“Giving birth?” Adrian scoffed. “Did you care when Vivian went into premature labor?”

Without a word, several bodyguards stormed forward and dragged me from the car.

Amniotic fluid and blood mixed, dripping onto the concrete. The pain was unbearable; I could barely stand it.

“What are you doing? Let me go!”

Adrian didn’t respond. He simply pointed toward the car wash bay at the edge of the parking lot.

The bodyguards hauled me over. I thrashed and screamed, but a searing pain tore through my abdomen.

“Adrian! I’m really in labor! The baby’s coming!”

He raised a high-pressure water gun and aimed it at me.

“Celeste Quinn, you’ve lived a pampered life. You’ve never known real pain.”

The jet of icy water struck me like a fist.

“Ah!”

The near-freezing blast knocked me to the ground. Blood and amniotic fluid splattered across the floor, washed away in streaks.

I curled up, groaning, but two bodyguards pinned me down.

From the screen, Vivian’s voice cried out: “Adrian, stop! She’s pregnant. Don’t do this…”

“You’re still defending her?” Adrian’s rage exploded. He turned the nozzle to full power. “She caused your premature labor! The baby’s still in an incubator, fighting for his life! Her pain is nothing!”

The water slammed into me again. It felt like it would tear my skin open. I couldn’t breathe.

Soaked to the bone, my hair clung to my face. I was a mess.

“Stop… please… the baby’s coming…” I begged through chattering teeth.

Adrian’s eyes were ice: “Cut off her clothes.”

“No! Don’t!” I screamed in horror.

One bodyguard pulled out scissors and sliced through my maternity dress with a sharp hiss.

“Adrian! You’re insane!”

He looked down at me coldly. “Vivian was just as helpless in the rain, burning with fever. Now you know how it feels.”

The scissors kept tearing fabric.

The humiliation hit harder than the pain of labor.

A sharp cramp stabbed me. I reached for my pocket.

Thank God — the microlocator was still there.

This was my only chance.

I pressed the emergency button. Relief swept over me. My parents would get the signal. They’d come.

I just had to hold on—

“Celeste. What are you doing?”

Adrian’s voice sliced through the air.

He snatched the locator from my hand and crushed it.

“Trying to call for help? Clever.”

The pieces were scattered on the floor. I collapsed beside them, contractions intensifying.

I couldn’t just wait to die.

In college, I studied first aid and passed physiology with flying colors. Now, it was all I had.

I focused on my breathing, relaxing my body, and syncing with the rhythm of each wave of pain.

I could feel the baby descending.

The head had already begun to crown.

“Adrian, I really am giving birth!” I gritted my teeth and got bored.

Maybe — just maybe — I could do this alone.

Adrian’s face twisted when he realized.

From the screen, Vivian shrieked: “Adrian! I almost died from difficult labor! How can she give birth so easily?”

Jealousy and bitterness filled her voice.

Adrian nodded grimly, then waved someone forward. “Doctor, come here.”

That’s when I saw him: a middle-aged man in a white coat, holding a syringe.

Adrian gave the order, voice like ice: “If her labor’s that smooth — give her a tocolytic.”

What?!

My eyes widened. “Adrian, you’re insane! That could kill me!”

The doctor didn’t hesitate—he squatted down and plunged the needle into my arm.

“No—”

The drug surged into my bloodstream. My lower abdomen felt like it was being crushed in a steel vise.

My child, moments from being born, was suddenly trapped inside me. The unbearable ripping sensation made my vision blur black.

Blood gushed out, soaking the ground in red.

The pain was suffocating. My body convulsed violently.

“Vivian bled more than you,” Adrian said coldly, staring down at me as I writhed in a pool of blood.

The drug’s effect finally wore off, and with the last of my strength, the baby slipped from my body.

Shaking, I held the child in my arms amid the blood.

His face was pale, his lips purple, his tiny mouth tightly shut—completely silent.

“My baby! Please cry!”

I hugged him close, stroking his icy little face with trembling hands.

The private doctor rushed over to help.

“Step aside!” Adrian shoved the doctor away and grabbed the child. “I’ll do it! Vivian taught me how!”

Helpless, I watched as he took the baby.

Adrian pressed on the infant’s chest, imitating Vivian’s so-called “special first aid.”

Crack!

The sharp snap of bones echoed through the parking garage.

The baby's ribs had broken.

He was gone.

“No!”

I howled like an animal and crawled frantically toward Adrian.

“Adrian! You killed our child! You monster!”

I wrenched the baby back into my arms.

He was so small, so soft, like a fragile doll.

But he would never open his eyes.

Adrian stood frozen for a moment, then exploded. “It’s your fault! You insisted on keeping that parking space! Because of that, Vivian gave birth early and got upset—and that’s why she taught me wrong!”

“Lies! Vivian did it on purpose!”

I clutched the lifeless baby, my tears falling onto his cold cheeks.

“She wanted our child dead!”

“Shut up!” Adrian barked and turned to the bodyguards. “Tie her up!”

They dragged me away from my child roughly.

The ropes bit into my skin, but I felt no pain anymore.

Vivian’s voice came through the screen: “Adrian, your sister’s too cruel. She needs to taste real despair.”

Adrian nodded and turned to the ex-cons posing as his guards.

“You lot, teach her what suffering really is.”

The men grinned lecherously.

I closed my eyes.

That’s fine.

With my baby gone… what else was left to live for?

Just as their filthy hands reached for me—

Bang!

The parking garage’s shutter was slammed open with a deafening crash.

Several black cars raced inside, tires screeching. Dozens of black-clad, well-trained men poured out.

The bodyguards were overpowered in seconds. Screams filled the air.

One man rushed to me, shrugging off his coat to wrap it gently around my trembling body. “Miss! I’m sorry I’m late!”