Seven years into our marriage, I finally got pregnant again.

Bursting with joy, I couldn't wait to share the news with my husband. But before I could, a call shattered my happiness—my mother had been in a car accident.

By the time I rushed to the hospital, it was too late. I hadn't even seen her for the last time

I was numb with grief when a familiar voice drifted from the ward next door.

"Tristan, be gentle. The baby is only a month old. You don't want me to end up like Meredith, who suffered and miscarried, do you?"

"You quietly sabotaged her and made her lose three pregnancies... are you really not going to let her have a child?"

I stepped closer on instinct, and my world tilted. Hillary—who was supposed to be dead—was snuggling against my husband's chest.

"Marrying her is already disgusting enough. I only want you to bear my child."

Tristan's eyes brimmed with tenderness, yet his words were colder than ice.

"But... I killed her mother this afternoon. Will she suspect me?" Hillary's voice trembled.

"Don't be afraid," Tristan murmured, tightening his hold on her. "I'll take care of everything."

My body shook violently. I stumbled back, my mind reeling, then forced myself to turn away and frantically gather evidence to drag Hillary to court.

But before I could act, my brother suddenly clutched his chest, collapsing from a heart attack. I rushed him into the ambulance, only for a massive truck to crash into us with a deafening impact.

Agonizing pain tore through me as my consciousness blurred. Through the haze, I felt Tristan's arms wrapping around my bloodied body.

"Hillary didn't mean it," he whispered in my ear, his voice urgent yet ruthless. "As long as you promise not to press charges, I'll send a helicopter immediately to take you to the best hospital."

He sounded desperate. I nodded through clenched teeth. After I watched my brother taken into the operating room, I fumbled my phone with trembling hands and messaged my father with three sentences: [I forgive you. One month from now I'll bring my brother to find you... and we'll never return.]

The phone rang almost immediately. "Meredith, you finally came to your senses. Don't worry—I'll compensate you properly from now on." He sounded relieved.

I swallowed my anger and answered calmly. "Get me the best lawyer."

After I left the hospital, Tristan arranged my mother's funeral for me. He greeted mourners and looked appropriately solemn, but there was no true sorrow in his eyes. Staring at my mother's warm smile in the portrait felt like a knife in my chest.

I had planned to make Hillary pay—to ease my mother's soul. But Tristan ruined that plan completely.

"Mom, I'm sorry..." I whispered, nails digging into my palm until the pain steadied me. "Wait a little longer. I will make them pay."

Footsteps approached behind me.

"Meredith, I arranged the most dignified funeral for your mother. She'll rest in peace. Don't be too upset." Tristan's tone was detached, as if he spoke of a stranger.

He knelt beside me to reach for the incense, but I slapped his hand away.

"Don't touch my mother's things with your filthy hands."

His brow tightened. He swallowed and tried to control his temper. "You're hurt—don't get worked up." His voice was laced with practiced tenderness, and it made me sick.

"What about Hillary? Aren't you going to explain?" I demanded.

His face changed for a heartbeat; then he answered coolly, as if everything had been planned: "I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to worry. Hillary is just a sister I need to take care of."

I bit back a laugh. "A sister you take care of in bed?"

"Meredith!" His voice shot up. "When I was at my lowest, it was Hillary who stayed with me. She's only doing what you couldn't do—what you should've done. Why speak about her like that?"

Before I could answer, he slammed the door and left.

My legs went weak. Only a week ago he'd been the attentive husband I'd loved. Now, after I moved to sue Hillary, his disguise had come off.

"Meredith, my condolences~" Hillary's syrupy voice snapped me out of my thoughts. She leaned lazily against the doorway like a woman enjoying an excellent performance.

"Tristan has been running around for you. If you say things that hurt him, aren't you afraid he'll give up on you?" she purred.

"I'm not like you—my life isn't just revolving around some man," I snapped.

She chuckled softly. "Pitiful, isn't it? I killed your mother, yet Tristan still shields me without hesitation. Does that make you seethe, Sister?"

Her hand caressed her flat belly, pride dripping from her voice.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you—I'm pregnant. Just one try, and I conceived. You, after three miscarriages, couldn't give him an heir. Tristan says only I'm qualified to give birth to his child. Shouldn't you thank me for completing the task you could never accomplish?"

My hand flew before I realized it, striking her hard across the face.

"Indeed. I should thank you—for revealing his true colors."

She toppled, clutching her abdomen, and shrieked. "Tristan! Help! She wants to kill our baby!"

Tristan came running. In front of everyone, he shoved me aside with one powerful motion. I stumbled back, instinctively pressing my hands to my belly, and fell hard against my mother's memorial table. A hot candle wax seared my palm, but it was nothing compared to the blast of hurt in my chest.

