Bianca Winters stood with her arms crossed, the picture of casual indifference.

"She refuses to eat properly," she told the doctor, shaking her head with feigned concern. "She keeps saying she needs to maintain her figure..."

I closed my eyes, sealing my lips. Arguing now would only waste the little energy I had left.

The moment Dr. Hayes left, the facade dropped. Bianca leaned down, her lips brushing my ear. Her voice was a low, venomous hiss.

"Keep your mouth shut. You got lucky this time, Katherine. But next time? You might not be so fortunate."

A chill ran down my spine, and my body trembled involuntarily. Bianca wasn't just following Damien's orders anymore—she had gone rogue. She didn't just want me out of the way. She wanted me dead.

When she finally left to pay the bills, I seized my chance. I turned to Nurse Jenny, who was organizing instruments on the bedside tray.

"Excuse me," I rasped. "Could I borrow your phone? Mine broke when I fell. I just want to let my family know I'm safe."

A lie, of course. My phone hadn't broken—it had been confiscated months ago. For the past trimester, every message sent to the outside world had been typed by Bianca's fingers. My life in the Crawford household wasn't a marriage. It was house arrest.

Nurse Jenny hesitated, glancing at the door, but her compassion won out. She unlocked her screen and handed the device to me.

My fingers shook as I punched in the number from memory.

Pick up. Please.

"Mom?" I whispered the moment the line connected. "Please come save me. The baby and I... we aren't safe."

I handed the phone back just seconds before the door clicked open. Bianca breezed in, a plastic smile on her face.

"Katherine, the doctor said you're stable. We'll observe you for a few hours, then we can go home tomorrow."

I looked at her blankly. I didn't argue. I didn't fight.

"Okay," I said softly.

Mrs. Crawford arrived faster than I'd dared to hope.

At three in the afternoon, the ward door was thrown open. She marched in, her presence immediately filling the room.

"Katherine!" She rushed to the bedside, eyes scanning me with frantic worry. "How are you? How is the baby?"

Before I could answer, Bianca lunged forward, launching into her rehearsed script.

"Auntie, it's all my fault! Katherine went downstairs and slipped—I wasn't fast enough to catch her..." She squeezed out a few crocodile tears. "I feel so guilty..."

Mrs. Crawford didn't even glance at her. Her gaze was locked on my protruding collarbones and hollow cheeks.

"Look at you," she breathed, horror coloring her tone. "You've wasted away. It's been three months since I saw you last... how did this happen? I tried to visit, but you kept telling me not to come."

It wasn't me. It was Bianca, using my identity, barring the doors.

Seeing Mrs. Crawford's suspicion, Bianca quickly interjected again. "Since Katherine got pregnant, her appetite has been terrible. She just can't keep anything down—"

At that moment, Mrs. Crawford's assistant stepped forward and set an insulated container on the bedside table. Mrs. Crawford opened it herself, releasing a cloud of steam.

"Drink some soup," she commanded gently. "You need nourishment."

The rich, savory scent hit me like a physical blow. My stomach, betraying my dignity, let out a loud, desperate growl.

I didn't wait for a spoon. I grabbed the bowl and drank. Then another. Two full bowls in rapid succession, the hot liquid soothing the gnawing void inside me.

Mrs. Crawford watched, her brow furrowing deeply. "This doesn't look like a lack of appetite. This looks like starvation."

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and nodded, tears welling in my eyes.

"I only get one meal a day," I whispered. "I've been hungry for a long time."

The atmosphere shifted instantly. Mrs. Crawford turned her head slowly toward Bianca. Her gaze was sharp enough to draw blood.

Bianca's face went rigid. "No, that's not true! She wanted to diet! She refused to eat to keep her figure. I make her nutritious meals every single day!"

I ignored her completely. I gripped Mrs. Crawford's hand with desperate strength.

"Mom, please, can I go live with you?" A tear escaped, tracking through the grime on my face. "I'm hungry every day. They make me live in the housekeeper's quarters. There are no windows... I can't even see the sunlight. And I have to wash my own clothes by hand..."

"Katherine!" Bianca shrieked, panic pitching her voice high. "What nonsense are you spouting?"

Mrs. Crawford slammed her hand on the bedside table.

"Enough!"

She turned back to me, her face a mask of fury and heartbreak. "Damien... that ungrateful wretch. To treat his own wife and child this way? Unforgivable."

She squeezed my hand, her voice softening. "Pack your things. Today, you're moving back to the main estate. You'll live with us."

"No!"

The objection exploded out of Bianca before she could stop it. Her tone was hard, commanding—completely out of character for the sweet nutritionist she pretended to be.

Realizing her mistake, she quickly softened. "I mean... Auntie, I'm a professional nutritionist. I know Katherine's dietary needs best. I'll take good care of her, I promise."

