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.

“Winslow! Stop it! That’s enough!”

I rushed over like a madwoman, but he shoved me away. I stumbled, almost falling.

“I’m begging you!!” I cried, grabbing his hand desperately. “She’s your daughter!”

“My daughter?” He sneered, teeth clenched. “She’s a living corpse now. Tell me, what part of her looks like my daughter now?”

The words froze me. My whole body went cold.

Elora’s breathing grew more and more rapid. I couldn’t care about anything else anymore; I dropped to my knees with a thud.

Shards of glass pierced my skin. Blood pooled beneath me, trickling down my legs, but I felt nothing.

I crawled toward him, clutching at his pant leg, voice breaking.

“I’m begging you, spare her… I’ll apologize. I’ll take it all back. I was wrong…” I begged. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry… please, spare my daughter go…”

My voice broke apart as I sobbed until I could barely breathe.

Erin stood beside Winslow, her hand resting delicately on his arm. Her eyes gleamed with satisfaction before she lowered them, schooling her face into sympathy.

“Merry, you don’t have to do this. I don’t blame you,” she murmured.

I looked up at her through tears that blurred the edges of her face.

Time stretched unbearably. Then, Winslow finally muttered two words. “That’s enough.”

Hearing that, the doctors rushed forward, reconnecting the oxygen mask.

The shrill alarm from the monitor began to slow, then faded into steady beeps again.

I clung to the side of the bed, my fingers bloodless and stiff, while the pool beneath me spread wider on the floor.

Erin seemed satisfied. She sighed, pretending to be weak, and leaned on her son for support. “Winslow, I’m not feeling well. Let’s go.”

He nodded. “Alright.”

When he turned toward me, irritation flashed in his eyes. “Doctor, take care of her leg.”

“I’m not leaving,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m staying with Elora.”

He frowned, his tone carrying something that almost sounded like concern. “Merry, look at yourself—you can barely stand. You need help.”

I lifted my head, my throat hoarse as I insisted, “I said I’m not leaving.”

For a moment, he went quiet. Then, his jaw tightened again, and the next second, warmth vanished from his face.

“Fine. Suit yourself.”

He turned and walked out, his footsteps echoing down the hall until there was nothing left but the steady beeping of the monitor.

After that night, Winslow didn’t come back.

I stayed by Elora’s side, refusing to leave even for a moment.

Day and night blurred together. Sometimes, when the room was silent and still, her fingers would twitch, just barely—and that tiny movement was the only thing keeping me breathing.

I prayed she would wake up. And yet, deep down, I was terrified. I was terrified that if she opened her eyes, she would see the man her father had become and break all over again.

Every day, I could hear the nurses whispering just outside the door.

“I heard Mr. Weinstein took Miss Erin to Baltimore for her art exhibit.”

“Yeah, I saw it on the news. He even threw a celebration party for her with flowers covering an entire wall.”

“That artist is really lucky. She lost his baby, but somehow she’s even more loved now.”

Their voices were full of envy.

I sat by the bed and listened quietly, my heart no longer stirring.

I remembered how Winslow once waited an hour early for every date, holding a bouquet of daisies—my favorite flowers.

He once said something that sounded so romantic to a painter.

“Oh, Merry, the worlds you paint are so pure. If I could, I’d live inside them with you forever.”

Now, I knew those words were nothing more than fabricated sweet talk.

I no longer held any expectations for him.

On the seventh night, my phone rang. It was my lawyer.

“Miss Merry, the divorce is finalized. Sir Leroy’s private jet is waiting for you on the rooftop.”

I turned to my daughter. She lay peacefully, lashes trembling faintly, as if still lost in a beautiful dream.

I leaned down and pressed my lips to her forehead.

“Elora,” I whispered, “Mom’s taking you home.”

The midnight wind howled across the rooftop, cold enough to pierce bone.

The private jet sat beneath the floodlights, its cabin door slowly opening.

I looked back once at the hospital building.

That place had been my prison. Finally, now, it was over.

Taking my phone from my pocket, I removed the SIM card.

Between my fingers, it felt lighter than air. I let it go, and the wind carried it into the dark, spinning until it vanished.

From this night forward, Winslow and I would have nothing left between us.

But I swore that one day, he and Erin would pay for what they had done!