In an instant, I felt the blood in my veins run cold.

Before I even realized it, I was on my feet, kicking the table. It crashed to the floor with a startling thud, sending the glass of water shattering across the stage.

Gasps rippled through the crowd, flashes bursting from every direction.

I grabbed the paper cutter from the table and pressed it to my neck, drawing every pair of eyes toward me.

“My daughter isn’t dead!” My voice was hoarse, trembling between fury and grief. “You can insult me all you want, but you don’t get to slander my child!”

The room fell silent.

“All of those paintings are mine!” I cried, my voice breaking apart. “Erin stole my work! I am the real artist of these paintings, and my daughter jumped because her son and his friends bullied her until she couldn’t take it anymore!”

Flashes went off again, blinding and relentless.

Some people took pictures, others laughed, and others shouted.

Erin clutched her chest and rushed toward me.

“Merry, calm down!” she cried, voice trembling as she ran onto the stage. She pressed a hand over my mouth, her other hand tangling painfully in my hair. “How could you say that? We were best friends, weren’t we? How could you slander me like this?”

I tried to push her away, but she pinned me down, her fingers digging into the fresh wound on my shoulder.

“You bitch!” she hissed under her breath.

Pain seared through me. I shoved back, but she suddenly lunged forward, and my footing slipped. The blade clattered to the floor.

Erin stumbled backward, pretending to reach for me, then lost her balance.

“Ahhh!”

Her scream cut through the noise as she fell down the stairs, her skirt billowing before she hit the ground below.

The reporters were alarmed.

“Sh-She’s bleeding!”

“Oh my god! She’s pregnant?!”

Chaos tore through the room.

Someone bumped into me hard, and pain shot through my shoulder. I just stood frozen, staring at the pool of red spreading across the floor.

Winslow pushed through the crowd and dropped to his knees beside Erin, frantically lifting her.

“Erin, don’t be afraid. I’m here,” he said, his voice trembling, his eyes worried.

Blood was all over his hands. He didn’t even glance in my direction.

“Winslow…” she sobbed weakly, barely conscious. “The baby… Our baby’s gone…”

“The baby’s okay. The baby’s okay. We’ll get you to the hospital. Don’t be scared,” he replied, trying to calm her.

He lifted her into his arms, his eyes full of pain.

And I just stood there, staring at the bloodstains on the floor, my whole body cold.

The press surrounded me, mocking and condemning me like a relentless tide.

“This woman lost her mind!”

“She wanted Miss Erin to miscarry!”

“What a monster!”

I reached out, trying to explain, but before I could, Winslow finally looked at me.

That single glance froze me in place. It was sharper than any accusations.

“Merry,” he said in a low voice in between gritted teeth, “you’ve really disappointed me this time.”

I opened my mouth to defend myself, but he stepped forward and shoved me hard aside.

“Lock her in the basement,” he ordered his assistant coldly. “Let her think about what she’s done!”

I hit the floor hard, the edge of the stair striking my arm. Pain exploded as the wound split open, blood tracing a slow path down my skin.

Winslow paused for a moment, as if wanting to say something, but then he swallowed it back.

Turning away, he carried Erin out, stumbling out of the crowd, disappearing in the blinding flashes.

I lay there, listening to the noise and chaos fading into the distance, until security dragged me away.

They took me back to the old villa.

The basement was dim, the single lightbulb above me flickering weakly.

They threw me inside and slammed the door shut with a loud bang.

I curled up on the cold floor, shaking uncontrollably with every breath.

It was deep into the night when I finally heard Winslow’s low and restrained voice outside the door.

“Merry, you were too impulsive! Erin lost the baby because of you! Stay here and think about what you’ve done!”

A bitter laugh broke from my throat, the sound scraping raw. I was laughing until tears blurred my eyes.

“Her miscarriage has nothing to do with me.”

He fell silent until his tone broke with anger and loss of control.

“Whether it has or has not, she’s innocent. You lost your shit in front of the press and brought scandal to the company! Merry… I really can’t protect you anymore.”

I leaned back against the cold wall, my eyes emptying of warmth as I listened to his footsteps retreating and fading down the hall.

I lifted my head, looking up at the flickering bulb overhead.

It blinked again and again, each flash reflecting the blood that covered my hands.

The basement air was cold and damp. I’d been locked inside for three days.

My stomach twisted in pain, my head spinning badly.

I lost track of time long ago, measuring the hours only by the faint light that filtered through the tiny window above me. When it dimmed, I guessed it was night. When it brightened again, I told myself morning had come.

On the third night, my body couldn’t hold on anymore. Everything went dark.

When I woke up, I found myself lying in a hospital room.

