I didn't know how long I had been unconscious when the sharp, sterile scent of disinfectant slowly pulled me back to reality.

The moment I tried to move, a stabbing pain tore through my abdomen, instantly reminding me of everything that had happened.

The doctor, noticing I was awake, hesitated before stepping closer. His eyes held a pity that chilled me to the bone.

"Mrs. Holmes, I'm afraid I have some bad news. Because of your previous miscarriage and the gunshot injury to your uterus—combined with the severe bleeding this time—the situation was critical. To... to save your life..."

He hesitated, lowering his gaze.

"We had no choice but to remove your uterus."

His words hit me like a bolt of lightning. My mind went blank.

"What... what did you just say?"

My pupils dilated as I stared at his moving lips, unable to register the sound.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Holmes. If you had been brought in sooner, perhaps we could have saved it, but..."

His voice faded into a blur.

Tears filled my eyes, blurring my vision.

My heart, which had already gone numb, clenched painfully again.

How could this be happening?

Was this God's punishment for loving the wrong man?

I shook my head violently, tears spilling down my cheeks, refusing to accept the truth.

Just then, the ward door burst open with a deafening crash.

Weston stormed in, his face dark with rage. "Patricia is having massive bleeding because of you. Your blood types match—I need you to give her a transfusion. Now!"

The doctor hesitated, glancing between us. "Mr. Holmes, your wife just had a hysterectomy. She's extremely weak. It's not safe for her to donate blood now."

Only then did Weston seem to notice my pallor, the sweat on my brow, the tears at the corners of my eyes.

For a brief second, he froze—then his gaze hardened with disgust.

"Denise, it's just a bit of blood. You really bribed the doctor to act for you?"

A bitter laugh rose in my throat. The one acting all this time wasn't me—it was him.

The man who had lied, deceived, and destroyed everything I loved.

I wanted to tear off his mask, to scream until the truth echoed in his ears.

But all I managed was a cold, trembling whisper. "I didn't push her. And I won't give her my blood."

His patience finally snapped.

At his signal, one of the bodyguards stepped forward, holding a porcelain urn.

"Denise," Weston said coldly, "did you know? The child you lost—it was a boy."

My heart stopped. I turned sharply, eyes locking on the urn in his hands.

"You wouldn't want your son to have no peace even in death, would you?" His tone was chillingly calm as he slowly raised the urn higher.

My pupils constricted. Panic flooded my body.

"Don't! Don't touch him! I'll do it—I'll give her the blood!"

The moment I said it, a needle pierced my arm.

Cold metal against warm skin, and soon, crimson blood began to flow from my body.

I was already weak from blood loss; dizziness clouded my vision as the room tilted.

After one full bag, my face had turned ghostly pale.

The nurse reached to remove the needle, but Weston stopped her. "Draw two more bags. Keep them ready for Patricia."

"Mr. Holmes," the nurse protested softly, "Mrs. Holmes has already lost too much blood—if we continue—"

"She won't die," he said flatly.

Three light words, each sharper than a blade, slicing into my heart until it bled anew.

The nurse hesitated, then reluctantly continued. Only after three full bags did he finally stop, taking the still-warm blood himself and leaving without another glance.

By the time it was over, my lips were colorless, and the world was spinning.

I could barely breathe.

Yet despite the weakness that crushed me, one thought burned in my chest—I had to leave this place.

I staggered out of the bed, and dragged myself toward the door.

The moment I opened the door, Patricia was already standing outside.

Behind her stood a group of men dressed in black, each holding a box in their hands—eight in total.

Her lips curved into a faint smile as she stepped toward me, her eyes glinting with malice.

"Sis, where are you going?" she asked sweetly. "I heard you gave me three bags of blood. I really ought to thank you for that."

I had no intention of arguing with her. "Move," I said coldly.

Patricia's smile widened, her tone sharpening.

In the next instant, the men in black slammed the door shut behind her.

"What are you doing?" I demanded, taking a step back, my pulse quickening.