Mrs. Crawford drew herself up to her full height. The matriarch of the Crawford family did not tolerate insolence.

"This is not your place to speak," she said, her voice like ice. "If you were truly taking care of her, how did she become a skeleton? How did she fall on your watch?"

She turned her back on Bianca, dismissing her entirely. "Get the car ready. We're leaving."

Bianca opened her mouth to argue, but a single withering look from Mrs. Crawford sealed her lips.

The door swung open, and Damien strode in.

Mrs. Crawford didn't waste time on pleasantries. Her gaze was ice.

"Damien. Explain yourself. How exactly have you been caring for Katherine? Starving her? Forcing her to work like a servant? Shoving her into the maid's quarters while this woman lives in luxury?"

Damien stiffened, momentarily cornered. He paused, searching for an excuse.

"It's because... Bianca suffers from severe social avoidance disorder," he said, smoothing over his hesitation. "I couldn't show Katherine special treatment without triggering an episode. I was trying to keep the peace."

His defense was weak, and he knew it.

"Avoidance disorder?" Mrs. Crawford stepped into Bianca's personal space, staring her down. "Is that so?"

Bianca summoned tears on command, her lower lip trembling. "Auntie, really, I—"

"Fine."

Mrs. Crawford snapped her fingers at her assistant. "Hand me the phone. I'm booking the city's top psychiatrist immediately. We're getting a diagnosis right now."

She turned back to Bianca, her voice hard. "If you're actually sick, the Crawford family will pay for your treatment. But if you're faking it? You're out on the street. Permanently."

Bianca's face drained of color. She shot a panicked look at Damien.

Damien stepped between them, blocking his mother.

"Mom, stop interfering. Katherine and I are family. I know how to handle my own wife."

He turned to me, his fingers clamping around my wrist like a vice. To an outsider, his expression looked concerned, but his eyes were dead.

"Katherine. Do you really want to leave with Mom? Are you abandoning me?"

I tried to yank my hand away, ready to nod yes to his mother.

But a cruel smirk touched the corners of his lips.

He pulled out his phone and flashed the screen at me. It was a document titled Cemetery Relocation Application. The applicant: Damien Crawford.

He leaned in, his voice a low whisper meant only for me.

"Your parents are resting in the Crawford family plot. My parents approved it back then to honor our marriage. They said a daughter-in-law's family deserved protection."

His grip tightened, bruising my skin. "If you leave with Mom today, I'll have them evicted. Where they end up... well, that's up to me."

Shock paralyzed me. I stared at him, unable to breathe.

"You wouldn't."

"Try me." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "You went running to Mommy to complain. You clearly don't respect me. Why should I respect your feelings? I hold the deed to the cemetery. No one can stop me."

A tremor raked through my body, but a sudden clarity pierced the fear.

He is a monster.

Mrs. Crawford leaned forward, oblivious to his whisper, her face full of concern. "Katherine, don't be afraid. If you've been wronged, say the word. Mom will stand up for you."

I opened my mouth, desperate to scream the truth, but the words died in my throat.

I couldn't gamble with my parents' peace.

Sensing my surrender, Damien pulled me into a side-hug, locking me against his chest.

"Mom, I know I messed up. I'll fix it. When we go back, I'll take good care of her. Give me a chance to make it up to her properly, okay?"

Mrs. Crawford looked at me, hesitation in her eyes. Despite her anger, she still hoped for her son's marriage to work. She wanted us to be happy.

Silence stretched between us. I didn't know how to play this hand.

Suddenly, a small, clear voice echoed in my mind.

[Mom, tell Grandma to send her own staff. We can't let that woman touch our food.]

The fog lifted. I took a steadying breath and nodded slowly.

"Mom, I'm willing to go home. But since Miss Winters has... such a delicate condition, I can't burden her. Could you arrange a housekeeper to handle my meals personally?"

Bianca frowned, opening her mouth to object, but a sharp look from Damien silenced her.

"Done," Mrs. Crawford agreed instantly. "I'll send two trustworthy staff members over immediately."

She cast one last glare at Bianca.

"If anyone dares to mistreat my daughter-in-law again, I won't be so forgiving."

Damien smiled. It was the look of a man who had won the battle.

"Alright, go home."

Mrs. Crawford held my hand, her expression tight with reluctance. She didn't want to leave, but she had to.

"Katherine, listen to me," she insisted, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Video call me every single day. I need to see your face."

I nodded, squeezing her hand back. "I will."

With that settled, she finally departed.

Days blurred together. Under the supervision of the new housekeepers, my life finally resembled something normal. I was eating five meals a day, and color was gradually returning to my cheeks.

But peace in the Crawford household was always an illusion.

One night, I woke up parched. I crept out of my room to get water but froze when I heard hushed voices drifting from the kitchen. Bianca and one of the housekeepers.

