Two weeks after my miscarriage, I forced myself to stand and do one last inspection for Ethan Hayes’ upcoming International Art Exhibition in San Francisco.

I froze in front of a newly added display booth.

Inside was the baby I had just lost two weeks ago.

Next to the exhibit’s description, there was even a positive pregnancy test taped on the wall.

I stared at Ethan, trembling all over, and slapped him hard across the face.

“So this is how my baby became one of your art pieces?”

Ethan frowned, his voice sharp.

“It was just a mistake made by the new intern — she’s just a kid.”

“Come on, you’re an adult. Don’t get worked up over a little girl’s mistake. The official exhibit is the day after tomorrow, we’ll take it down.”

I was ready to explode, but just then my phone rang.

After listening to the voice on the other end, I suddenly felt calm.

I turned to Ethan and gave him a smile.

“Alright.”

I hoped that on the day of the exhibition, when I handed him the “gift” I had prepared, he would still be this calm.

…

My sudden calmness made Ethan glance at me in surprise, but he didn’t think much of it.

At that moment, a young girl was brought to us, head lowered pitifully.

“I’m sorry! Please don’t be mad, it was my fault. I was careless and accidentally moved this unfinished piece here.”

“It’s fine, Zoey. Just be careful next time. Don’t make your future sister-in-law upset again.”

Ethan said lazily, even tapping her on the head in a teasing manner.

“Ethan, you’re going to make me dumb if you keep doing that!”

“I’ve already finished setting up the preview event for tomorrow. How about I take you to see it?”

Zoey swung Ethan’s arm playfully, dragging him toward the exit.

I had just calmed down, but when I heard that the embryo was Zoey’s so-called “artwork,” rage shot through me.

How dare she!

I had carried that baby for four months, endured over a hundred progesterone injections just to keep the pregnancy.

Later, when Ethan went with me for a prenatal checkup, he told me the baby was a stillbirth.

I lay on that cold operating table in despair.

And now, I was seeing my baby again — as someone else’s art installation.

Watching their interlocked fingers as they left, I grabbed a nearby tool and smashed the display case.

Shards of glass flew everywhere, nearly cutting into my eye.

I screamed as blood streamed down from the corner of my eye.

Clutching what had rolled out of the shattered case, I trembled violently, tears mixing with blood.

“Baby, I’m so sorry… Mommy failed to protect you…”

Hearing my scream, Ryan Hayes rushed back.

“Claire!”

He hurried to my side. I thought he would check on my injury,

but his eyes locked on the embryo in my arms, and anger filled his voice.

“Claire Summers! What are you doing! This is Zoey’s very first art piece — how could you destroy it? Do you know how hard she worked?”

For a moment, even the stabbing pain in my chest seemed to pause.

Yes, it was her “artwork.”

But that was my dead baby!

“Ethan Hayes! Have you forgotten? Have you forgotten how I nearly died from the miscarriage? How I bled out and was rushed into the ICU? Do you remember what you said back then?”

Back then, when the baby was gone, he had clutched me in his arms, crying, and told me:

“It’s okay, Claire. This baby just wasn’t meant for us. We’ll have another one.”

And now, all he cared about was a piece of art.

He was momentarily speechless.

I ignored him, struggling to stand on my own.

When he saw blood streaming from my eye, he finally tried to help me up.

“Are you okay? Give me Zoey’s work first, then we’ll go to the hospital!”

But from the other side of the venue came Zoey’s shrill scream.

Ethan’s face changed instantly, and he looked at me with pleading eyes.

I stayed cold and pulled away from his hand.

“Go if you want. We’re not married yet — you’re you, and I’m me.”

My words struck him, and he froze.

“Claire, stop overthinking. I’m just going to check on Zoey. Wait here for me, don’t go anywhere!”

I forced myself outside despite the pain.

Ethan’s Tesla Model S was already waiting at the entrance.

Just as I reached for the door handle, Ethan rushed past me like the wind, carrying Zoey in his arms as he jumped into the car.

I stood there, stunned, watching the car roar away before my vision went black.

When I woke up, I was already in the hospital.

My right eye was wrapped in gauze and throbbed faintly.

“Why did you run out and faint on the street? I told you to wait where you were!”

“That was so dangerous!”

When he saw my indifferent expression, Ethan put his arm around my shoulders and softened his voice.

“Claire, the exhibition is about to open. We’ve invited many international partners this time — we can’t afford any mistakes. I worked so hard to get here from being a nobody. This international show is my first step onto the global stage!”

“You’ll be happy for me, right?”

