Clara’s hands trembled violently as she gripped the divorce agreement tightly in her palms.

She immediately hailed a cab and went home to pack.

The moment she entered the house, she saw Liam kneeling on the carpet, carefully applying care oil to Vanessa’s belly as she lay on the sofa.

Vanessa blushed, coyly leaning toward Liam with a shy voice, “Liam, I just got pregnant. We don’t need to do all this yet…”

But Liam responded gently, “I want to do these things for you.”

Clara felt disoriented, remembering how five years ago, when she first got pregnant, Liam had treated her the same way.

When he learned she was expecting, the usually cold Liam had red-rimmed eyes as he pulled her into his arms, his voice full of pain and devotion. “Clara, I will love you and only you for the rest of my life. I swear I will never fail you…”

And these care techniques were ones Liam specially learned from a fertility specialist after finding out Clara was pregnant.

Yet now, all of them were used on another woman. Clara curled her lips in a bitter smile.

Just then, the two on the sofa noticed Clara. Liam’s once gentle expression instantly twisted into disgust. He stood and walked toward Clara. “Vanessa is pregnant. From now on, she will stay here to rest.”

“She is the new mistress of this house.” Liam tossed the bottle of care oil at Clara. “You’ve given birth before and have experience. Take good care of Vanessa.”

Clara did not reach for the bottle, letting it hit her and drop to the floor. She frowned and kicked it aside, letting out a cold laugh. “I should take care of her? Why?”

Liam’s face darkened further as he stared down at Clara from above. “Because you’re occupying the title of Liam’s wife, I can’t give Vanessa her rightful name!”

“Vanessa is the benefactor of this entire family. If you want to stay in this house, you’d better behave.”

Clara didn’t want to argue with him anymore and only wanted to pack her things quickly. She ignored Liam and walked straight toward the bedroom.

Liam’s reprimand sounded behind her, “Where did you hide Noah? People come to our house and don’t even know to greet them. He’ll have to call Vanessa ‘Mom’ in the future.”

Clara froze where she stood, her heart twisting into a painful knot, pulling at every nerve.

Clara thought of the scene right after Noah got off the Ferris wheel — the memory sent uncontrollable tremors through her body.

Noah’s face was pale, foam forming at the corner of his mouth, his little fingers weakly tugging at Clara’s clothes, “Mommy, don’t blame Daddy. It’s because Noah’s not healthy.”

“I’m sorry, Mommy, for making Daddy fight with you. Noah… will be better, so Daddy won’t punish Noah so much, okay?”

Clara clutched her son to her chest and ran frantically toward the hospital, tears streaming uncontrollably, nodding repeatedly. “Okay, Mommy promises, Noah. Don’t sleep yet, sweetheart…”

But in the next second, her son stopped breathing, dying in Clara’s arms.

Clara clenched her fists and turned back to yell at Liam, “Noah will never call anyone ‘Mom’ again — not in this lifetime!”

Vanessa stepped forward, clutching Liam’s arm with a soft sigh, “Liam, it’s okay. Clara has always looked down on me. The child she raised…”

“It’s normal if the child has issues with me. I’ll teach him properly.”

Watching Vanessa fuel the flames, Clara shook with rage. “Vanessa, you better watch your mouth!”

*Slap!*

Liam frowned and raised his hand, striking Clara across the face.

“Don’t shout at her.” Liam spoke calmly.

He picked up a tissue from the coffee table and wiped his hand repeatedly, as if he had touched something filthy.

“Vanessa is right — your parenting was the problem. You spoiled the child beyond recognition.”

Liam pulled Vanessa into his arms. “Starting tomorrow, Noah learns discipline.”

Neither of them looked back as they left the living room, leaving Clara standing alone in stunned silence.

Clara stumbled back to her room, her fingertips icy as though they’d been soaked in freezing water, trembling so hard she could barely hold the doorknob. She dragged out the largest suitcase from the top of the wardrobe — the one Liam had specially picked for her and newborn Noah. The off-white case still bore the faded crayon marks of a tiny dinosaur Noah once doodled; now, it felt like a dull blade slicing through her flesh.

“I’m leaving. I’m leaving right now. I’m escaping this place that eats people alive!”

The scream only echoed inside her mind, muffled into choked sobs.

Her hands moved uncontrollably, grabbing clothes in a frenzy — the couple’s shirts she once shared with Liam, the half-knitted sweater meant for Noah, the gown she wore when she received her award… She stuffed all these memories into the suitcase, as if cramming them in could quiet the despair clawing inside her.