"You can't stop the dosage," Bianca hissed. "Since she likes eating so much, put in more."

Through the crack in the door, I saw the housekeeper smile—a sickening, fawning expression.

"Don't worry, Miss Winters. We add it to every meal, just as you instructed."

A chill radiated from my chest, freezing my blood.

Poison.

No wonder the baby's heartbeat had been growing fainter over the last month. It wasn't stress or poor health—they were actively killing my child.

Bianca counted out a thick stack of cash and shoved it into the housekeeper's hand.

"When the time comes, if she delivers a stillborn, the Crawfords will see her as cursed. Bad luck. They'll kick her out immediately."

The housekeeper pocketed the money, nodding eagerly.

I backed away, trembling so hard my teeth chattered. I had to get back to my room. I had to think.

What do I do?

Mrs. Crawford. I would tell her everything during tomorrow's video call. I just had to survive the night.

I kept the lights off, navigating the darkness by memory, desperate to crawl back into bed and barricade the door.

Suddenly, my foot hooked around something hard.

I pitched forward, unable to catch myself, and slammed onto the floor.

A thermos cup. Someone had placed it directly in my path.

The impact was immediate. Searing pain tore through my abdomen, followed by a warm, terrifying gush of fluid soaking my legs.

No.

My water had broken.

"Help!" I screamed, clutching my stomach. "Someone, help me!"

Footsteps thundered down the hall. The housekeeper appeared in the doorway, flipping on the light. When she saw me lying in a pool of fluid, her face drained of color.

"It's... premature labor."

She didn't help. She spun around and ran, shouting for Bianca and Damien.

Moments later, Damien stormed in. He didn't look concerned. He looked furious.

"Why is it happening now?" he demanded, glaring at me as if my labor was an inconvenience.

Bianca followed, her eyes darting to the overturned thermos on the floor. A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.

"Maybe she tripped on that cup. Too careless." She looked at Damien, her eyes hardening. "But the timing is perfect. Shall we proceed with the plan?"

Pain radiated through me in waves, cold sweat drenching my forehead, but my mind was razor-sharp.

"Hospital," I gasped, reaching for Damien. "Send me to the hospital... please..."

Damien crouched down. He didn't take my hand to comfort me—he pinned it to the floor.

"Katherine, don't blame me," he said, his voice void of warmth. "This child shouldn't have existed in the first place."

"He's your son..."

"I don't need him."

He stood and turned to Bianca. "Call my parents. Tell them Katherine fell and the situation is critical. Let them come watch the show."

"Understood."

Bianca pulled out her phone, but before leaving, she leaned down, bringing her lips close to my ear.

"Katherine," she whispered, her breath hot against my skin. "You should go down and keep your parents company."

I froze.

"They died miserably. And it was all because of you."

My pupils dilated. The yacht accident. The missing ladder.

It wasn't an accident.

If my parents had been murdered, then I refused to let her kill me too. I could not die here.

A violent contraction seized my body, making me curl up on the floor.

"Baby... Mommy is sorry..." I sobbed.

Suddenly, a strong movement rippled through my belly. The connection sparked, though the voice was faint.

[Mom, hold on...]

[Grandpa and Grandma are almost here... breathe... just wait for them...]

Tears streamed down my face. I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to focus. I began the Lamaze breathing exercises I had practiced in secret.

Hee, hee, hoo.

I had to delay the labor. I couldn't give birth now. If the baby came while Damien and Bianca were in charge, my son wouldn't survive the night.

Time stretched, agonizing and slow. Every second was a battle against my own body.

Finally, the screech of tires on asphalt shattered the silence.

"Katherine! Katherine, where are you?"

Mrs. Crawford's frantic voice echoed from the entryway.

Damien's demeanor shifted instantly. The cold monster vanished, replaced by a mask of panic.

"Dad! Mom!" he shouted, rushing into the hallway. "Katherine is in the bedroom! She fell! She's bleeding heavily!"

Mr. and Mrs. Crawford burst into the room. When they saw me lying on the floor, soaked in amniotic fluid and gasping for air, their faces turned pale.

"Call an ambulance!" Mr. Crawford roared.

"I already called them," Damien lied smoothly, his voice trembling with fake anxiety. "But there's a traffic jam. They aren't here yet."

I watched him through half-lidded eyes. His acting was truly first-rate.

My world dissolved into gray haze. I tried to speak, but my throat was paralyzed. Desperation fueled my arm—I clawed blindly until my fingers snagged Mrs. Crawford's sleeve.

"Mom..."

My lips barely formed the word.

Mrs. Crawford leaned in instantly, her ear brushing my mouth. "Katherine? I'm listening."

Summoning every last ounce of adrenaline, I forced the truth past my teeth.