"Relax," she said with a laugh. "The truth is I never needed your blood—nor your child's umbilical cord blood."

Then, without warning, she lifted the three blood bags and poured them onto the floor, red liquid splattering everywhere.

Her taunting gaze locked with mine. But I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I simply stood there, silent.

However, my calmness seemed to drive her mad.

She moved closer until her breath brushed my ear.

"Do you know, Sis? When your baby was born, he was still breathing," she whispered, her voice low and poisonous. "He looked so much like you."

My body went rigid. I turned, my eyes sharp with disbelief.

"When the doctor took him out, he was alive—kicking, crying..." Her voice turned into a mocking laugh. "But I smothered him. With my own hands."

The words sliced through me like blades. My entire body went cold, trembling violently.

"Denise, it's your fault! You're the reason your baby died!" she shouted triumphantly, savoring my pain.

I raised my hand, wanting to slap her across the face, but she caught my wrist and twisted it hard, throwing me to the floor.

The next moment, someone pinned me down.

Patricia's smile grew darker. She ripped the black cloth off the boxes one by one.

Under the harsh light, I saw what was inside—and my pupils dilated in horror.

"Do you like my gift?" she cooed. "It took me a lot of effort to keep them from decaying."

Inside each glass case was a perfectly preserved fetus. Eight of them.

"You're lying," I choked out. "You're lying! They were cremated—the ashes were placed at the temple... Weston told me—"

Patricia burst out laughing. "Oh, Sister. You didn't really believe his lies, did you? He told you they were buried properly, didn't he? That the ashes were sent to a temple?"

Her grin twisted cruelly. "It was all a lie! Hahaha!"

I struggled to stand, but she kicked me down again.

"Since you've now seen them one last time," she sneered, "it's time you send them off properly."

"What are you going to do?!" I shouted, terror seizing me.

At her signal, someone brought in a large black dog on a chain.

Patricia snapped her fingers. The men in black opened the glass boxes and hurled the tiny bodies toward the dog.

"No!" I thrashed violently, trying to reach them, but they held me down.

"Patricia, you monster! Give my children back!" I screamed until my throat tore, but it was useless.

The sound of the dog's teeth tearing flesh filled the room. I felt something inside me shatter completely.

I collapsed to my knees, sobbing uncontrollably. "Please... I'll do anything! Just stop! Don't hurt them!"

Patricia's expression softened into something almost sweet. "Well, since you're begging so nicely," she said, "kneel and kowtow a hundred times—to atone for your sins against my child."

My jaw clenched, and slowly, I lowered myself to the floor.

Bang—

My forehead struck the tiles.

Again, and again.

The dull sound echoed through the room, each hit drawing blood until my vision blurred red.

Finally, I lifted my gaze toward her, silently pleading. But she only looked down at me with a sneer.

"Sister, you're really stupid," she said, laughing. "Did you actually believe me? I've hated you for eight years! How could I let you go?"

"If I had known you were so easy to deceive, I wouldn't have had to plan for eight years!"

Her laughter grew manic. With a flick of her hand, the men resumed throwing the remains toward the dog.

"No—!" I lunged forward, but one of the bodyguards kicked me hard, slamming me to the floor.

They held my head down, forcing me to watch as my children were devoured before my eyes.

"Stop... please stop..." My voice broke. I could barely breathe through the sobs.

"Patricia!" I screamed, tears streaming. "I'll make you pay with your life for what you've done!"

Fueled by anguish, I charged toward her—aiming for the life in her belly. But before I could reach her, a guard kicked me aside.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor.

Patricia's expression shifted instantly. She slapped herself twice then tore her clothes, and knelt beside me, sobbing.

"Sis, I'm sorry! Please don't hurt my baby!"

"Patricia! Are you alright?"

Weston burst through the door, rushing to her side.

"Weston," she whimpered, clinging to him, "I only came to thank Sister for saving me... but she had her men humiliate me instead..."

Her voice trembled, her tears falling like pearls.

