Clara’s POV

I really thought I had made it out.

For one fragile moment, I believed I was free.

Turns out the universe had a twisted sense of humor when it came to me, because I hadn’t even reached the edge of the estate when two men appeared out of nowhere. Black suits. Cold expressions. Private security. I barely had time to register their faces before they grabbed me—one hand clamped around each arm—dragging me back like I was a fugitive instead of the woman who once owned this place beside him.

“Mrs. Hale, you need to come back,” one of them said, already pulling me toward the main building. “Mr. Hale requested you immediately. He needs your blood.”

My chest seized.

“What? No—let go of me!” I fought against them with everything I had, panic flooding my veins—not for myself, but for the tiny heartbeat inside me. My own heart was pounding so violently it felt like it was warning me. Begging me. “Why would he need my blood?”

Why him?

Why this marriage?

Why this punishment disguised as fate?

I gave him everything. My body. My loyalty. My name. My future. I stood beside him through scandals, hostile board meetings, whispered rumors that could’ve destroyed his empire. Wasn’t that enough? What kind of cruel joke was it that I ended up bound to a man who saw me as nothing more than something useful—something disposable?

And still, he wanted more.

He always wanted more.

I didn’t know which terrified me more—that he might find out about the baby… or that he already knew and simply didn’t care.

The next thing I knew, icy metal pressed into my back.

I was strapped into a steel medical chair inside the private infirmary reserved for the Hale family. Thick restraints dug into my wrists. I forced my head up and saw Mark standing across from me, arms crossed, gaze cold and distant—like I was beneath his notice.

“So you dragged me back for this?” I laughed bitterly. “To drain me like some lab experiment?”

He didn’t even blink.

“Stop exaggerating,” he said flatly. “You’re contributing. Try to be useful.”

Something shattered in my chest.

“Useful?” I scoffed. “Is that all I ever was to you? A convenient blood donor with a marriage certificate?”

“You’re emotional,” he replied without missing a beat. “You always have been. You enjoy dramatics.”

“That’s rich,” I shot back. “Says the man bleeding his wife dry while the woman he cheated with sleeps wrapped in silk.”

In two steps, he was in front of me. His hand closed around my jaw, fingers biting just enough to hurt.

“Be careful,” he warned.

“Or what?” I whispered fiercely. “You’ll humiliate me again? Strip whatever dignity I have left?”

His mouth twisted into a cruel smile.

“You’re still alive. You should be grateful.”

“You already have her,” I snapped. “You have the child you wanted. So why am I still sitting in this chair?”

The irony nearly crushed me.

She rested comfortably in another room, surrounded by doctors and luxury, while I sat here bleeding for her sake. For the baby she carried—while my own child stayed hidden, clinging to me in silence.

I didn’t tell him.

I couldn’t.

He would use it. He would twist it into leverage the same way he twisted everything else about me.

So I swallowed the truth and stared up at the ceiling, letting the sterile lights blur through the tears I refused to shed.

“This is what loving you gets me?” I said quietly. “Defending your name in every boardroom? Standing between you and every scandal? Taking care of you like a partner, not a servant? I should’ve run the moment I realized you didn’t love me—you just owned me.”

“Then why didn’t you?” he snapped. “Because you needed me. You always did.”

“And you,” I whispered, “were too much of a coward to ever let me go.”

A slow smirk curved his lips.

“Why would I? You never stay gone.”

That was when the needle went in.

It was far too thick—more like a blade than medical equipment. The pain hit sharp and immediate, then burned as it slid deeper into my vein. I didn’t cry out. I refused to give him that satisfaction. But sweat broke across my neck, and my fingers shook violently against the restraints.

As the blood drained, memories went with it.

Our first public appearance as a married couple.

The night I stepped in front of danger meant for him.

All those sleepless nights waiting by the door, convincing myself it was love.

He watched the entire time—silent, detached—as if I were nothing more than a container being emptied.

“Mr. Hale,” one of the doctors said hesitantly, “her heart rate is unstable. Taking too much could—”

“Continue,” Mark snapped. “She’s stubborn. She’ll survive.”

My vision dimmed.

I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood just to stay conscious.

Eight hundred milliliters.

That’s how much they took.

I thought it was over.

Then someone cleared their throat behind the privacy curtain.

Mark straightened instantly.

“Double it,” he said. “She needs more.”

My breath hitched painfully.

“So this is for her?” I whispered hoarsely. “You’re draining your own wife to save the woman who destroyed our marriage?”

“She needs it,” he replied coldly, as if that explained everything.

I laughed weakly, tears burning my eyes.

“And what about me? Your wife? You’d bleed me dry before lifting a finger for me.”

His expression never changed.

From behind the curtain, her voice drifted out—soft, weak, perfectly timed.

“Mark…”

He moved immediately. I was barely conscious, strapped down, fading—and he was already gone.

The doctor hesitated.

“Sir… if we continue, the pregnancy—”

“Do it,” Mark barked. “Or find another job.”