But halfway through, she suddenly collapsed to the floor. Staring at the suitcase full of memories, tears fell without warning — packing used to mean Liam smiling while folding her clothes, Noah tugging at her skirt saying, “Mommy takes Noah too,” but now, she was alone in this cold house, fleeing in panic.

Crying, she eventually fell asleep, and nightmares crept in.

In her dream, Noah was being carried down from the Ferris wheel. His face was as white as paper, foam at his lips, his tiny hand still weakly gripping her clothes, his voice fragile enough to break. “Mommy, Noah hurts… Does Daddy not like Noah anymore?” She went mad trying to hold her child, only to feel that same piercing cold — Noah’s body stiffening little by little in her arms, until he turned into a wisp of smoke and vanished completely.

“Noah!”

Clara jolted awake, chest heaving violently, cold sweat soaking her back. Tears already covered her face, trailing down her jaw and dripping onto the sheets, leaving dark spots on the fabric. She tried wiping them away, but the more she wiped, the more they fell, grief flooding her like a tide — her Noah, the treasure she cherished for four years, didn’t even get to walk his final journey with dignity.

She could no longer sleep. She got up, staggering toward her son’s room. It used to be her safest place — every night she sat by the bed, telling Noah bedtime stories, watching him fall asleep holding his tiny dinosaur plush, his breathing steady.

The hallway was eerily silent, only her footsteps echoing through the hollow house. As she neared the door, she saw warm yellow light leaking through the crack — the little night-light she had chosen for Noah, saying it could drive away nightmares and protect him. Yet tonight, the glow felt painfully harsh.

She slowed her steps, heart pounding wildly, a terrible premonition stitching itself into her bones. She pushed the door open just a little wider — and what she saw froze her blood on the spot, like she had been thrown into an ice cellar.

Liam and Vanessa were lying in Noah’s little bed.

That small bed covered with blue dinosaur sheets was personally assembled by Liam back then, saying he wanted to give their son the best protection; Noah’s favorite stuffed dinosaur was still there—now tossed carelessly onto the floor, stained with dust. Vanessa had her head buried between Liam’s legs, indecent sounds filling the room, and on their wrists was unmistakably the unannounced Neural Empathy Sensor from Clara’s studio!

It was the device she spent countless nights on, revising hundreds of design drafts, created solely to ease Noah’s pain during his heart attacks! She remembered the first time she made a working prototype—Noah smiled and said, “Mommy is amazing. Noah doesn’t hurt anymore.” Yet now, a device forged from her love and bloodlike effort was being used by those two to indulge themselves!

Vanessa lifted her head, eyes watery and hazy with pleasure, purposely glancing toward the doorway, her voice sickeningly sweet. “Liam, this machine is really something. No wonder Clara sacrificed sleep over it… But if we use it like this, won’t she be mad?”

Liam followed her gaze and saw Clara standing pale-faced outside the door. Instead of guilt, a mocking smile curved his lips. He held Vanessa’s head in place, his tone both doting and cruel. “So what if she’s mad? It was always meant to be yours. Think of it as her making up for her ‘mistakes’—a gift to us.”

Shameful fluids stained Noah’s sheets, spreading an ugly mark across the blue dinosaur pattern.

Clara’s entire body shook violently. Her teeth clamped into her lip so hard she tasted blood but didn’t notice. Her nails dug hard into her palms, leaving bloody crescents. Rage, grief, humiliation—like a volcano ready to erupt—crushed against her throat until she could barely breathe.

This was her son. Liam’s biological son! Noah had been gone only a few days, his bones not yet cold, not even cremated—and Liam brought another woman into his room to commit such filth!

She couldn’t bear another second. She turned and bolted back to her room, slamming the door with a deafening *bang*, as if the sound could shut out the contamination outside. She curled up in the corner of her bed, burying her face in her knees. The suppressed cries erupted—raw and ripping.

“Noah… my Noah…” she whispered his name again and again, her heart feeling torn out of her chest, the pain so intense her whole body trembled. This house—once her entire world. Liam’s vows still lingered in her ears, Noah’s laughter still floated through the rooms, yet now, every precious fragment had been shattered by Liam’s own hand—destroyed beyond recognition.

She didn’t know how long had passed before the door opened again. Liam walked in wearing a bathrobe, the satisfied scent of lust still clinging to him, mixed with Vanessa’s perfume—Clara nearly gagged.

Seeing Clara crying in the corner surprised him for a moment before impatience hardened his expression. “Why are you crying? Looking like that brings misfortune. It’s unpleasant.”

