'd burned him, eyes dark with betrayal. "Don't touch me." His voice was a blade.

I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms. "They'd have killed you last night! This is our only way out. Besides, the child is innocent, why must you—"​

"I said it wasn't me!" He suddenly reddened his eyes, shouting in agony.

I froze for a moment, instinctively softening my tone: "Alright, alright, it's not important anymore."

But in his eyes, there was only deeper pain.

I knew, he heard my meaning — I still didn't believe him.

Julian Whitmore saw the tension and walked over, apologetically saying: "Mr. Montgomery, I apologize as well. I was too hasty at that time. You don't have children, so you might not understand a father's feelings…"

He raised his hand to comb his hair, the bracelet on his wrist gleaming under the light.

Lucas Montgomery's eyes changed drastically, and he grabbed his wrist: "Where did you get that bracelet?"

"Julian likes it, so I gave it to him," I pulled his hand away, "Consider it my apology to her."

"It's my mother's heirloom!" His voice trembled, "How could you give it away, you know how important it is to me!"

He rushed over, trying to grab it back, but Julian Whitmore suddenly fell to the ground, clutching his leg in pain.

"Ah… my leg…"