Weston's face darkened as he looked around at the blood on the floor.

The men in black dropped to their knees.

"Mr. Holmes—we were only following Madam's orders!"

He turned toward me, his eyes burning with disgust. "Denise. Apologize!"

I stared at him for a long moment, then laughed—laughing until the tears streamed down my cheeks.

"Weston, you're right," I said hoarsely. "I was wrong."

"My mistake was not sending you both to hell sooner."

His expression faltered for a split second, unease flickering in his eyes. But then he looked at the trembling woman in his arms, and his heart hardened again.

"Lock her in the water dungeon," he ordered coldly.

The water dungeon—his private torture chamber for his enemies. Once inside, few ever came out alive.

I was dragged away and thrown into its freezing depths.

The pain, the humiliation, the endless cold—it all blurred together until my body gave out.

And at last, everything went dark.

I don't know how long I lay there. Just when I felt I could endure no more, a sliver of light cut through the gloom of the water dungeon.

Weston stood there—tall, composed, and dressed impeccably in a tailored suit. His cold, chiseled features were illuminated by the dim glow. For a fleeting moment, a trace of emotion flickered in his eyes as he looked at my pitiful state—something like sorrow, or perhaps regret—but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

"Do you understand what you did?" His voice was cold and steady, slicing through the silence.

I forced my heavy eyes open and spoke in a hoarse whisper, "I was wrong, husband."

He seemed momentarily taken aback. Perhaps he didn't expect me to surrender so easily. The air between us grew still and suffocating.

After a long pause, his low voice finally broke the silence.

"If you had admitted your mistake earlier, you wouldn't have had to suffer all this. Get along well with Patricia, and you'll still be Mrs. Holmes."

I gave a soft, obedient hum in response.

Seeing my newfound gentleness, his tone eased.

"Tomorrow is Mom's birthday banquet. Prepare yourself—we'll attend together."

"Alright," I answered quietly.

He reached out, as if to brush my face with his hand, but I turned away before he could touch me.

Just then, his phone rang.

"Weston, my stomach hurts...I'm scared," came Patricia's soft, coquettish voice through the receiver.

His expression changed instantly. "Don't worry, I'll be right there."

Without another glance at me, he turned and walked away, his voice low and tender as he coaxed her over the phone.

The moment his figure disappeared beyond the door, the faint gentleness in my eyes dissolved—replaced by a cold, unyielding resolve.

Assistant Lenon's arrangements were ready. By tomorrow, I would be gone for good.

I closed my eyes, drew a long breath, and buried every trace of pain deep within me.

When I returned to my room, I packed up everything—only to throw it all away. Then, I canceled every trace of my identity.

The next morning, Weston's driver was waiting outside my door.

"Madam," he said hesitantly, eyes avoiding mine, "Sir asked me to tell you he'll pick up your mother first. He said you should wait for him at the banquet."

His voice trembled slightly. I could guess why.

Without pressing him, I simply got into the car.

As we drove, my phone buzzed with a new message.

It was from Patricia.

In the photo, she was wearing a couture wedding gown, nestled in Weston's arms, her smile radiant.

[Sister, we're choosing our wedding dress. Can you help us decide which one looks better?]

Her arrogance was naked with every words.

I smiled faintly and typed a single word.

[Congratulations.]

The congratulations aren't real.

Because what they don't know is that my revenge will be revealed at Mom's dinner party tomorrow, and they will be plunged into despair.

After I sent the message, I pulled out my SIM card and tossed it out the window.

At the next intersection, I calmly told the driver, "I have something to take care of first. Bring the gift boxes in the trunk to the banquet."

"Make sure they open them in front of everyone," I added.

Without waiting for his response, I opened the door and stepped out.

A black Rolls-Royce was already waiting around the corner.

As soon as I got in, the engine roared to life and the car pulled away from the curb.

As we drove away, I didn’t look back. I clenched my fists tightly as that hate rose up again.

One day, I would make them regret all they did to me.