When I came home exhausted, I was met by a familiar embrace.

"Wife, you're finally back. Look—today's maternity meal, I made it myself."

"I had an emergency meeting and missed your prenatal check. I'm sorry."

Weston pressed a guilty kiss to my forehead. The memory of the office scene curdled my stomach; I slipped out of his arms without a word.

From the corner of my eye I caught the spread on the table and felt my nausea flare again. I forced a calm expression and said lightly, "I don't feel well. I want to rest."

"What's wrong? Are you upset?" His brows creased with concern, puzzled by my coldness.

"Don't be mad," he hurried on, eager to change the mood. "There's a surprise I prepared for you." He led me down the hall and pushed open the nursery door.

"Wife, look—I decorated the baby room just the way you like."

The walls were covered in warm, light-blue wallpaper.

A small crib stood in the center, surrounded by toys and framed photos of the three of us—a picture of what should've been a happy family.

"For our child?" I asked, my voice steady, my expression void of emotion as I looked at him.

"Of course," he replied quickly. "Wife, who else could it be for... besides our child?"

But as he spoke, a flicker of guilt flashed in his eyes.

A bitter smile tugged at my lips.

Blue... that had always been Patricia's favorite color.

Weston, you truly are a hypocrite.

"Wife, there's another surprise," he said hurriedly, as if to divert my attention. He reached into his coat and drew out a small velvet box.

"Look," he said proudly, opening it. "This bracelet has a safety lock. I paid a fortune for it—to protect you and the baby."

He gently clasped it around my wrist, utterly unaware of the chill in my expression.

From the moment I saw it, I recognized the design. It wasn't something you could simply buy—it was a limited-edition jewelry piece, meant to be a gift.

And just this morning, I'd seen that exact necklace glinting around Patricia's neck.

So that's what I was worth in Weston's heart—only fit to receive the scraps Patricia didn't want.

A bitter smile tugged at my lips. In that moment, I gave up on this hypocritical man completely.

I withdrew my hand and reached into my bag, pulling out a folder. "Before you go on pretending," I said evenly, "sign this contract first."

He blinked, surprised. "What's this…?"

"The billion-dollar contract I mentioned," I replied smoothly.

The excitement in his eyes was immediate. "You got it? That's amazing!" He flipped it open eagerly, but before he could read a single line, his phone rang.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the caller's name—Sweetheart.

Patricia.

Weston's eyes flickered nervously. Without another word, he scrawled his signature across the bottom of the page.

"Wife, something urgent came up at the company. I'll handle it first." He grabbed his coat and hurried out.

As the door clicked shut, I calmly pulled another document from the folder—the divorce agreement.

He still doesn't realize what he just signed.

A special clause was included: since the husband committed adultery, all marital assets would belong solely to the wife.

My gaze fell to his signature, perfectly penned at the bottom. A slow, triumphant smile spread across my lips.

Weston, I was the one who raised you up—and I'll be the one to pull you down.

You will pay the price.

Weston didn't come home that night.

The next morning, I was woken by the shrill ring of my phone. It was Assistant Lenon.

"Miss, Weston has erased every trace of his crimes too cleanly. We can't find any evidence against him!"

My tone remained calm. "What do you need me to do?"

"We discovered a personal computer in Mr. Weston's study. It might contain something useful…"

"Alright," I replied after a pause. "Pick me up in a week."

I ended the call and turned toward the study—only to be interrupted by another call, this one even more urgent.

"Denise, help!"

The voice on the other end trembled—it was my biological mother, Vivian.

"Mom? What happened?" My heart skipped a beat as I gripped the phone tightly.

"Your mother owes five million in gambling debts," a man's rough voice interrupted. "Bring the money if you want her alive! And listen carefully—come alone. If you call the cops, I'll send her straight to hell!"

The line went dead.

I didn't have time to think. I immediately sent someone to prepare the cash.

Even though I hadn't grown up with the Holmes—and I knew they only brought me back for their own gain—blood was still blood. I couldn't just stand by.

No matter what she'd done, she was still my mother. Saving her was the least I could do to repay the life she'd given me.

When the money was ready, I drove to the location the kidnappers had given me. It was an unfinished building on the outskirts of town.

By the time I reached the top floor, I was out of breath—clutching the heavy bag of cash and the weight of my pregnancy.

"Denise! You came! I knew my daughter would save me!" My mother's tear-streaked face lit up with relief.

I set the bag down and looked coldly at the kidnappers. "Five million, not a cent short. Now release her."

After checking the money, they untied her. My mother stumbled forward and clung to me—but the next words out of her mouth made my blood run cold.

"I'll have you all arrested! My daughter is the wife of the Holmes Group's president! My son-in-law won't let you off!"

My heart sank instantly.

The last thing I needed was for them to know who I was.

Sure enough, the leader's eyes lit up at the name. He looked me over, his expression twisting with greed.

"Holmes Group's president's wife? No wonder you could hand over five million so easily. I bet Mr. Holmes would pay ten times that for his precious wife and unborn child. How about it, Mrs. Holmes? Let's make it a hundred million this time."

"Bastards! You're all liars—greedy scum!" my mother screamed. "When my son-in-law finds out, he'll—"

Before she could finish, I grabbed her hand and ran for the exit while they were distracted. My people were waiting downstairs—if we could just make it there, we'd be safe.