He scooped Hillary into his arms as if to protect her, his eyes rimmed with a hard-edged disgust. "Don't forget your brother is still in the hospital. If anything happens to Hillary or the child, I can stop his treatment with a single word."

My mother was gone; I could not lose my brother either.

I swallowed my rage until it choked me and watched him leave with Hillary. Around me, whispers pierced through me like knives.

"What a pathetic legitimate wife..."

"I heard she drugged him to climb into his bed when Hillary's plane crashed—how shameless!"

"Tristan went after Hillary so publicly back then—how could she insert herself?"

The room blurred, and I fainted.

When I woke up, I was lying in our bedroom with an ice-cold towel on my forehead.

Tristan sat in the shadows, expressionless. When he saw I was awake, he lifted the bowl of broth from the bedside table and spooned a spoonful toward my mouth.

"Drink," he ordered. His movements were practiced, but his gaze held no warmth.

"Hillary and the baby are fine. This matter ends here. The funeral caused too much of a scene. I don't want unnecessary attention and speculation to shift to Hillary."

He leaned in, his voice low, laced with threat.

"My patience is limited. Cooperate, and your brother will receive the best treatment. Otherwise..."

His gaze cut through me, cold and merciless.

I stared at the man I once loved, and felt my heart die completely.

When Hillary's plane supposedly crashed, I stayed by his side day and night and pulled him back from despair. When he finally stepped out of the darkness, the first thing he did was ask me to marry him.

He had always been perfect—warming the bed for me when I was cold, leaving a cup of hot milk on the nightstand; when I miscarried he shouldered the world and held me close, whispering, "It's okay. You being here is enough."

I believed we'd finally found happiness. I believed his tenderness. Now I know it was all a carefully staged performance.

"Tristan." My voice was hoarse, trembling, yet steady.

I forced the lawyer to gather evidence within a month while racing between court and hospital.

My brother's surgery had gone smoothly, but the ambulance accident left him in the ICU for days. I stayed until they moved him to a regular ward, but he still didn't wake up. At his bedside, I gripped his hand with both of mine as if holding on to some small comfort.

Everything that had happened made me realize how tightly my mother and brother had sheltered me. . Now that Mom was gone. I had to be his pillar—I could not afford to break.

"Meredith..."

My brother's voice, thin and hoarse, snapped me out of my thoughts. I swallowed the sting in my nose and asked quietly, "How do you feel? Any pain anywhere?"

He squeezed his eyes shut and forced a smile. "I'm fine. You're the one who's gotten so thin—if you don't eat properly someone's going to mistake you as my little sister when you go out."

I knew he was trying to distract me, so I pretended to be annoyed and made a soft huff.

I went out to heat some water. When I came back, the electrocardiogram monitor was frantically beeping. I sprinted into the room and found Hillary standing there. My brother clutched his chest, his face ashen, his trembling finger pointing at her as he gasped for air.

"Hillary! What did you do to my brother?!" I ran to his side, pushed the call button with shaking fingers.

She shrugged, feigning innocence. "Sorry—I thought you'd already told him that your mother died. I just came to comfort him and didn't expect such a reaction..."

"What does our family ever have against you? Why do you keep doing this to us?" I glared at her, furious and on the verge of striking her, but I couldn't bring myself to leave my brother's side.

"Meredith, you misunderstood. I'm doing this for you—if he finds out after he's recovered, he might get triggered again. Better he's here in the hospital where they can treat him right away, isn't that safer?" Her coquettish tone was like a knife that pierced through me.

"Shut up!" I snapped.

Doctors and nurses rushed in, checked my brother, and spoke gravely. "The patient is in critical condition. We recommend a heart transplant within three days—otherwise it's very dangerous."

As they hurried him back to the ICU, my heart dropped into an even darker place. Hillary blinked, feigning concern. "Oh dear, did I say the wrong thing? Wouldn't that mean your family... might have to hold two funerals in a row?"

I whirled around and reached to slap her, but before it could land, my hand was yanked and held tight from behind.

"Hillary isn't a doctor—she doesn't know how to talk to patients. All she ever does is act; If you can't help with your hands, then use your head!" Tristan's voice landed like ice.

"Tristan, I should've listened to you and not run around... I made Meredith angry again." Hillary instantly put on a frightened act and hid behind Tristan.

As she glanced at me, I caught a flash of satisfied mockery in her eyes. I wrenched Tristan's hand off and faced him.

"Do you remember the vows at our wedding?" I pressed.

His arm around Hillary stiffened imperceptibly.

"You promised to protect me and my family forever—to keep us safe. But you're the one who hit me, and you let Hillary hurt my family. Tristan—are your promises worth so little?"