I wanted to scream. To beg. But the darkness swallowed me whole.

---

When I woke again, everything felt distant and wrong.

I was lying on a narrow cot, covered by a thin blanket. A doctor sat beside me, eyes rimmed red.

“You’re stable now,” he said quietly. “Physically.”

“That’s supposed to be good news,” I whispered. “So why do you look like you’re about to apologize?”

He swallowed.

“Because there was a complication.”

My hand flew to my stomach.

“No,” I whispered. “No… please…”

“I’m so sorry,” he said softly. “When the blood draw was increased… the pregnancy couldn’t be sustained.”

The scream ripped out of me before I could stop it. I thrashed, knocking equipment to the floor, sobbing so violently I couldn’t breathe. I forced myself upright, dizziness crashing over me as I staggered toward the door.

“Mark!” I screamed. “YOU KILLED MY BABY!”

He wasn’t there.

Of course he wasn’t.

I collapsed to the floor, grief hollowing me out until something else took its place.

Cold.

Focused.

Sharp.

No more begging.

No more hoping.

I looked up at the doctor.

“Prepare my discharge papers,” I said hoarsely. “And every medical record. I want copies of everything.”

Because I was done surviving.

Now, I was planning my revenge.

Clara’s POV

I was still confined to a hospital bed, my body weak and unsteady, as if it hadn’t quite caught up with everything that had been taken from me. My arms throbbed constantly, sore from the blood loss, and even sitting up for more than a few minutes made the room spin. But none of that compared to the ache lodged deep in my chest—the kind of pain no medication could touch.

I was mourning my baby.

While I lay there, trapped between white sheets and beeping monitors, the world seemed determined to remind me how little my suffering mattered. News of Mark and Nina reached me without mercy. A former acquaintance forwarded a video from a high‑profile charity gala—Mark in a tailored tuxedo, laughing easily, his hand resting possessively on Nina’s waist. She leaned into him, glowing, triumphant.

Another clip followed not long after. A private dinner party. Mark feeding her cake with a fork, bending close to murmur something in her ear. Nina laughed, tilting her head back, utterly unashamed.

He looked relaxed. Unburdened.

Like a man who had lost nothing at all.

When I was finally cleared for discharge, I left the hospital alone. No car waiting. No driver. No assistant. Not even a courtesy check‑in. I walked out clutching a flimsy hospital bag, confronted with the brutal realization that I had been erased from their priorities completely.

The thought of returning to the estate made my stomach knot. Every hallway, every room felt contaminated by memory. But all my personal documents were still there—passports, legal papers, everything I needed to leave. I didn’t have a choice.

And then, because the universe apparently wasn’t finished with me, I saw them.

They stood just outside the maternity wing. Nina looked radiant, already basking in attention like this was her moment to claim. Mark hovered close, one hand resting at the small of her back, guiding her like a prized possession.

A nurse passed by, smiling brightly. “Mr. Hale, your wife looks wonderful today.”

My throat tightened, but I didn’t correct her. I didn’t have the energy.

I turned away, ready to disappear.

“Clara.”

Mark’s voice sliced through the hallway. I froze mid‑step. My shoulders stiffened, but I didn’t turn right away. Of course he noticed me. Of course he couldn’t let me fade quietly.

I finally faced him across the polished floor. “I wasn’t following you,” I said flatly. “I was discharged today. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Before he could respond, Nina slipped her arm through his, clinging to him like she belonged there.

“Babe,” she said softly, fake concern dripping from every word, “maybe she should ride with us. I feel kind of bad. She donated blood for me, remember? The least we can do is help her get home.”

I almost laughed at the audacity.

Mark brushed his thumb against Nina’s cheek. “You’re too generous,” he said, then glanced at me. “Fine.”

So I got into the car. Not because I wanted to—but because I needed my papers before I could disappear for good.

I slid into the backseat and stared straight ahead.

Then I saw it.

A pair of women’s underwear lay crumpled beside me, stained unmistakably white. The sight punched the air from my lungs.

Nina twisted around in her seat, her lips curling into a smug smile. “Oh wow,” she giggled, “I can’t believe I left those here. Remember, babe? After what we did in the backseat last week?”

Mark laughed casually, eyes still on the road. “You nearly wrecked the upholstery.”

She hummed happily. “You didn’t seem to mind when I was on your lap outside the estate. Or when I unzipped you during that long drive and kept you entertained.”

“Traffic’s more bearable with you around,” he replied easily.

“And that time you had to pull over because I wouldn’t stop?” she added, grinning. “You were practically shaking.”

My stomach churned. I turned my face toward the window, jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. My hands curled into fists in my lap, nails digging into my skin.

While they carried on like I didn’t exist, I quietly pulled out my phone and opened an email from my cousin, Nico. My heart fluttered when I saw the flight confirmation.

Below the details, he’d added a message:

Here’s another flight option. It leaves tonight at 9 PM. I really hope you make this one.

A small smile touched my lips.

I typed back quickly:

Thank you. I’m sorry I missed the last flight.