The antiseptic smell stung my nose. A needle was taped to the back of my hand, IV fluid dripping rhythmically into my vein. My throat burned dry like fire.

Through the half-open door, I heard two nurses whispering in the hallway.

“Did you hear? Mr. Weinstein is so good to Miss Erin.”

“I know, right? Last night, he sent her nine hundred and ninety-nine roses—filled the whole corridor with the scent.”

“I heard from the doctor that she’s been emotionally unstable since the miscarriage. He’s been with her every night, making her soup himself and personally feeding her.”

“Gosh! If a man ever treated me like that, I’d die happy.”

Their voices faded into the background as I stared at the ceiling, counting the slow drips from the IV bag.

Nine hundred and ninety-nine roses…

He had done that for me once, too, back when we were still dating.

At the time, I was still living off commissions in a cramped studio. He’d shown up on my birthday carrying an armful of red roses, smiling gently and with certainty.

“Merry,” he’d said, “I want to give you all the romance this world has.”

I’d believed in that warmth. In his promises. In his love.

Now, I knew the truth—his romance was something he could recycle, word for word, gesture for gesture.

He could easily give the same flowers, the same words, the same tenderness to another woman.

What he left for me was nothing but an IV line and the dull ache of betrayal.

A quiet laugh escaped my lips, followed by tears that trailed slowly across my pillow.

The strangest thing was, I felt calm.

A little while later, the door opened, and Winslow stepped inside.

He looked tired—his shirt wrinkled, his brow tightly furrowed, as if suppressing anger.

“You’re finally awake,” he began. There wasn’t a hint of concern in his tone, and he went on bluntly to reprimand me. “Do you have any idea what kind of chaos you’ve caused?”

I turned my head toward him, my face expressionless.

“The press conference—public opinion’s still blowing up,” he continued coldly. “Because of your outburst, Erin’s being harassed by her fans. They want proof she’s the real artist. She’s under a lot of stress. She just lost the baby; she’s weak. Now, you’re going to apologize. Record a statement; clear her na—”

I cut him off, my throat hoarse. “Her baby… It was yours, wasn’t it?”

He froze. His expression faltered, but he didn’t deny it.

The silence hurt more than anything he could’ve said.

I closed my eyes, feeling the last bit of strength drain from my body.

After a long pause, he exhaled and muttered, “It was an accident.”

‘An accident?’ I repeated inwardly, almost laughing. “So now you want me to apologize to your mistress?”

“Don’t be so stubborn, Merry,” he said with a frown, his patience running low. “What matters now is controlling the public narrative. Erin is in a fragile condition; she’s already been through enough. Just record a video, clarify what happened, say you were emotional that day… That’s all I’m asking.”

I looked at him coldly. “And if I don’t?”

His expression hardened. Whatever patience he had left disappeared.

“Then I’ll cut off Elora’s oxygen,” he spat. “You know what that means. A daughter in a coma means nothing to this family. The only reason she’s still alive is that I love you. But if my parents find out—”

My entire body went still. My heart gave a painful lurch, then went numb.

He pulled out his phone and held it in front of me.

On the screen, a live feed showed my daughter lying unconscious in her hospital bed, a nurse quietly adjusting the tubes beside her.

“I’ll give you three seconds to think, Merry,” he warned.

I stared at the screen, every muscle in my body trembling.

My heart felt numb—beyond pain, beyond fear.

I regretted everything—bringing Elora into the Weinsteins’ life and for giving her a father who could do something like this.

All I wanted now was to take her and disappear from his life forever.

Two seconds passed. Then, I lifted my gaze, my voice steady and frighteningly calm.

“Fine. I’ll record it.”

Some of the tension eased from his face.

I looked down, pretending to think, and added quietly, “But I want a house in my name. Elora needs somewhere to live.”

He frowned, but it didn’t last a second before he nodded. “Fine.”

I gestured to the lawyer waiting outside the door. He stepped in and handed over a folder.

The document looked like a property purchase agreement—but it was really the divorce papers I had prepared weeks ago.

Winslow signed without even skimming the content. “Once you finish recording, I’ll handle the paperwork,” he said.

Glancing at the signed paper, I nodded slowly.

Under his watch, I picked up his phone and started recording.

“About what happened at the press conference,” I said, forcing a smile, “I made a mistake. Erin Rothwell has always been my closest friend. I misunderstood her. I hope everyone can forgive my outburst that day. Please pretend it never happened.”

When it was done, I stopped the recording, handed the phone back to his assistant, and walked toward the door without another word.

“Merry!” Winslow called after me.

I didn’t look back.

He caught my wrist, his grip firm. “What are you doing?”

I turned and met his gaze with calm and detachment. “Let go.”

