Simon frowned at the scraps of paper on the ground and bent down to pick them up.

But the moment his hand touched the pieces, Selina’s voice rang out from afar, “Simon, where are you?”

Simon instantly pulled his hand back, didn’t even look at Clara, and walked away without hesitation.

Clara watched his fading figure, suddenly smiling, yet tears streamed down her face as she smiled.

Just because Selina called, he walked away without looking back.

Did he love her that much?

Enough to abandon all his promises just to be with her.

Suddenly, heavy rain poured outside. Clara wandered for two hours in a daze before finally returning to the villa she shared with Simon.

That night, Simon never came home.

Under extreme physical and emotional strain, she developed a high fever that night, one that lasted three days.

In her delirium, she had a long dream. She dreamed of young Simon carrying her over mountains and rivers, saying he would carry her for the rest of his life.

When she opened her eyes again, she was alone in the room.

She was about to call the housekeeper for medicine when the door suddenly opened.

Clara instinctively looked up and saw the person she never wanted to see again—Selina.

“Miss Hart, we meet again.” The memory of the art exhibit hit Clara hard, her emotions surging.

“What are you doing here? This is my home. Please leave.” Selina took a drag from her cigarette and waved the keys in her hand. “Simon said what’s his is mine, so naturally I can come whenever I want.” Clara felt a sharp pain in her chest. She hadn’t expected Simon to open their home to Selina so easily.

Did he really love her that much?

“Miss Hart, I came to tell you something good.” Selina showed her phone, speaking proudly. “‘Woman Giving Birth’ has gained huge attention and was reposted by major media. In a week, I’ll bring it to an international exhibition. Then the whole world will see your beautiful body.” Clara froze. On the screen, she lay naked among the crowd, her lower body soaked in yellow liquid, her expression empty and broken.

A crushing wave of humiliation nearly drowned her. She trembled violently, almost biting her lip until it bled. Selina, still unsatisfied, pulled out more photos.

“Miss Hart, these are for my next exhibit. The theme is still you. I haven’t decided on a title yet—can you help me think of one?”

This time, the photos were intimate pictures of her, each taken by Simon during moments of passion.

He once swore no one else would ever see them, yet now they were in Selina’s hands.

Clara froze, her voice shaking. “Why do you have these photos?”

“Simon gave them to me, of course.” Selina crushed her cigarette, her tone gleefully cruel. “We artists aren’t that uptight. Simon knew I needed photos related to desire, so he gave them to me.”

“Oh, and he also said you’re even sexier in person!”

Clara shook violently, her teeth chattering, finally forcing out, “Give me back the photos!”

“No way! They’re materials for my next exhibition, and plenty of people are waiting to see them. Without them, what would they look at?”

No! She couldn’t let anyone see them. She’d rather die.

Clara lunged to grab the phone. In the struggle, Selina suddenly smirked and fell backward.

Just then, Simon pushed the door open and walked in.

Seeing the scene, his expression darkened. He seized Clara’s arm, pulled Selina into his embrace, and snapped, “Clara! What are you doing?”

“Simon, you’re finally here!”

Selina shrank into his arms, pretending to be wronged. “Simon, I don’t know why Miss Hart hates me. I only asked her about the title for my next exhibit, and she glared at me like she wanted me dead.”

Simon’s face darkened, and the look he gave Clara was filled with disgust.

“Clara, how did you become so vicious! Selina knew you were sick and even canceled her plans to visit you, shared her good news, and you actually attacked her!”

Good news?

Selina’s “good news” was treating her like an object, displayed naked for all to see?

Clara’s eyes dimmed, but she still asked, “Simon, those photos of me—did you give them to her?”

Simon frowned, answering coldly, “Don’t look at me like that. Those are art, not as dirty as you think.”

“Art?” Clara suddenly laughed, tears falling uncontrollably.

She raised her hand and slapped him across the face.

“Simon, you bastard!”

“If it’s art, why doesn’t Selina strip naked and let everyone see? Since she loves being a mistress so much, standing there bare might be a hit!”

Before she could finish, she was kicked hard in the chest.

Holding Selina, Simon looked grim.

“Hit me if you want, but who allowed you to insult Selina?”

“She made you the centerpiece of her work and gave you the chance to experience art because she admired you. I never thought you’d be so ungrateful. You really do have a lowly life.”

