That single sentence shattered the last fragment of love Helena still clung to.

On what right—what right—did he have to decide the life or death of her child? To strip her so casually of her right to be a mother?

Rage and grief flooded her veins, drowning all reason.

Bang!

The door flew open. Helena stormed in and, without hesitation, struck Jackson across the face with all her strength.

The sharp crack echoed through the room. His head snapped to the side, and five crimson fingerprints bloomed across his cheek.

Her voice trembled, raw with fury.

"Jackson! What gives you the right?"

Her eyes blazed through a haze of tears. "On what basis do you take away my right to bear children?"

For a moment, Jackson froze. Her hatred hit him harder than the slap itself, cutting through his chest like glass.

"I did it for your own good," he said quietly.

Helena let out a broken laugh—cold, hollow.

"For my own good?" She enunciated each word, her tone icy and sharp. "Jackson... I can't afford your kindness."

Without another glance, she turned and walked out, leaving him standing there in silence.

The moment she thought of her lost child, she could no longer breathe the same air. She signed her discharge papers and left the hospital that very day.

Outside, she scrolled through her contacts until she found a name she hadn't seen in years—her senior from university, now a renowned lawyer who once owed her a favor.

When the call connected, her tone was steady but cold.

"Senior, I need your help. There's a prisoner named Jennelyn—I'll arrange a way for you to meet her. Help her overturn her case. You can name your price."

Jackson had used Jennelyn to threaten her; she wouldn't let that happen again. Jennelyn had once saved her life—now it was her turn to return the favor.

But Helena didn't know that a pair of eyes had been following her since she left the hospital.

A black van slowed beside the road. Before she could react, rough hands dragged her inside.

...

In an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city, Helena was thrown hard onto the concrete floor. Pain shot through her limbs as four or five men closed in, smirking.

The one with yellow-dyed hair licked his lips.

"Pretty little thing," he sneered. "Boss is gonna like you."

Helena's face drained of color. She clutched her torn collar and backed away, trembling.

"Get away from me!"

Her fear only fed their excitement.

"Feisty, huh?" one of them jeered. "Makes it more fun."

A filthy hand shot out, grabbing her wrist, another tearing at her blouse—

Rip!

The sound of fabric tearing echoed through the empty space. Cold air hit her exposed skin, and a dozen camera flashes followed.

"Stop! Please—let me go!" Helena screamed, thrashing helplessly as tears streamed down her face.

But her struggle was useless against their brute strength.

Suddenly, a loud bang echoed.

A dark figure exploded through the shadows, his kick landing squarely on the leader's chest. The man slammed into the wall and collapsed with a groan.

Before the others could react, they were struck down one by one—heavy blows, quick and merciless. Their cries filled the warehouse, then faded into silence.

Helena looked up, shaking, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

Jackson stood amid the wreckage, his face cold, his entire body radiating murderous rage.

He shrugged off his blood-spattered suit jacket and strode toward her.

Without a word, he wrapped the jacket around her trembling body—still warm from his skin.

Helena's whole frame quivered as he pulled her into his arms.

For a moment, she wanted to resist. But her strength was gone. All she could do was let him hold her—just this once.

When they returned to the villa, Jackson carried Helena into the guest room and gently set her down on the bed.

But that gentleness cut deeper than a knife.

Helena lay there motionless, staring blankly at the ceiling—like a puppet whose strings had been severed.

Jackson didn't leave. He stood by the window, his tall figure bathed in silver moonlight, the shadow he cast stretching across the room until it swallowed her whole.

"Helena," he finally said, his tone calm but distant. "What happened back then was your fault. You should take care of yourself now and stop causing trouble."

Her lashes fluttered, but she said nothing.

How ironic. After lying for so long, had Jackson started believing his own lies?

Her only mistake—her greatest mistake—was falling in love with him.

When she didn't answer, Jackson's voice softened.

"If you still want a child... I'll give you one in the future."

He paused for a moment before continuing, "And about your research—I'll have a lab built at home so you can continue your work in peace."

Helena slowly closed her eyes, hiding every trace of emotion beneath her lashes.

A private lab at home—how convenient. He wanted her to keep working... for Laica.

Seeing that she seemed to be asleep, Jackson stood there for a long while before quietly closing the door behind him.

...

Sometime past midnight, thirst pulled Helena out of her restless sleep.

She slipped out of bed, bare feet brushing against the cold floor, and tiptoed toward the kitchen for a glass of water.

As she passed the study, a faint light leaked through the gap in the door—and voices drifted out.

Shawn's voice was low and tense.