Clara snapped her head up, her bloodshot eyes blazing. She wiped her face roughly, her voice rasping like sand grinding against stone. “Get out. Get out!”

Liam merely scoffed, throwing a bundle at her—it was Noah’s stained bedsheet. The pungent smell hit instantly, the marks upon it unmistakable. Clara’s stomach churned violently, and she retched.

“Wash it,” Liam ordered with absolute authority. “Noah had delicate skin. You always washed by hand before—don’t be lazy and use the machine.”

Before? The word struck Clara like a knife. Before, she cleaned Noah’s sheets so carefully—with baby-safe detergent, gently working each spot, terrified of irritating his skin. But now, this sheet—tainted and defiled—no longer resembled anything from their past.

She suddenly grabbed the sheet and hurled it against the wall. The stain smeared across the pristine surface like an ugly scar. She screamed, breaking apart. “Get out! I said get out!”

Liam watched her hysteria, a glint of twisted amusement in his eyes. He stepped closer, towering over her, his voice taunting and cruel. “What are you pretending for? You used to cling to me most. What’s this—jealous now that I treat Vanessa well?”

He turned to leave, but his gaze caught the half-full suitcase in the corner. The earlier amusement vanished. Liam’s pupils contracted, his steps faltered. He whipped around, voice turning ice cold. “What’s that?”

Clara stiffened, instinctively shaking her head. “None of your concern.”

“None of my concern?” Liam stormed forward and seized her neck, squeezing so hard she thought her bones would snap. His eyes were bloodshot, filled with madness, possessiveness, rage. “Clara, you want to leave?”

“I’m telling you, impossible! You’ll never leave me in this lifetime!” His breath hit her face—heavy with alcohol and violence. “You killed my mother, spoiled Noah, and now you want to run? You caused unforgivable mistakes—you’ll take the punishment. You’ll stay by my side and pay for it—for life!”

The suffocation crashed down like a wave. Clara’s face flushed red, her hands clawing at Liam’s arm, nails digging into his skin. Only choked sounds escaped her throat. She stared at the man whose eyes once held only tenderness and saw nothing but brutality now—and her heart sank into bottomless despair.

“I… won’t… leave…” she forced out with the last thread of strength.

Liam loosened his grip. Clara collapsed onto the floor, coughing violently, tears and snot mixing as she gasped for air.

After a long moment, her coughing eased. Liam still stood there, eyes locked on the suitcase, not moving to leave. Clara took a shaky breath, swallowing down the metallic taste in her throat, her voice weak. “I was just… just organizing the room. Too many things. Wanted to sort them.”

Liam visibly relaxed, the insanity fading slightly, leaving only coldness. He stared at her for a long moment—as though verifying her words—before finally turning and slamming the door behind him.

Just as dawn broke, the door was struck violently, and Liam’s voice—void of warmth—cut through the crack and pierced Clara’s eardrums. “Get up. You’re coming with me.”

Clara hadn’t slept all night. The dark circles beneath her eyes spread like ink stains, exhaustion seeping from every joint in her body—the bruised ache on her neck from last night lingered, and the revolting scene in her son’s room replayed over and over in her mind, suffocating even when she blinked. She rose slowly, pulling on clothes without thought. The woman in the mirror looked ghostly pale, her eyes empty like a soulless puppet—none of the brilliance of the genius scientist she once was remained.

Liam was already waiting downstairs. When he saw her emerge, his brows knitted, as if irritated by her pace, though he said nothing—he simply shoved her into the car.

The car stopped beside a beach overlooking the sea, where a top-tier luxury couture fashion show was about to begin. A snow-white carpet stretched along the sand, the distant ocean shimmering blue, perfume and diamonds glimmering as the elite gathered—every corner dripping extravagance and splendor. Yet to Clara, it all felt blurred under a sheet of fog—dull, meaningless. Her heart had been buried with Noah; all worldly glamour was nothing more than a blinding mockery.

Until the stage lights lit up and the first model stepped onto the runway—Clara’s gaze froze, her blood seemingly halting mid-flow.

That moon-white floor-length gown, embroidered with scattered starlight across the hem and trimmed with pearls along the neckline—was unmistakably the sketch she had drawn casually in her yellowed notebook during her school days.

Memory rushed in like a flood. Back then, she had just entered university—studying genetics while harboring a budding fascination for fashion design. Late at night, she sketched at her desk, then rushed excitedly to Liam’s rented apartment, tiptoeing to hold the notebook up to his face, her eyes gleaming like stars. “Liam, look! Someday I want my own fashion show—wearing clothes I designed—standing in the brightest place!”

