My mother's lips tightened into a stark, colorless line.

She inhaled a slow, measured breath, steeling herself.

This was a familiar maneuver, designed to banish any waver from her tone.

"Okay. Let's make it a joint divorce, then. Scarlett is your first love—your true legacy. Of course, she's more important than me. We were just a merger of convenience, after all. Besides, she represents a promise you made long before we ever met."

"Now that she has returned to the center of your universe, you are finally free to devote yourself to her."

"You should go pursue the love you actually want."

Julian's volume escalated, a sharp departure from the gentle cadence he reserved for Scarlett.

"Another divorce? So you and your daughter have decided marriage is a complete farce, that the commitment we made holds no value for either of you? You claimed you abandoned your first husband because he was unstable, but it's obvious now that you were the source of the chaos all along!

"Your jealousy is completely out of control!"

"Did the smoke get to your brain? Scarlett's assets were at risk. Shouldn't we have secured them? Her father’s collection was nearly lost, and as the executor of his estate, I shouldn't have gone to protect it?"

"Your paranoia has made you delusional. How can you be jealous of a business obligation?"

"You want a divorce? Fine! You can wait until the Ashford heir is born. And don't you or your daughter even think of taking that baby with you!"

Julian terminated the call before my mother could utter a single word; her phone followed suit, slipping from her hand to the floor with a muted clatter.

She then gazed out the window, remarking, "Chloe, men are all bastards."

In that moment, I understood her mind had drifted back to her past.

Mom had been a rising star in the art world, only to fall for a charismatic but penniless painter. This was the man Julian had referred to as my birth father.

Mom cut all ties with her patrons to be with my father and moved with him to a tiny studio.

At first, my father promised her the world. He told her he would work hard, make his name, and she would be the wife of a celebrated artist. Mom was still in her early twenties then, so she had believed every single word he had said.

Soon after, she discovered she was pregnant with me, a development that prompted my parents to hastily wed.

Mom told me that the nine months she was pregnant had been the best time of her life. She was his muse, his goddess. He painted her constantly and catered to her every need.

My birth, however, marked a shift in my father's disposition upon discovering I was a daughter; his demeanor towards Mom soured before she even left the hospital, and my infant cries would provoke him to berate her, branding her an impediment to his artistic genius.

That was how Mom lived her life for the next few years. My father was emotionally abusive toward her, either yelling or disappearing for days at a time.

When I turned seven years old, my father came home with another woman, telling Mom that he wanted a divorce. His reasoning was simple. His new "love" was a better muse.

My father then chased me and my mother out of the studio. We were penniless and owned nothing but her art books and my clothes.

For years, we led a nomadic life; Mom undertook art restoration projects while I attended school, and she managed to fund my college education with her meager earnings until I finally graduated.

The very same day I introduced my boyfriend to her was the day she revealed she had also met someone special.

It wasn't until we each brought our partners to see each other that we realized we'd fallen in love with the father-and-son duo from Ashford Architecture.

A month later, we both got married on the same day. I was married to the star architect Liam Ashford, the son, while Mom was married to Julian Ashford, the firm's founder.

Liam's mother had died from cancer a few years ago. On our wedding day, Mom had held Liam's hand in hers, saying, "Liam, I'll be your mother from today onward."

Meanwhile, Julian also held my hand and said, "Chloe, I'll be your father from today onward."

The moment was incredibly moving, and looking back, I can still recall its profound warmth.

However, both Mom and I had been so caught up in our happiness that we never realized that some other things were also starting to take root—our wedding day was set on the same day as the anniversary of the death of Julian’s founding partner.

It was obvious what this meant to them both.

Additionally, both Liam and Julian had personally phoned his daughter, Scarlett, pleading for her presence at our weddings.

Liam's words are seared into my memory: "Scarlett, your being here would mean the world to me."

I hadn't thought much about it back then. But now that I looked back at it, these had all been warning signs from the start. Scarlett was someone special to the Ashfords.

Still, there was something I couldn't understand.

Liam had his own mother. So, why did he defer to Scarlett so much? He would even think that no one else could ever measure up to her.

I suspect that if my mother, Scarlett, and I had all been caught in today's fire, our funerals would have been scheduled only after the insurance payout was secured.

I sat beside my mother on the bed, each of us aimlessly scrolling through our phones.

Scarlett happened to be featured on a major magazine's website just then.

Scarlett had been featured in an article with a photo of herself, Liam, and Julian.

She stood between them, looking strong yet fragile, while the Ashford men stood behind her. They all looked resolute. A powerful trio.

Her quote read, "In crisis, you discover who your true partners are. Thank you, Julian and Liam. My chaotic life is now peaceful because of you both."

Both Liam and Julian weren't wearing their wedding rings in the photo. However, they usually never wore them on site visits, since their work could be demanding.

However, the lack of the wedding bands on both their fingers in the photo now served as a proclamation to the world that they were still single and available.

People were starting to leave comments under the post.

"Wow! What a power move! Anyone can see the deep bond between them!"

"Is this the new Ashford power trio?"

"No way! I don't believe it for a second. The drama is just too good."

"Don't worry. I'm already imagining it. Is there room for two wives in this picture, though? Which one does she actually like?"

