Earlier that day, Tristan had been pacing like an ant on a hot pan, growing more frantic by the minute. The dread gnawing at his conscience spread through his whole body.

The moment he got off the plane, he sped straight home, ignoring every message and call from his assistant.

"Celine! Where are you?!"

Just as he was frantically searching for me, I stepped through the door.

The second he heard the sound, he bolted toward me and pulled me into his arms.

"You're back—" he didn't even finish the sentence before tightening his embrace.

His voice trembled, and his arms wrapped around me with desperate strength—warm, overwhelming, almost suffocating. My mind went blank for a moment.

He held me tightly, inhaling every trace of my scent like he was trying to confirm I was truly alive and safe.

A droplet fell onto my shoulder.

He... was crying?

In ten years, I had never once seen him shed a tear. He was the type to swallow every emotion, never losing control in front of me.

"What's wrong?" I asked, attempting to push him away from the embrace that was becoming a little too tight.

He didn't answer. His grip didn't loosen, only softened slightly.

Half an hour later, he finally calmed down enough to explain why he came back so suddenly.

The child's story was heartbreaking. My throat tightened.

"Don't worry. That beast of a father has paid the price."

"That's good," I murmured. I unknowingly sneezed a few times.

The early winter wind seeped in; I had gone out dressed too lightly, and a shiver ran through me.

My eyes drifted to the glossy black mink coat. I forced a little smile and turned to head upstairs to change.

Tristan noticed and reached for the coat to place it over my shoulders.

"Celine, why didn't you listen to me and wear a coat?"

The fur settled on my shoulders, and I sneezed again. I was about to explain when his quiet mutter brushed past my ear.

"...Why is it this one?"

His voice was soft, but I heard every word.

He quickly typed something on his phone—clearly messaging his assistant.

I didn't understand what he meant, but before I could ask, he grabbed my hand.

In the next instant, I found myself being whisked to the city's newest luxury mall.

Anything my eyes lingered on for more than a second, he waved at the staff to pack up. Everything was carried straight into the truck following behind us.

In half an hour, the truck was filled to the brim with branded shopping bags.

People passing by stared in disbelief. I tried to refuse, but he was unwavering.

"Celine, I want everyone to know—you are my life."

For a moment, I felt dazed.

It was like stepping back in time to when we first met—when he loved fiercely, recklessly, and treated me like I was the center of his world.

Just as I was about to look deeper into his eyes, a sudden ringtone shattered the moment.

It was Jasmine.

He instantly hung up, but her bold, glamorous profile picture flashed across the screen—just long enough for me to see it.

That single call shattered the last fragile illusion.

I inhaled slowly and told him calmly that he didn't need to spend money on me.

"It's getting late. I'm not feeling well, so I'll head home first."

I gently pulled my hand away and turned to leave.

Seeing my face had gone pale, he immediately rushed after me.

"Celine, are you okay? I'll take you to the hospital. Your eyes haven't been rechecked for a long time—I'll go with you."

Earlier that morning, the doctor had reminded me to come back in a few days for another check-up. I had completely forgotten.

His gaze was cautious, waiting for my answer.

Maybe today was the day to tell him the truth.

Taking a deep breath, I nodded.

Five minutes later, we arrived at the best hospital in the city. As with my previous check-ups, I was scheduled for a full examination.

Jasmine called again. As he was preparing my medical documents, he accidentally hung up on her.

"Why isn't he answering my calls?"

Annoyed, Jasmine slammed her phone on the floor. The noise of the crowd around her only worsened her irritation.

"Patient number seventeen, please proceed to the exam room..."

The overhead announcement echoed. Jasmine picked up her phone, grabbed her paperwork, and walked into the consultation room.

"What wonderful news!"

I stayed calm, while Tristan beside me held his breath.

The previous check-up wasn't as thorough as today's, so although I already knew my eyes and ears had recovered, I was still thinking about how to confess everything to him.

But the doctor's next words knocked the breath out of me.

"Congratulations, you're two months pregnant!"

She pointed at the screen with a cheerful smile.

Pregnant?!

I froze.

These past months, I had felt my body getting better—stronger even—without any of the discomforts of early pregnancy.

There was no joy on my face; my brows tightened instead.

A sudden child... was not a blessing to me.

Tristan, on the other hand, was so excited the veins on his neck bulged. He grabbed me into his arms, his smile so wide it practically curved his eyes into crescents.

But just as his excitement peaked, a thought struck him. He suddenly let go and his tone softened unnaturally.

I could tell his mind had drifted far, so far that he didn't even hear the doctor mention that my body had fully recovered.

Before heading home, I stopped by the restroom. As I washed my hands, a figure in the corner caught my eye.

Jasmine...

What was she doing here?

I quietly followed her into a dim side corridor.

"Tristan... why haven't you come back yet? I have something to tell you..." Her voice trembled with sobs.

Five minutes ago, she had received her own pregnancy result—she was expecting too.

Her eyes were bloodshot, her hands shaking as she clutched her report.

"That useless cripple Celine... how dare she use pregnancy to keep Tristan?"

I was ready to turn and leave—I didn't want to hear more filth—when the overhead announcement echoed.

"Number seventeen, Celine Mendoza, please proceed to the first floor for payment—"

At the sound of my name, Jasmine's expression twisted with disgust.

Tristan's call came through just then. The ringtone was loud—and she immediately spotted me.

I already knew what she looked like.

She still didn't know my vision had returned.

Her face darkened as she approached, veins pulsing on her forehead.

"Well, well... look who it is."

She noticed the absence of hearing aids on my ears. Her voice grew shriller.

