Dante rushed over, scooping Isabella up with trembling hands and running toward the emergency room.

His voice was hoarse, filled with a panic I had never heard before. "Doctor! Someone, help!"

From beginning to end, he didn't even spare me a single glance.

The first time I miscarried, I called him over thirty times. He didn't answer once.

The second time I miscarried, I signed the surgical consent form alone at the hospital. When the nurse asked where my family was, I said he was busy.

The third time, the fourth, the fifth…

Every single time, I was alone.

It wasn't that he was heartless; he was just heartless toward me.

I stood up, my legs a bit weak.

My bandaged hand was still seeping blood, and the dull ache was getting worse.

My career as a surgeon might be over.

I turned and left, unnoticed by anyone.

It was late at night when I returned to the estate.

I opened a drawer in the study and took out the divorce agreement I had kept ready for seven years. Now, it was finally time.

Marrying him out of a foolish, youthful infatuation had been a mistake from the very beginning.

My phone suddenly rang.

I glanced at the caller ID. It was Dante.

"Get to the hospital now."

His voice was glacial, and he hung up before I could utter a word.

I clutched the phone, hesitating for a few seconds before grabbing the divorce agreement and heading out.

Perfect timing. I'll have him sign it.

The hospital corridor was brightly lit. When Dante saw me, his gaze was arctic. "The baby is gone. She's hemorrhaging and needs a blood transfusion now."

"You caused this, Elara. Are you satisfied?"

"I didn't—"

"You pushed her!" he cut me off, his voice low but filled with suppressed rage. "Everyone saw it."

"Now, go give blood."

I bit my lip. "I can, but you have to sign something first."

I took the divorce agreement out of my bag and handed it to him.

Dante took the document, flipping to the last page without even looking at it, and picked up a pen.

"Another territory transfer for your father?" he sneered. "Is that what this is?"

I didn't explain.

He assumed it was another document concerning territory, just like the countless others I had brought him over the past seven years.

Every time my father's branch of the family ran into trouble, I was the one sent to beg him.

He would always help, but never because of me. It was because I was his wife, and he had to protect the Moretti name.

He was also convinced I had only married him to fulfill our families' alliance, with no real feelings involved.

But he didn't know that back in college, he'd once handed me a piece of candy when my blood sugar dropped, and in that small moment, he became my entire world.

He signed his name with a flourish and tossed the document back to me. "Satisfied? Now go give blood."

I caught the document and carefully put it away in my bag.

The moment the needle pierced my vein, I closed my eyes.

Bright red blood flowed through the transparent tube, one bag, then two…

My head grew dizzier, and a buzzing sound filled my ears.

The nurse's voice grew more and more distant.

Then, everything went black, and I lost consciousness.

When I woke from my coma, a week had passed.

The glaring fluorescent lights made me instinctively shut my eyes.

"Dr. Vance, do you have any idea what you've done?"

"You're pregnant! And you gave that much blood. Do you have a death wish?"

My colleague's words struck me like a fist to the gut.

I stared at him, unable to process it for a moment.

My colleague sighed, "You've had too many miscarriages over the years. Your uterine wall is already paper-thin."

"If you don't keep this one, you might never be able to conceive again."

Never be able to conceive again.

The words were a dull blade, sawing at my heart.

I looked down at my flat stomach, where a tiny life was growing—my and Dante's child.

But he wouldn't care.

I lay in the hospital bed, tears silently streaming down my face.

This child had come at the worst possible time.

My phone rang. It was Dante.

"We're out of supplies," he said flatly. "Go buy some."

I paused for a moment, not understanding.

"Condoms," he added impatiently. "You've always been the one to get them. Now we're out."

A vise clamped around my heart.

"I don't want to go," I said, biting my lip.

Dante sneered. "Have you forgotten the agreement you just signed?"

"Your father's pathetic territory is now entirely dependent on my protection to survive."

"If I break the contract, your entire family will be kicked out of New York by tomorrow."

My hands clenched into fists, my nails digging into my palms.

He always knew exactly which strings to pull.

"I understand." Ignoring my colleague's advice, I left the hospital.

When I returned to the Moretti estate, the unmistakable sounds of their lovemaking drifted from upstairs.

The door to the master bedroom was ajar. Isabella's hair was disheveled, her face still flushed.

Dante was leaning against the headboard, looking at me with a lazy gaze.

"Did you get them?"

I placed the bag on the table by the door and was about to leave when a wave of nausea hit me.

My stomach churned, and I rushed to the bathroom, retching violently.

A malicious glint flashed in Isabella's eyes. She said to Dante in a wounded tone, "Don't tell me Elara is throwing up because she finds us disgusting!"

"She wouldn't dare. Kneel," Dante said coldly.

Too weary to fight, I slowly knelt by the bed, my head bowed, unable to meet their gaze.

Dante's voice came from above. "Just kneel here and watch us."

What followed was a grotesque performance of moans and rustling sheets.

I knelt by the bed, listening to their entanglement.

Every gasp and rustle was a fresh turn of a knife in my gut.

I don't know how much time passed before it finally fell silent.

"Elara, get the tissues and clean us up."

I stood up, my legs so numb that I almost fell.

When I brought the tissues over and saw the tangled sheets and used condoms, another wave of nausea washed over me.

"Hurry up, Isabella is waiting."

I mechanically handed over the tissues, then cleaned up the used items.

Every action felt like I was being slowly flayed alive.

"Alright, you can get lost now."

Dante waved his hand, as if shooing away an annoying fly.

I turned and left. The moment the door closed, the tears finally fell.

In that instant, something inside me finally shattered.

Seven years of marriage, seven years of waiting, seven years of humbling myself to please him—all of it had been a joke.

Dante Moretti, from this day forward, there is nothing between us but hate.