"Stop them!" the kidnapper shouted. "Those two bitches are trying to run! You're dead!"

Gunfire exploded behind us.

Vivian shrieked and clung to my arm. I was already struggling under the weight of my pregnancy and the adrenaline; my body felt like it could give out at any second.

Then, just as the exit came into view, she stumbled.

"Mom!" I reached for her—but a hard shove slammed into my back.

I lost my balance and tumbled down the stairs.

"No!"

Instinctively, I wrapped my arms around my stomach.

The world spun violently, then stopped with a brutal impact—my abdomen smashed against a jagged concrete slab.

A searing pain tore through me.

I felt the baby inside me kick once, faintly, as if saying a final goodbye.

Warm blood soaked through my clothes, spreading fast. The memories of all those lost pregnancies crashed back like waves.

"No... baby... please... don't leave me again..."

I pressed my hands desperately to my stomach, trying to hold onto what I was already losing. But the blood wouldn't stop. My vision blurred, darkened.

I curled up on the cold ground, sobbing in agony.

"Wife! Are you okay?!"

Weston's voice broke through the ringing in my ears. He ran toward me, his face drained of color. When he saw the blood, he pulled me into his arms, shouting, panicked, "Hold on! You'll be fine! I swear you'll be fine!"

I wanted to answer—but the world faded to black before I could speak.

"Weston, are you sure this won't endanger Denise's life?"

Inside the ambulance, Vivian looked at my pale, bloodless face and finally broke the silence.

"Relax, Mom," Weston replied calmly, his tone disturbingly cold. "I've handled her miscarriages before, haven't I? I know what I'm doing."

He said it like he was discussing a business transaction, not a life.

"Besides," he continued indifferently, "Patricia is also the daughter you raised for eighteen years. You can't be this biased. She's dying, yet all you worry about is Denise?"

Vivian frowned, glancing at me on the stretcher before lowering her voice.

"Biased? Do you even know why I brought Denise back in the first place?" she said, her tone tinged with panic. "It's because Patricia has a rare blood disease, and only Denise's blood type matches hers!"

"I worked so hard to find and bring her home," she went on, "not to make up for lost years—but to make her Patricia's walking blood bank!"

She grew more agitated as she spoke. "If something happens to Denise now, what will we do about Patricia?"

"Enough," Weston cut her off sharply. "Even if that's true, you shouldn't have forced me to marry her."

"That's because... because—" Vivian faltered, a flicker of something complicated flashing through her eyes. Whatever she wanted to say, she swallowed it back down.

In the end, she only left two cold warnings.

"I don't care what happens between you and Patricia. First, Denise must live. Second, she must never learn the truth."

Weston's lips curved into a faint, mocking smile. "And what if she does? What can she possibly do—leave me?"

Under An's mother's furious glare, Weston finally nodded, saying nothing more.

Neither of them noticed the slight tremor of my eyelashes on the stretcher, or the single tear that silently slid down my cheek.

Even when I once learned that Vivian had gifted Patricia a luxury villa and an unlimited black card, I merely smiled faintly. After all, she had raised Patricia for eighteen years—how could she not love her?

And since I returned to the Holmes family, Vivian had done everything to "improve" our relationship.

I had foolishly believed she wanted to make up for the motherly affection I'd missed. But it turned out she only wanted to keep her other daughter alive.

The monthly blood donations, even during pregnancy, weren't out of kindness or care. They were sacrifices—for Patricia.

Denise, you are truly foolish.

I mocked myself silently

For abandoning the foster father who gave me unconditional love...For returning to a mother who only saw me as a tool...For cherishing a husband who never cherished me...For loving a man so deeply that even my child had to suffer for it.

Overnight, I lost my baby, my husband, and my mother.

The wound in my heart was torn open once again. If felt as if salt had been ruthlessly rubbed into it—pain so sharp I could barely breathe.

As I drifted into uneasy sleep, I saw a vision.

A little boy stood at the gate of heaven, waving at me with a bright, innocent smile.

"Mom, I'm leaving," he said softly. "Don't worry. I'm just going to find my brothers and sisters."

His small voice trembled with warmth. "Mom, don't cry, okay? You have to be happy."

Before I could reach him, he turned and climbed the radiant stairway where several children waited with open arms.

"No! Baby! Don't go!" I screamed, running after him—but the light disappeared, and I fell into darkness.

"Don't!"

I jolted awake with a gasp, drenched in cold sweat, only to find myself lying in a hospital bed.

"Denise, it's alright," Weston's hoarse voice murmured beside me. "We'll have another child."

His red eyes and trembling hands only made the emptiness inside me grow deeper.

My trembling hand touched my belly.

Once round and full of life—now utterly flat.

"My child...my baby…"

Disbelief, pain, and despair surged through me all at once.

"Ah—!"

My scream tore through the sterile ward.

"Denise, I'm sorry...I'm so sorry…"

An's mother held my hand tightly, her face full of guilt and false tears.

But her apology only deepened the knife in my heart.

The memory of their conversation in the ambulance echoed in my ears—and I knew none of it was remorse.

"Get out! Both of you!" I screamed, grabbing anything within reach and hurling it at them.

Weston shielded An's mother, his voice soft and gentle. "Denise, please, don't be like this. You still have us."

"Go away! Go away!"

Seeing that I refused to listen, they finally left—leaving behind nothing but the sound of my broken sobs echoing through the empty ward.