Panic flickered in his eyes, but Hillary cut in before he could answer. "Meredith, don't blame Tristan. It's all my fault... If you want someone to vent on, come at me."

On hearing that, Tristan pulled her even closer. When he looked at me, his expression had smoothed back to calm. "Meredith, I know you've been through a lot and you need to vent. I understand—but don't involve Hillary."

His voice was firm, and it was no longer meant for me.

The man who once sheltered me now shielded another woman without hesitation. A sharp, hot pain stabbed my chest. Watching their exchanged looks of concern, I felt disgusted and betrayed.

"Don't think one or two soft words will silence me," I said through clenched teeth. "I'm not a saint—when I was stabbed, I won't say it's okay."

"If either of you shows up in front of my brother again, I will fight her to death!"

"Ah... Tristan, my belly hurts so much... I'm so scared..." Hillary immediately curled into his arms and moaned. Tristan's face went tense; he scooped her up and hurried away. From the moment they left, he never once looked back at me.

Tristan's silhouette retreated with brutal finality, but I didn't have time to indulge in grief. I forced my emotions down and messaged Dad, telling him to contact the heart donor as soon as possible.

He called back within minutes. "Meredith, don't worry—I've reached them. I won't let anything happen to your brother."

There was a tremor of urgency in his voice, as if he waited for me to reassure him.

I answered coldly, "If my brother can't be saved, then that's the end between us."

Silence on the other end turned frantic; he kept promising everything. But promises were the last thing I trust now.

I decided to go home to collect a few important things and leave for good. At the front door, I discovered the lock had been changed, so I had to knock.

"Tristan—" Hillary's coquettish voice trailed off the instant she saw me. "Oh? It's you."

She acted surprised. "Why didn't you just open the door yourself?"

Her eyes shone with unabashed provocation. Then, as if remembering something, she tapped her forehead dramatically. "Oh dear—how forgetful of me. Tristan changed the code this morning ‘for safety.' Looks like you won't be getting in anymore."

I ignored her and walked straight to the master bedroom. I pushed the door open and was met with chaos. Our wedding photos—Tristan and I—were shattered on the floor, and even the custom gifts I once treasured lay ruined among the debris.

"Really sorry about the mess." Hillary leaned against the doorframe. "I didn't expect you back so soon. Haven't had time to tidy up. Maybe...you could make do in the utility room for now?"

I walked across the shards of glass to the wardrobe, dug out my documents from the back, and turned to leave. As I passed her, my foot caught on something and I fell backward, collapsing hard onto the broken glass.

A sharp, stabbing pain seared across my back. I gasped.

"Hillary!" I bit out through clenched teeth.

Footsteps rushed over, and Tristan appeared. Hillary immediately flung herself into his arms, her face suddenly went pale. "Tristan, hurry—take Meredith to the hospital! She came back, and when saw me, she flew into a rage and smashed things; she must have fallen..."

Only then did Tristan look at me properly. But there was no trace of concern in his eyes—only a coldness edged with disgust.

"Meredith! Hillary is already carrying my child. She'll be staying here from now on. No matter how you scream or put on a show, my mind won't change!"

"In your eyes, am I that kind of person?" My voice trembled.

"Hillary is gentle and kind—she would never do something like this. Who else could it be but you?" He said it with absolute conviction, then softened his gaze on Hillary. "This room's no good. Let's go somewhere else."

His attitude started changing a year ago. Whatever I'd been through, he no longer asked—he judged me without hesitation. The cracks had been there a long time; I'd just been blind to them until now.

I remembered how someone had vandalized Hillary's grave. The Gibson family had stormed over and forced me to confess. Tristan never asked a single question—he protected me fiercely. The Gibson family insisted on punishing me; he spent three days and nights finding the true culprit.

I ran my fingers over his tired, bloodshot eyes and asked, "Why did you believe me back then?"

He cupped my face and smiled. "You're the one I love most. If I don't believe you, who will I believe?"

After that, he never visited Hillary's grave again. I once thought I had finally stepped into his heart. I never imagined that all that unwavering protection had been an act from the start.

I found the first-aid kit and cleaned the wound on my back as best I could. Just as I was about to book a hotel, my phone pinged with a security alert: abnormal activity on the surveillance feed. Compelled, I opened the app.

The camera showed the nursery we'd once so carefully decorated. Tristan and Hillary were there—disheveled, and intimate.

Hillary slyly twined his restless fingers and murmured, "My father's heart transplant can't wait any longer..."

Tristan kissed the back of her hand with indulgent tenderness. "Don't worry—I've taken care of it. Coincidentally, the heart that matches your father's is from Meredith's brother. I arranged the surgery this afternoon."

My hand trembled; the phone almost slipped from my grasp.