"No hearing aids? Oh right. I forgot—you're blind, deaf, and pathetic. Whatever I say, you can't hear it anyway."

Smug and venomous, she continued to spit insult after insult.

I pretended to be confused, like I was simply trying to find my way.

I just wanted to walk away.

"If you accidentally fall here," she drawled, "I'm afraid the baby might not make it either."

A wicked grin spread across her face.

My blood ran cold.

How could a person's heart be this vicious?

Her hand inched closer, and I froze in fright.

There was no cameras in this area.

I pretended to be calm, but my palms were already drenched in sweat.

"Celine, go to hell!"

She rushed behind me and shoved me down the staircase.

The sudden drop tore a scream from my throat.

My vision spun, and pain shot through my abdomen.

I fainted.

Breathless, Jasmine finally released all her resentment and rage.

Before leaving, she left one last curse, "May your child die miserably."

I didn't die from the fall. After a short while, my eyes slowly opened.

My legs were covered in bruises, and blood seeped from my knee.

Tristan hurried toward me, arms full of bags—pregnancy supplements, prenatal care items—everything he had just bought.

"Celine, why are you here? I called you so many times. Why didn't you answer?"

"Come on, let's go home. Mom already heard the news and prepared a whole table of your favorite dishes."

He didn't notice the small but steady trail of blood sliding down my leg.

"Director, something is wrong! The hospital computers were hit by a virus. Now the obstetrics department has two patients listed as Number Seventeen!"

The young nurse burst into the director's office, breathless. Only then did the director realize someone had made a serious mistake. Staring at the real medical order, his face darkened. He immediately dialed the number written on it.

—

These past few days, Tristan had treated me with extra care. Even the bruises on my leg didn't escape his eyes. I only said I slipped by accident.

He didn't fully believe me, but he didn't press further.

Today was his birthday. I stared at the email confirming my visa approval, lost in thought.

Early this morning, as he left for work, I asked my brother—who lives in Malaysia year-round—to book me a ticket for tonight, along with a chartered plane.

The last time I booked a flight on my own, Tristan canceled it immediately. He didn't like me traveling alone.

I arrived at a small law office, ready to prepare his birthday gift.

...

At the company entrance, Jasmine had been waiting for Tristan.

She had already reserved a five-star restaurant and a luxury hotel suite. Inside the gift box she held was a pregnancy report—her "grand surprise."

"Tristan, open it," she urged, eyes sparkling with anticipation, imagining he'd be just as thrilled.

Tristan examined the report carefully. A smile pulled at the corner of his lips—then vanished just as quickly.

Jasmine knew what he wanted to ask. Before he could say anything, she blurted, "I'll raise the baby myself."

Guilt washed over him. Trying to compensate, he brought her to a nearby auction house.

Moments ago, the jewelry pieces had been displayed on the stage; five minutes later, one hung around Jasmine's neck.

"You've worked hard, Jasmine." Tristan brushed her flushed cheek gently.

That evening, on the way to the hotel, his assistant suddenly sent a message.

[Attorney Martinez, something is wrong with our recent case.]

Back when Tristan returned to the country, his assistant already sensed something was off—the lady involved in the case had vanished after winning the lawsuit.

Out of responsibility, he continued investigating. What he found was far more horrifying than they had imagined.

After retrieving the child's autopsy report, the truth surfaced:

The child had been strangled by a adult man before being pushed off the rooftop.

The killer was the mother's lover. When the boy learned she was pregnant and tried to run, the man silenced him.

The mother had long fled the country.

Tristan froze in shock, unable to recover.

Then a message popped up on his phone: an alert for the refund of the flight ticket he bought for me. But why did I book only one ticket?

A terrible realization struck him.

He picked up Jasmine's pregnancy report, and snapped, "Does Celine know you're pregnant?"

He pointed at the signature at the bottom—the attending physician was the same doctor who handled my checkups.

Jasmine was terrible at lying. She swallowed hard, eyelids twitching, unable to form a coherent answer.

Tristan suddenly remembered the large bruise on my leg the night she came home from the hospital.

Without a word, he stopped the car, ordered Jasmine out, then spun the wheel and stepped hard on the gas, racing back home.

Every year, I was always the first person to wish him happy birthday at midnight.

Tonight, there was not a single message from me.

His breath grew uneven, his legs shaking.

While waiting at a red light, something in the corner of the passenger seat caught his eye—a hearing aid.

He picked it up with trembling fingers and recognized it instantly. It was mine.

'She had already fully recovered... So that night—she heard everything?' he thought.

A cold, violent chill rushed through him. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

Ignoring traffic laws, he sped through several red lights until he reached home.

"Celine! Where are you?!"

The house was completely dark.

On the table sat an exquisite box—the birthday gift I left for him.

Inside was a signed divorce agreement, hearing aid, and a voice recorder, containing the drunken truths from that night's "Truth or Dare."

This morning, while packing, I realized the new recorder in my bag had been left on. I had originally planned to give it to him as a negotiation tool. By accident, it recorded everything he said about me that night.

An hour ago, I left the Martinez household. Before leaving, I deleted all my fingerprints from the door, and I removed my wedding ring. The mark still pressed deep into my skin. I tossed the ring toward the door without looking back.

I snapped my SIM card in half.

No one in this city could contact me anymore.

Tristan rushed inside, searching the entire house like a madman.

The gift box fell to the floor unnoticed.

Only when he realized no one was home did he finally see the divorce papers.

Without hesitation, he tore them into pieces. Then, he mobilized every connection he had to find me.

"Celine... I told you before," he murmured, voice trembling with obsession. "Between us, there will only ever be widowhood—never divorce."