I lowered my head, sarcasm flashing in my eyes.

Ethan had built his reputation with my resources, gaining fame domestically.

But without breaking into the international market, he would eventually fade away.

Three years ago, when my mother fell ill, she needed a bone marrow match to survive.

The transplant was successful, but she still passed away six months later.

“I poured the entire studio’s resources into supporting you. You even saved my mom’s life. How could I not be happy for you? Ethan, isn’t this what you’ve been waiting for? You’ve worked for years for this day. Why would you even ask me that?”

Hearing my words, Ethan finally relaxed and tried to pull me into his arms.

“It’s just that facing the international market for the first time makes me nervous. You just had a miscarriage and still helped me check the venue — you must be exhausted.”

“When this exhibition is over, I’ll take you to Alaska to see the Northern Lights, just the two of us.”

I gave a soft “mm” and pulled away from his arms.

He looked startled, but I waved him off.

“Go handle your business first.”

Inside, I laughed bitterly.

He was shameless beyond belief.

Then Ethan gestured toward the door, and a middle-aged woman came in.

“Your eyesight isn’t good right now, so I arranged for a caregiver, Mrs. Thompson, to take care of you. Call her if you need anything.”

I looked up and saw a broad-shouldered woman. I didn’t think too much of it.

Ethan had always been meticulous.

But deep down, I knew — the caregiver was here to monitor me, not to take care of me.

As Ethan left, I heard his low voice clearly.

“If she does anything unusual, call me immediately. Grant all her requests except discharge.”

“Oh, and slip her the sleeping pills later. Once she’s out cold, take that container away.”

Container? Mom?

He wasn’t supposed to have a mom — he told me he was an orphan.

A chill ran down my back.

My fists clenched tight.

I needed to run.

Mrs. Thompson entered again, bringing me a bowl of soup and a small capful of medicine.

“The doctor prescribed this for you. Take it.”

She stared at me until I swallowed the pills.

“Mrs. Thompson, my eye hurts a bit. I need to rest.”

She nodded and went to wash the dishes.

When she came back, she saw me lying still and assumed I was asleep.

She went straight for my baby’s container.

I suddenly grabbed her hand.

“What are you doing?”

She jumped in shock.

“Ms. Summers, I thought you were asleep!”

“I’m just following Mr. Hayes’s orders. Please don’t make this harder on me.”

She shook off my hand and grabbed the container.

I lunged forward to stop her.

“Let go of it! Do you hear me?”

She slapped me so hard I fell back onto the bed.

Blood seeped through the gauze on my right eye.

“What are you doing! You’re just a caregiver — how dare you hit me?”

But Mrs. Thompson showed no fear, clutching the container tightly.

“As long as I get this out of here, my daughter’s future will be safe!”

Daughter?

I froze.

Of course — she was Zoey’s mother.

So Ethan had chosen her deliberately.

I staggered forward to stop her, but she kicked me hard in the stomach, sending me sliding across the floor.

I curled up, gagging, my lips trembling.

“Put it down! I’ve already called the police!”

Mrs. Thompson spat at me.

“Ha! Mr. Hayes will take care of it!”

Then she walked out without looking back.

I crawled back to the bed, barely breathing.

After what felt like an eternity, my phone rang.

“Thank you, Claire!”

I sneered.

“You’re thanking me too early, Ethan Hayes.”

“Claire Summers! Are you trying to ruin me?”

His furious roar echoed through the phone from the exhibition hall.

On the giant screen of the exhibition, a video was playing —

Zoey and Ethan, having sex in the studio.

When I first saw the video, my nails dug deep into my palm.

Especially when I heard Ethan moaning “Zoey” over and over, his hands groping her shamelessly.

That night, the entire exhibition went viral.

Screenshots flooded Facebook.

When Ethan stormed into the hospital room like a man possessed,

I calmly set down my book and glanced at him.

I had seen this scene before — but the roles had changed.

Years ago, when my mother was rushed into the ICU,

I had offered a huge reward for a donor, but everyone failed the match test.

When I was sitting hopelessly in the hospital,

I met Ethan, a street artist selling sketches.

He was the one match who succeeded.

I tried to pay him to settle the matter, but he refused any money — he only asked for a chance.

Maybe he truly was a struggling artist.

I gave him a little help,

and he shot to fame overnight.

Then he started pursuing me relentlessly.

He had saved my mom, he was talented, and little by little, I fell for him.

I poured all my resources into him — even accompanied him to clients’ drinking parties, drinking until I ended up in the hospital — and I never complained.

All I ever wanted was to see him succeed.