"I know! It's definitely both of them! She's playing the long game for the whole dynasty!"

I passed the phone over to Mom. "Mom, I'm definitely getting a divorce."

Mom took the phone from me and enlarged the photo, her face dark and solemn.

A few seconds later, she replied calmly, "It's okay, Chloe. I'll do it with you. I've done it before anyway, so I've got the experience. Call up a lawyer and get them to draft a divorce agreement."

Three days later, the divorce papers were finalized by our lawyer. My mother and I had them delivered by courier to the Ashford estate that morning.

In the three days of silence that followed, neither Liam nor Julian reached out.

My mother and I stayed at the clinic, focusing on recovery.

Our bodies were healing, but my spirit felt shattered. Losing a child so late in a pregnancy had hollowed me out, leaving me weak and disconnected from my own skin. I spent most of the day in bed, my gaze often drifting to my flat stomach, an ache in an empty space.

My baby was gone.

I had already created the blueprints for his nursery, mapped out the trips we would take to see the architectural marvels of the world, and debated which Ivy League school he might choose.

Above all else, I had just wanted him to be happy. His success would have just been a bonus.

My eyes burned with hot, unshed tears. I tried to swallow them down, but it was useless.

My baby was gone! And it was entirely his father’s fault for refusing to answer our calls!

I clenched the thin hospital blanket in my fist.

How would Liam even react when he finally found out his son was gone forever?

Suddenly, my phone pierced the silence with a sharp, insistent ring. It was Liam.

He had unblocked me, and now he was finally calling. He didn’t bother to ask why I’d been gone for three days or show any concern for my well-being. Instead, the first thing he did was unleash his fury on me.

"Chloe Ashford! What in the hell is going through your mind? I was giving you space for a few days, letting you cool off and reflect on your ridiculous behavior!"

"And this is how you repay me? With a divorce agreement? Are you completely insane?"

"I did nothing wrong by securing Scarlett's assets. But I suppose there's no reasoning with you when you're determined to cause such a pathetic scene!"

"And another thing, where the hell have you been? You weren't at the estate. So who's the new man warming your bed?"

At the same time, Julian had called my mother, his voice a low growl that I could hear from across the room.

"You're nearly fifty, Eleanor, what is this childish stunt you and your daughter are pulling? What, have you formed a pact to take us down together? Have you no sense of decency?"

"Scarlett is my late partner's daughter. Am I not permitted to help her?"

"My duty is to protect the Ashford legacy! And you dare to suggest that's wrong?"

"Fine! If you want to see me as the villain, then so be it, you damn woman! Now, can you cut this pathetic melodrama?"

My mother’s voice was unnervingly calm. She looked just as composed as she answered, "Julian, you want to know my location, don’t you? I’m at the Crestwood Recovery Clinic, Room 326."

"What the hell are you doing there?"

"You'll see when you arrive."

My mother ended the call and turned to stare out the window.

I remained silent as well. The quiet in the ward was heavy and suffocating.

Twenty minutes later, Julian and Liam stormed in, shattering the fragile peace.

I glanced toward the door. They hadn’t come alone. Scarlett was with them.

The sheer audacity of it was almost laughable.

My mother was at the water dispenser, pouring me a cup of hot water, when they burst in. The moment Julian saw her, he strode toward her and backhanded the cup from her grasp.

It crashed to the floor, shattering into pieces. The scalding water splashed across my mother's hands, turning her skin a blotchy, angry red.

My mother hissed in pain but refused to shed a single tear.

Julian, on the other hand, looked as if he was about to explode. "Keep up the act. I can't believe you'd admit yourself to a clinic just to prove a point."

"You're as strong as they come! What could possibly be wrong with you?"

My mother didn't grace him with an answer. Instead, she said flatly, "The divorce papers are ready for your signature whenever you're available."

Scarlett stepped forward then, her voice a soft, venomous purr. "Eleanor, there is absolutely nothing between Julian and me. And even if there were, it would be none of your business."

"Shut your mouth!"

The words ripped from my throat before I could stop them. I launched myself from the bed and struck her across the face, the sound cracking in the tense silence.

"You’re a woman in your forties. Can’t you find some dignity? It wasn’t enough to wrap the father around your little finger, you had to sink your claws into the son, too? You should put your talents to use and become a professional homewrecker!"

Scarlett was momentarily stunned by the force of my slap.

The slap also ignited Liam’s rage. He shoved me with the full force of his body, his face a mask of thunder.

My body, still weak from the procedure, slammed backward into a medical cart. Glass vials clattered to the floor, and a shard of one pierced the sole of my foot. Blood began to well up instantly.

Liam looked far from finished. He advanced on me, ready to unleash more of his fury.

"You will not speak to Scarlett that way!" He grabbed the collar of my flimsy hospital gown, his face inches from mine.

Then, his gaze traveled slowly downward.

It was only in that moment that he finally registered my flat stomach. The color drained from his face. "Chloe Ashford," he breathed, his voice cracking, "where is our baby?"

I shoved his hand off me and met his cold, shocked gaze with the eyes of a killer. "The baby?" I let my voice drop to a lethal whisper. "He’s gone. And yes, it was a boy."