“Guards, lock Madam in the dark room. She is not to come out without my permission!”

Clara almost thought she heard something wrong. He knew very well she had claustrophobia and needed the lights on even while sleeping.

But now, for that woman, he was going to lock her himself in a dark, sunless room.

The bodyguards stepped forward and roughly dragged Clara toward the dark room.

Fear seized her, and Clara struggled with all her strength, pleading, "No! Don’t lock me in a place like that! No! Simon, have you forgotten kneeling before my parents’ graves, promising to treat me well for life?"

"Simon, do you really want me to hate you?"

Simon froze, fists tightening. He had once truly loved Clara.

The next moment, Selina suddenly hugged him and began to sob softly. Tears gathered in her eyes as she spoke.

"Simon, I came without notice and offended Miss Hart, but I’m not a mistress, really, I’m not."

In an instant, heartache crushed his hesitation, and Simon said in a deep voice, "Take Madam away now and lock the door! No one is allowed to open it without my permission."

The bodyguard shoved her into the small, dark room and slammed the door shut.

In an instant, Clara fell into endless darkness.

Terror overwhelmed her; she pounded on the doors and windows wildly, screaming with all her strength, "Let me out! Let me out!"

"I was wrong, don’t lock me in here, Simon, please, I’ll apologize, don’t leave me here, I’ll die." She screamed until drained, but the door stayed shut.

Clara was in despair. She curled into the corner, not…

She stopped trembling, and memories surged back.

She wasn’t actually an orphan. Fifteen years ago, she had a happy family; her parents were upright, incorruptible narcotics officers.

Until that night, drug dealers came with their men to retaliate. To protect her, her parents locked her inside a dark closet.

She witnessed her parents’ brutal deaths through that crack, staying inside for three days.

When the police found her, she was nearly broken from the trauma.

With a psychologist’s help, she underwent six months of treatment before recovering.

But ever since, she had claustrophobia, terrified of dark, enclosed spaces to the point she needed a light to sleep.

And she had told Simon everything.

She never imagined that, just to shield Selina, he would personally tear open her wounds.

Images of her parents’ deaths repeated endlessly in her mind. Clara felt as if she had gone back fifteen years, watching them die again and again.

The recurring pain tormented her nerves, and three days later, Clara finally broke.

Before losing consciousness, she faintly saw fifteen-year-old Simon under a cherry blossom tree, holding her tightly.

"Clara, from now on, I’ll protect you with my life. I’ll never let you suffer that again, never let you fall into darkness again."

For the next ten years, he kept that promise.

But now, he shattered it.

When she woke again, Clara found herself in a hospital.

Seeing her awake, Simon said softly, "Your body is fine, and Selina was worried, so she asked me to stay with you."

He reached to touch Clara’s hair, but she pulled away.

Seeing her wary gaze, Simon’s heart jolted. He frowned and said, "Why are you still acting up? This was your mistake, and you should be punished."

"Mistakes must be punished, Clara. You told me that when we were young. Have you forgotten?"

Clara slowly raised her head, calm, silent.

Looking at the face before her, she suddenly realized that not loving him wasn’t hard at all.

From now on, each second she would love him less.

Seeing her eyes, Simon felt she had changed. When did she stop looking at him with those burning eyes?

He lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. Then he showed her his phone.

"Clara, I came to tell you that you misunderstood Selina. Her new art exhibit is a total success, praised by all. No one looks down on you."

Seeing her unflattering photos displayed in a gallery for everyone to see, Clara froze, struggling not to cry.

She closed her eyes slowly, turning away, unwilling to speak.

Out of patience, Simon stormed out, slamming the door with a deafening bang.

Where no one could see, Clara gripped her hands, letting her tears soak the pillow.

After crying enough, Clara stood up, dragging her weak body out of the hospital, heading for the orphanage where she grew up.

Since childhood, the director, like a mother, had been kind to her, and she had always thought of the orphanage as home.

She didn’t know when she would lose her memory, but before that, she wanted to help the orphanage.

But this time, the director who had treated her like a daughter refused to let her in.

"Leave. I saw the photos of you selling yourself as a nude model. You’re not welcome here." The director threw out her things, disappointed. "I raised you carefully, not for you to do something shameful! If this spreads, all the children here will be disgraced!"

"We don’t want a single cent of your donations, and money earned from your body is dirty!"

The director had actually seen those photos.