Almost immediately, his reply came through:

What actually happened that day? You don’t have to protect me.

My fingers hovered. Nico had always been my shield. If he knew the truth, he’d start a legal war—and I didn’t want more destruction on my conscience.

So I answered instead:

I’ll explain soon. I just need to leave first.

Leaving was all that mattered now.

Up front, Mark laughed softly, apologizing to Nina for something trivial, playing the attentive partner. Yet I could feel his gaze flicking toward me, searching for a reaction.

I gave him nothing.

That same irritation I’d seen in his eyes before surfaced again. He hated being ignored.

“You’ve been glued to your phone since we got in,” he snapped. “Who are you talking to?”

“Just reading the news,” I replied calmly, eyes fixed on my digital boarding pass.

He didn’t believe me.

Without warning, he reached back and ripped the phone from my hands. Anger surged through me—not fear, just pure, burning rage.

“What’s the passcode?” he demanded.

I laughed softly. “The day we met. You know—the day I made the biggest mistake of my life. Shouldn’t be hard to remember. You were charming for about five minutes before becoming unbearable.”

He scowled and tried once. Twice. Three times.

Locked.

Nina leaned over, voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Just drop it, babe. It’s not like she has anyone left to talk to. Or any pride. Who else would bother replying to her now?”

She winked at me.

I stared back at her, silent.

And for the first time, I realized something important.

They thought I was broken.

They had no idea I was already planning my escape.

Clara’s POV

When we arrived at the estate, he guided his nauseated, morning-sick mistress up to the master suite, his hand firm on her lower back. He instructed the chef to prepare her favorite dishes, then lingered in the doorway for a moment as if savoring her approval.

On his way back downstairs, he caught sight of me trudging toward the guest wing, dragging my suitcase behind me like it contained everything I had left in the world.

He paused mid-step and muttered over his shoulder to the chef, “Prepare two more plates—the ones Clara likes. Set three places.”

That snapped my attention. Did I imagine it, or was that the faintest hint of regret? A pathetic attempt to show he cared, even just enough to set a table for me while his mistress rested in our bedroom?

I didn’t know whether to laugh at the absurdity or scream at the nerve. He couldn’t even remember the exact day we met, yet now he expected the chef to prepare my favorite roasted lamb with rosemary as if a dish could erase betrayal.

I clenched my teeth, said nothing, and kept moving.

The guest room door closed quietly behind me, the click of the lock sounding heavier than any insult. The silence was suffocating, as if the walls themselves acknowledged I didn’t belong here anymore.

I set my bag on the edge of the bed and knelt to unzip it. The moment the zipper slid open, my stomach dropped.

Every single item of clothing—torn. Shredded into neat, deliberate strips. Whoever did this wanted to make a statement. My heart sank.

Then I noticed what remained: tucked deep in the lining, my passport, my plane tickets, and every other document I couldn’t afford to lose. Untouched. Protected.

I sat back for a moment, stunned, anger and disbelief warring for dominance. And of course, I didn’t have to guess who was responsible. Nina. Only she would be petty enough to mutilate my belongings while leaving the things that mattered most. But there was no time for confrontation—not yet. I had to focus on leaving this place in one piece.

I crouched by the bed, shoving the remaining salvageable items into my bag, when the door creaked open behind me.

Nina appeared, one hand dangling a small black bottle. Her eyes swept the room as if she were critiquing an art gallery, nose wrinkling like she had just smelled something offensive. Then her gaze landed on me—and if looks could kill, I’d already be nothing but ash.

“Well, Clara,” she purred, tilting her head with that fake sweetness that always made my skin crawl, “you really are something. After everything I’ve humiliated you with in front of every socialite, every investor, every influential person in the city, you still cling to this place like it’s your lifeline.”

Her voice dripped mockery.

“Oh, right. Your grandmother passed last month, didn’t she? Now that your only family is gone, I suppose it makes sense. You’re desperate, clinging to Mark like he’s the only anchor left in your life.”

Then she giggled. Light, cruel, infuriating.

“Remember how you begged him to fly you out to see her one last time? You want to know why he didn’t?”

She waved her phone like a weapon.

“Because he promised to take me to the coast that day. We watched the sunset together. That kiss photo? That’s when it was taken.”

Her words sank into me slowly, spreading like cracks across glass. The more I processed, the hotter my blood became.

She had done this deliberately. She had known. She had flaunted that photo, reminded me of the helicopter, reminded me of the one day I’d fallen to my knees, begging him to let me see my grandmother one last time. And he had chosen her.

The weight of it pressed down on me, jaw tightening, fists clenching at my sides. My control snapped.

“You think this is funny?” I hissed, voice low and sharp. “You think destroying what little I have left makes you something? Like you could ever be his equal?”

Nina raised an eyebrow, lips curling into a predatory smile. “I don’t need to be his equal. I already have everything.”

“You have nothing,” I spat back, teeth bared. “You’re a parasite. A leech sucking scraps from his life, from mine!”