Carly woke to a sharp, white light overhead and a dull, throbbing ache in her lower abdomen. It wasn't a nightmare. It was real.

A doctor in a standard white coat stood by her bed. He adjusted his clipboard as her eyes fluttered open.

"Carly, you're awake," he said, his tone clinical and grave. "You suffered a massive hemorrhage. We had to perform an emergency dilation and curettage. The surgery was successful, but you're going to need time to recover."

His words held no warmth, no comfort.

She ignored him, her own voice a dry rasp. "My babies..." A tiny, foolish flicker of hope still lingered in the back of her mind.

The doctor sighed, closing the file. "I'm sorry. We couldn't save them. Your only job now is to rest." His words were a command, not a suggestion.

A young nurse came in to change her IV drip. Her eyes, full of pity, met Carly's.

While the doctor stepped out to take a call, the nurse leaned in close. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "To lose both of them at once, especially when they were already fully formed... it's just awful."

"Both?" Carly's pupils contracted. She grabbed the nurse's arm, her grip surprisingly strong. "What did you say? My previous checkups always said it was a single pregnancy!"

The nurse flinched, startled by her intensity. "Y-yes... the ultrasound showed a boy and a girl. Fraternal twins. Didn't you know?"

A boy and a girl.

She had lost two babies.

The knowledge hit her like a physical blow, a second, more brutal impact. The room spun, and she thought she might pass out from the sheer weight of the pain.

Yet, surprisingly, she did not shed a single tear. The grief was too profound, hollowing her out from the inside. Instead of crying, a terrifying calm settled over her.

She requested the remains of her children from the hospital. Carefully, she placed the tiny, formless tragedies into a small black urn.

With steady, numb hands, she wrapped the urn in exquisite gift paper, tying it with a ribbon so it looked exactly like a beautiful "present".

Just before she was discharged, her phone buzzed. It was Julian's father, Alistair Carlisle. His tone usual arrogant command.

"Come to the old estate," Alistair ordered, his voice cold and expectant. "The chef is off today. I want you to cook dinner, and my suits need ironing. Make sure the house is spotless. Don't keep us waiting."He hung up before she could reply.

Lying back against the pillows for a brief moment, Carly felt a chilling realization wash over her. She remembered how she had married Julian Carlisle while pregnant, bending over backward to please his family. She had endured their scorn, hoping to earn her place. But to them, she was never a daughter-in-law. She was just an unpaid maid.

She scanned the empty room. Julian wasn't there. He was still with Devon, she was sure of it.

Returning to the Carlisle manor, the head nanny immediately shoved a basket of fresh ingredients toward her. "Mr. Carlisle wants dinner ready by seven," the nanny said haughtily, fully expecting Carly to take on her usual servant role.

For the first time, Carly ignored her. She didn't even glance at the groceries, turning on her heel and walking straight upstairs. Behind her, she could hear the nanny indignantly dialing Julian's number to complain about her sudden insolence.

Inside the cold, empty master bedroom, Carly stood still. She fumbled for her phone in her pocket.

The screen lit up, showing a photo of her and Julian. She was smiling, her face radiant with a happiness that now seemed like a cruel joke.

She looked up at the large wedding portrait hanging on the wall—a heavily edited, composite photo because Julian hadn't even bothered to show up for the shoot. Then, she looked down at the "gift-wrapped" black urn resting in her arms.

She stared at it for a long moment, then let out a dry, humorless laugh.

Her fingers scrolled through her contacts, pausing on a single name.

After a long hesitation, she pressed the call button.

When the line connected, she summoned every ounce of strength she had left. "Hamza," she said, her voice clear and steady. "It's me, Carly. I'm ready... I want to go back."

"Carly," Hamza McKnight's voice came through the line, heavy with finality. "I have to tell you... the government aerospace classified project won't be reaching out to you anymore. You were so firm in your refusal back then, and with the news of your pregnancy out, they've already found someone else. Even your mentor won't bother you again. He said to just live your life in peace."

A long, hollow silence stretched on Carly's end. Memories washed over her—her college days as a secretly cultivated key scientific talent, co-founding the company with Hamza. Relying on her core technology, that company had successfully gone public in just one year, making her the major behind-the-scenes shareholder.

But she had fallen in love with Julian Carlisle. For him, she had discarded her bright future, pushed away countless research opportunities others could only dream of, all just to be a secretary at his company.

As for the child, it was a one night stand a few months ago when Julian's grandmother Eleanor exerted pressure on him for the child in her womb, forcing him to marry her.

Just as Hamza sighed, preparing to end the call, Carly suddenly spoke up. "Hamza... I want to join the government commercial aerospace classified project."

There was a stunned silence on the line. Hamza was completely caught off guard. After his repeated past persuasions were met with flat rejections, he secretly speculated that Carly was only doing this now to grab Julian's attention.

He didn't expose his guess. "Alright," he said, his tone turning professional. "I'll accept your application. But remember, this is a classified project. I need you to come in on Monday to sign the NDA."

After hanging up, Carly was filled with self-mockery. She had wasted nearly five years for a man who didn't love her, only to end up with absolutely nothing. She made up her mind: she would tell Julian the baby was gone, and end this marriage once and for all.

The doctor had told her she needed four months of rest to recover from the pregnancy loss. Standing in the hospital bathroom, she looked at her reflection. Her body was still swollen from the pregnancy. Her black puffer jacket was stained with dried blood, emitting a heavy, metallic stench. She methodically cleaned herself up and threw the bloody garments straight into the trash.

At dinner, the chef presented a specially prepared restorative soup. Carly didn't even glance at it. "Take it away," she told the maid, Brenda.

Brenda, the head maid who had always treated her with a thin veneer of respect, frowned. "Ma'am, Mr. Carlisle ordered this for you..."

"I said, take it away," Carly repeated, her voice low and sharp. The maid flinched at her tone and scurried away with the bowl.

Carly went up to the master suite she shared with Julian. The room was vast and empty, holding no trace of him.

She opened the walk-in closet and pulled out the small suitcase she had arrived with three years ago. She began to pack.

She took only her own clothes, a few professional textbooks, and an old laptop. The jewelry, the designer bags, the couture gowns Julian had bought her—she left them all behind.

She was zipping the suitcase when a knock came at the door. It was the nanny. "Ma'am, Mr. Carlisle is back. He's asking for you downstairs."

Carly felt a surge of surprise. As the head of the Carlisle family, Julian almost never set foot in this house; usually, she only had the chance to speak to him at the company. Her mind raced with speculations, assuming he had come because of the baby or the hospital incident.

However, when she went downstairs, what awaited her was not concern, but Julian's icy accusations.

"You don't have time for your prenatal checkups, but you have plenty of time to stalk me?" he demanded, his voice laced with disgust.

Carly's face turned deathly pale.

She had been on her way to the Carlisle-owned hospital for that very checkup when the car crash happened. Because Julian had continuously ignored her calls, her rescue was delayed, and she couldn't save the baby. She had even seen him with her own eyes at the hospital, meticulously caring for the instigator of her tragedy. And now, she was being slandered as a stalker.

A bitter sorrow filled her heart. She opened her mouth, desperately wanting to explain. "Julian, I—"

"Save it," he interrupted sharply, his eyes devoid of any warmth. "Put away your little schemes. Once the baby is born, we are getting a divorce."

His tone was absolute, the voice of a man used to total control. Without another glance, he turned and walked into his bathroom. The door clicked shut, a final, definitive sound separating their two worlds.