He hesitated. For a split second, panic flashed in his eyes as if he had suddenly realized that I was no longer the woman who would soften at his words.

I pulled my hand free, opened the door, and left. The sound of it closing behind me cut the air cleanly.

I went straight to the lawyer’s office to submit the papers, then headed to the hospital.

The hallway outside my daughter’s room was quiet, the door slightly ajar. I reached out and pushed it open.

A chill ran through me as my gaze locked on the scene inside—a teenage boy, his body pressed against my daughter’s fragile, unmoving frame!

It was Erin’s son—Dewey.

His hand was still on my daughter’s mouth, his face twisted into a grotesque grin.

“Don’t touch her!”

I lunged forward and shoved him off the bed, grabbing his collar with both hands.

“You’re crazy!” he shouted, thrashing in my grip. “You bitch! How dare you hit me?!”

“Stay away from my daughter!”

I snatched the flower vase from the bedside table and hurled it to the floor. The glass shattered, scattering shards across the tiles.

My pulse was pounding so violently I could barely breathe. If I had come even a minute later, I didn’t dare imagine what he might have done.

He went pale but forced a smirk, still pretending to be fearless.

Soon after, the sound of hurried footsteps filled the hallway.

“What’s going on here?”

Winslow and Erin appeared at the door.

The moment Dewey saw them, he suddenly transformed into a different boy completely. Tears welled up in his eyes, his expression turning pitiful and frightened.

“Dad! This old woman tried to sleep with me!”

Winslow froze.

For a moment, I couldn’t move. My mind went blank. What did he just say?

“She wanted to take revenge on you!” Dewey cried, hiding behind his mother. “She said she was going to ruin me and Mom!”

Erin’s eyes filled with tears. She clutched her chest, looking weak and heartbroken. “Merry, when your daughter seduced my son before, we let it go out of respect for you. And now, you’re trying to hurt him again?”

“It was him!” My voice trembled uncontrollably. “He was taking off Elora’s clothes—”

“Enough!”

Winslow’s hand struck my face before I even saw it coming, the sound punctuating the air.

The force of it snapped my head to the side. I felt my cheek throb, and a high-pitched ringing filled my ears.

“Merry!” he roared, his eyes bloodshot. “When will you stop? What were you trying to do to this boy, huh? You and your daughter are really disgusting!”

I stood frozen, one side of my face still burning.

Erin covered her mouth and began to cry. “Winslow, let her go. She’s pitiful enough. Merry, I don’t blame you. You’re just too hurt to think straight, aren’t you?”

Her false sympathy pierced through me, making it hard to breathe.

Winslow’s expression had hardened completely. The tenderness and patience he pretended to have were gone.

“Merry.” His voice came out low and strained, each word forced through his throat. “You’ve disappointed me beyond words.”

A chill ran through me. Instinctively, I moved to shield my daughter, pulling the hospital bed a little closer to me. The monitor beside her flashed with a weak green light, her chest rising and falling faintly, as if she were fighting just to keep breathing.

Winslow’s gaze shifted toward the machine. His eyes were void of warmth as if he were no longer human. Step by step, he walked closer until he stood beside the bed, staring at the oxygen tube that kept my child breathing.

My heart clenched. “W-What are you gonna do?” I asked, my voice shaking.

He didn’t answer. He simply reached out and took hold of the clear tubing.

“Winslow—” The words tore out of me, half-choked.

When he finally spoke, his tone was eerily calm. “If you don’t want your daughter to suffer, then apologize to Erin and Dewey.”

For a second, I couldn’t even understand what I was hearing. “You want me to apologize to them?” I could barely utter the words. “They destroyed my daughter’s life, and you want me to apologize to them?!”

His expression turned darker still, the veins in his eyes bright red.

He looked at me like I was something filthy. His voice was cold, almost detached.

“You still don’t see it, Merry, do you? You’re the one who destroyed this family. You ruined Erin. You killed her child. You don’t deserve to speak as if you’re the victim!”

I felt my body tremble all over.

Shattered glass glittered on the floor under the fluorescent light, tiny fragments catching and reflecting every breath of movement.

The air felt too quiet, too heavy.

I bit my lip until I tasted blood. “I won’t apologize.”

I couldn’t. Not to them. Not after they destroyed us.

And I couldn’t believe that the man standing in front of me was about to harm his own flesh and blood.

Winslow didn’t pause for even a second. With a sharp twist of his wrist, the oxygen mask tore free!

Elora’s body convulsed. Her chest heaved in short, frantic gasps, the monitor’s lights flaring wildly as the steady rhythm of her heartbeat crashed in wild disorder.

The alarm from the machine pierced through the silence, cold and merciless, shrieking through my daughter’s room.