"Jackson, you went too far today. Sending people to kidnap her, taking those kinds of photos—aren't you afraid Helena will hate you for life if she ever finds out?"

Helena froze. The cup in her hand nearly slipped.

Inside, silence lingered for a few seconds before Jackson's voice broke through—quiet, controlled, and utterly cold.

"She won't know."

His tone carried the faintest hint of a smirk. "Never."

"Still," Shawn said, "Laica told me Helena's been digging into what happened three years ago. You're only making things worse—"

"She's safe now," Jackson cut him off, his voice turning even colder. "After what happened tonight, she'll rely on me again. She won't dare go anywhere. She'll stay home, focus on her research, and help pave the way for Laica's success."

Outside the study, Helena's body trembled so hard she could barely stand.

She pressed both hands over her mouth, stifling the scream that clawed up her throat.

It turned out... everything that happened tonight—the kidnapping, the fear, the near violation—was all his plan.

Every second of terror she felt had been part of his carefully staged performances.

She stumbled back to her room in a daze, her mind spinning with Shawn's words.

Those kinds of photos...

For Laica—to protect Laica's image, her future—Jackson had gone this far.

Her vision blurred with tears, but her heart felt frozen solid.

"Jackson..." she whispered hoarsely, gripping the edge of the bed until her knuckles turned white.

"You really do have a cruel heart."

Back in the guest room, Helena sat motionless on the edge of the bed, her eyes fixed on her phone.

On the screen, the flight information for four days later glowed faintly—a small, distant beacon of freedom. But now, that fragile light could no longer pierce through the numb, suffocating darkness inside her.

Three years ago, she had been framed, trampled, stripped of everything.

And now—was he planning to destroy the last thing she had left? Her dignity, her innocence?

She would never let that happen again!

...

The next morning, Helena forced her aching body out of bed.

Downstairs, Laica was sitting gracefully on the very sofa Helena had once handpicked for the house. Dressed head to toe in Chanel's latest collection, she sipped her coffee with practiced elegance—like the true mistress of the house.

The moment she saw Helena, Laica set down her cup and rose with a sugary smile. "Helena, you're awake? I heard something happened to you yesterday—I was so worried! I came to check on you personally."

Helena's gaze was icy. "I don't need your fake concern."

The smile on Laica's face faltered—but only for a second. Then, it curled into a smirk, sharp and taunting.

She reached into her designer bag, took out her phone, and turned the screen toward Helena.

"Really? Then I suppose you won't need this either."

Helena's gaze dropped—and her heart stopped.

On the screen were photos from last night—her clothes torn, her face streaked with tears, humiliation captured in cruel, deliberate angles.

Every photo screamed shame.

Laica watched the color drain from Helena's face, her voice dripping with venomous delight. "I've already sent them out. Every media outlet in Boston should have received them by now."

She leaned closer, whispering like a demon savoring her victory. "Stop investigating my thesis from three years ago. Otherwise, these photos will just be the appetizer."

Her voice hardened. "I have a hundred ways to ruin you, Helena—to make sure you'll never rise again."

"Damn you, Laica!" Helena's vision went red. She lunged forward, fury exploding as she tried to snatch the phone from Laica's hand.

"Ah!" Laica screamed and dramatically stumbled backward, collapsing in an exaggerated heap. The phone clattered to the floor.

"Laica!"

A man's furious voice thundered from the doorway.

Jackson stormed in. Without even glancing at Helena, he rushed to Laica's side, cradling her protectively.

"Jackson, I... I just came to check on Helena..." Laica whimpered, tears sparkling as she trembled pitifully in his arms.

Jackson turned, his eyes cold and cutting like shards of ice. "Helena—what the hell is wrong with you now?"

"She—she sent those photos online!" Helena's voice shook with rage.

But Jackson only looked more disgusted. "Those photos were leaked by those thugs from last night! I've already handled it!"

"Laica came out of kindness, and you still slandered her?!" His voice cracked like a whip. "Apologize to her!"

Apologize?

Helena stared at him, eyes burning with disbelief and hatred. "I did nothing wrong."

"I won't apologize."

Jackson's expression hardened into fury. His patience snapped. He turned to the guards at the door, his voice like steel.

"Lock her in the basement."

"No food. No water. Let's see how long she can keep that stubborn mouth shut."

The guards grabbed her roughly. Helena didn't struggle.

She only turned her hollow, lifeless eyes toward Laica—who was nestled in Jackson's arms, smiling triumphantly.

...

Darkness. Cold. Hunger.

Time blurred.

Helena didn't know how long she'd been locked in the basement. Her lips were dry, her body weak, her stomach twisting in pain.

Just as her vision began to fade into black, the door finally creaked open.