Back then, Liam wasn’t the cold man he was now. He would ruffle her hair gently and pull her into his arms, his voice tender and lingering. “Alright. When our Clara returns with her achievements, I’ll give you the grandest fashion show—let the world see your talent.”

Those vows still echoed faintly, but the man before her was no longer the one who once promised forever.

Clara stared blankly at the runway as one familiar design after another appeared—there was the floral dress she’d doodled, the sharp tailored suit she once imagined, and even a little formal dress for children—one she had dreamed of her future daughter wearing—now worn by strangers under the spotlight, glowing brilliantly.

She suddenly turned, looking at Liam with bewilderment and an unconscious flicker of fragile hope she didn't even realize she still held. He remembered? He actually remembered her dream from youth?

Liam seemed to notice her gaze. He cleared his throat awkwardly and quickly turned his face away, his voice iced with frost. “Don’t overthink. Know your place.”

His words were a bucket of cold water dousing the flicker of hope. Of course—why would he suddenly care? A momentary whim, nothing more.

“Pick one to wear.” Liam’s voice held no emotion, as if commanding a servant unworthy of attention.

Clara lowered her lashes, concealing her disappointment, and pointed at the simplest white dress. She had no desire to choose; to her, anything she wore was just another tool for Liam’s convenience.

“Go change.” Liam ordered without room for protest.

Clara frowned, confusion mounting, but she didn’t ask. She took the dress into the fitting room, her fingertips brushing the familiar fabric—excitement and hope she once felt turning into heavy bitterness now.

When she stepped out wearing her own design, poised again in the center of the show, fireworks suddenly exploded across the sky above the sea, painting the night in dazzling colors. Then several performers dressed as mermaids emerged from the water, carrying flower wreaths and serenading her with a birthday song.

“Happy birthday…” Their soft voices mingled with ocean waves, and Clara’s entire body stiffened.

So—today was her birthday.

She had long forgotten it. Ever since Noah passed, time existed only as pain and torment—birthdays, holidays, days once worth celebrating had all lost meaning.

Emotions crashed into her—shock, confusion, and a bittersweet sting she couldn’t name. She bit her lip unconsciously until blood filled her mouth, snapping her back. Did they think this shallow imitation of warmth could make her forget her son’s death, forget Liam’s betrayal and cruelty?

After the fashion show, Liam brought her directly to a nearby private clubhouse. When the heavy wooden doors opened, the room was filled with men—middle-aged, eyes clouded, their gazes assessing her like merchandise.

Liam, expressionless, nudged her forward slightly, speaking in a casual tone—as if relaying an insignificant task. “This dress suits you. Entertain the guests and drink with them. They’re all business elites. Make sure they attend Vanessa’s conference.”

Clara felt as though thunder struck her, her blood turning ice. So this was his real purpose.

The fashion show, the birthday song—all a carefully laid trap. He remembered her sketches, remembered her birthday—not out of sentiment—but to exploit her, to curry favor for Vanessa’s event.

Clara let out a faint, mocking breath, her eyes filled with despair and irony. “I’m not well. I can’t drink.” After donating her spleen and enduring the loss of her son, her body had never recovered—alcohol was forbidden.

“You don’t have the right to refuse.” Liam dismissed her words entirely, grabbing her wrist and dragging her into the private room, his grip so tight it felt like her bones might snap.

The moment they entered, every man’s gaze latched onto her—sticky, crawling like insects across her skin. Disgust rolled through her stomach.

With Liam present, they held back at first—only throwing occasional crude comments, nothing overt. Clara sat rigid, hands gripping her dress, wanting only to escape this nauseating place.

Just then, Liam’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen and his expression changed immediately. He answered without hesitation.

Vanessa’s voice came through with a weak sob, delicate and pitiful. “Liam, my stomach hurts… I don’t feel well…”

“Wait—I’m coming right now!” Liam’s voice brimmed with panic and urgency—a stark contrast to how cold he had been with Clara moments ago.

He hung up and stood to leave, tossing a careless parting remark over his shoulder. “I’ll be back soon.”

Clara’s heart sank, dread surging through her. She instinctively rose to leave as well—but the moment Liam exited, the men in the room broke loose like beasts freed from chains, surrounding her instantly.

A heavyset man pushed her back into her seat, while another, crew-cut and smirking, sat beside her—his greasy hand sliding shamelessly onto her thigh.