Clara bit her lip, explaining frantically, "No, I never took Selina’s money."

"You’re still lying! Miss Grant told me you needed money, so you agreed to be her model."

The director shook her head and slammed the door on her.

"Don’t come back. We don’t have a child like you."

Clara froze, slowly falling to her knees, crying hard.

Just like fifteen years ago, she was homeless again.

And this time, the one who made her homeless was Simon.

Returning to the villa in a daze, Clara took out her plane ticket to Italy.

With those private photos everywhere, she knew she couldn’t stay any longer, so she decided to leave ahead of time.

London had nothing left for her.

But as she packed, a sudden wave of nausea hit her.

Clara turned in panic, accidentally knocking over a cabinet in the bedroom.

A document slid out; picking it up, she saw it was a hospital diagnosis slip.

When she read the words, Clara’s eyes widened in shock.

It was a pregnancy test report, showing she was three months pregnant, the fetus was healthy, and the signatory was Simon.

She was pregnant!

Touching her lower abdomen in disbelief, she couldn’t accept that a small life was growing inside her.

She didn’t understand why Simon hid this report from her. He always knew how much she longed for a child.

She had always dreamed of having a child with him, but she never imagined the child would come at the worst moment.

A trace of confusion passed through Clara’s eyes. Reason told her she should abort the baby.

But for an orphan, nothing mattered more than blood.

She stroked her lower abdomen as tears poured down her face.

She wanted to keep the child.

Even if she hated Simon, she was determined to keep the baby, because it was her only family in this world.

"You saw it." Simon suddenly appeared behind her, his expression complicated.

Clara asked hoarsely, "Why didn’t you tell me?"

This was her child—why didn’t he tell her!

But to her shock, Simon slowly knelt, touching her flat stomach, looking at her with deep emotion, and said something that shattered her completely.

"Someone, remove the baby from Madam’s womb and give it to Selina."

Clara went white. "What did you say?"

"Simon, are you insane? It’s only just formed! Taking it out will kill it!"

Simon explained hoarsely, "Selina created a new art project and needs a newly formed fetus for her specimen exhibit. She said only you are her muse, and only your child can complete the piece."

"I originally planned to remove the baby secretly to spare you the grief, but I didn’t expect you to discover it."

Clara was stunned speechless. "What kind of art is this, cruel? This is violence! Simon, this is your child too, your blood!"

Simon’s voice was bitter. "Clara, I’m sorry, but Selina must finish this exhibition. After it ends, I’ll give you another child, alright? We’ll have more in the future."

"Simon, you’re insane! Truly insane!"

She never imagined he could say such a thing. Clara shook her head wildly and tried to run.

Simon grabbed her wrist, saying painfully, "Selina studied art abroad. Now that she’s back, she must achieve something."

"Clara, trust me, you’re sacrificing for art. Someone, take Madam to the operating room."

Several bodyguards rushed in and lifted her easily.

Clara never imagined Simon would kill his own child for Selina.

"No! Don’t hurt my baby! I have no family left, this is the only blood tied to me."

"No! Don’t—Simon, stop! Please!" Clara struggled wildly, but she was no match for them.

Until she was pinned to the operating table, feeling cold instruments invade her body, feeling the child inside her torn away bit by bit, she finally went limp.

Without anesthesia, blood soaked her lower body, sending waves of tearing pain.

Her vision blurred, and she seemed to hear young Simon’s voice.

"Clara, when we have a child, I hope she’s a daughter who looks like you. Then I’ll spoil her, and no one will hurt her."

Simon, did you ever think the one to hurt her would be you?

Simon, I regret it. I don’t need to wait until I forget— I already don’t love you.

The operating room lights were harsh. Clara screamed in agony and then lost consciousness completely.

When she woke again, her abdomen was flat. The child who had been part of her had been taken the moment she learned of it, as if it never existed.

Her tears had dried. Clara’s eyes were hollow; she didn’t even have the strength to mourn.

The bloodstains on her thighs were still wet. She slowly stood and packed her luggage.

She was leaving now, leaving Simon.

After settling everything, Clara walked into the heavy rain and took a taxi to the airport.

The scenery outside was beautiful, but her face was pale as she stared at the news on her phone.

The top trending topic was Selina’s name, followed by the word “explosive.”

【Renowned artist Selina’s work "Rebirth" spreads online, triggering heated debate.】