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.

“Let go of me!” Clara’s whole body went rigid as she struggled violently to stand up.

But how could her strength compare to these men? A man in a black suit yanked her straight into his arms, his rough palm pressing down on her shoulder, pinning her in place.

“Pretty thing, what are you pretending to be shy for?” He leaned in close to her ear, his breath reeking heavily of alcohol. “Liam’s gone. Isn’t this his way of sending you up to us?”

“Exactly. Be smart, behave yourself, and we’ll treat you real nice.” Another man rubbed his hands together, his gaze roaming greedily over her body. “Otherwise, don’t blame us for getting rough.”

Clara felt all hope die. She stared at the door blocked by their bodies, felt the foreign hands on her, and cried out desperately toward the entrance. “Don’t come any closer!”

But her resistance only drew laughter from them. Her hands shaking, she pulled out her phone; her fingers were so cold she could barely hold it steady as she dialed Liam’s number.

The call rang over and over, but no one picked up.

She called again and again. Just as terror was about to swallow her whole, the line finally connected.

“What now!” Liam’s voice was thick with impatience, and in the background she could faintly hear Vanessa’s weak sobs.

“Come back! Liam, you have to come back!” Clara screamed, her voice breaking, full of desperate pleading and tears.

“I told you I’d be back in a bit!” Liam’s tone grew even more irritable. “I’m busy right now. I don’t have time for you!”

“Handle it yourself. You’re useless!”

With a sharp “click,” the call ended.

Clara stood frozen, still holding the phone. The room echoed with crude laughter; hands groped her more boldly, and the only person she could call for help had just called her worthless and abandoned her.

Her heart died completely.

The men, emboldened by Liam’s reaction, grew even more unrestrained. One man reached out and squeezed her chest, while another yanked open the collar of her dress, exposing a swath of pale skin.

“Ah!” Clara let out a piercing scream, fear and humiliation flooding her like a tidal wave.

She looked around wildly, her gaze landing on the window on the other side of the private room. Outside was a pitch-black night sky, and below, a steady stream of cars on the road.

Noah, Mommy’s coming to be with you.

Tears streamed down her face; that single thought filled her mind. Better to die than be defiled here—better to go below and see her precious boy.

With death in her heart, Clara suddenly shoved the man in front of her away and, using every bit of strength she had, bolted toward the window and jumped without hesitation.

When she woke again, dizziness crashed over her like a wave, her temples throbbing, followed by a violent nausea roiling in her stomach. Clara instinctively curled up, every movement sending bone-deep pain tearing through her, as if she’d been shattered and clumsily pieced back together.

She slowly forced open her heavy eyelids. In the blurred view, a doctor in a white coat stood beside her bed, a look of reproach and pity in his eyes. “Clara, you’re lucky to be alive. You landed on a car, which helped absorb the impact. A passerby called an ambulance in time. If they’d been even a little later, we wouldn’t have been able to save you.”

Clara parted her cracked lips; her throat felt scraped raw, her voice hoarse and barely audible. “Doctor… thank you.”

The doctor shook his head, his tone complicated. “You’re so young. What could be so bad that you’d rather die? Anyway, we’ll contact your family to handle the admission procedures.”

On the bedside table lay her phone, which had fallen from the building with her. It was shattered almost beyond recognition—the screen splintered like a spiderweb, the body dented and warped—lying there quietly like discarded trash. Gritting her teeth against the pain, Clara slowly shifted, reaching out. Her fingertips brushed the cold surface and she realized it could still turn on—the cracked screen flickered to life, but there were no missed calls, no messages, nothing. Clean, as if no one had ever thought of her.

A bitter smile tugged at her lips. Using the wall for support, she slowly got to her feet, every step like walking on blades, staggering as she made her way toward the payment desk.

Just as she reached the doorway, the scene in the hallway made her freeze.

Liam was holding Vanessa, their posture intimate enough to sting her eyes. He lowered his head to look at Vanessa’s still-flat belly, his gaze so tender it seemed it might drip, his fingers gently brushing over it as he murmured something soft and careful. That tenderness had once belonged only to Clara; now it was wholly given to another woman.

Clara drew a deep breath. The dull ache in her chest and the ache in her heart tangled together, almost cutting off her air.

Liam soon noticed her too. The tenderness vanished from his face in an instant, replaced by deep disgust and irritation, his brows knitting into a hard line. “What are you doing here? Trying to pull some stunt again?”

“The people at that dinner haven’t left, have they? Do you realize how important they are for Vanessa’s conference? Get back there and entertain them!” His gaze skimmed over her pale, haggard face without a trace of concern—only cold urgency. “Vanessa’s sick from morning sickness. I don’t have time to deal with you.”

Clara opened her mouth, wanting to tell him she had just crawled back from the brink of death, wanting to tell him how much her body hurt. But before she could speak, a nurse’s voice called from behind her. “Who’s here for Vanessa? Please come sign for the prenatal vitamins.”

Liam immediately let go of Vanessa and hurried toward the nurse, his steps quick, as if a moment’s delay might cause Vanessa to suffer.

Once he was gone, Vanessa cupped her belly and slowly walked up to Clara, looking down at her from above, her eyes full of pride and provocation. “Clara, how have you been lately?”

Disgust surged in Clara’s eyes. She spat out each word, cold and clear. “Get lost.”

“Get lost?” Vanessa gave a soft laugh, then suddenly stepped forward to block her path, her hands clamping onto Clara’s collar so hard the fabric nearly tore. “If you’d obediently handed over the money back then, if you’d obediently given up your place as Liam’s wife, I wouldn’t have needed to work this hard to steal your man.”

“I used to be too kind to you—thought letting you live was no big deal.” She leaned in close to Clara’s ear, her voice venomous like a snake. “But I’ve changed my mind. I want everything you have—your man, your reputation, your research, and every bit of happiness you ever owned.”

Before the words had fully faded, Vanessa suddenly exerted all her strength and slammed Clara hard against the wall behind her.

With a heavy *thud*, Clara’s back collided with the solid surface. Her already battered body couldn’t withstand it; pain shot through her like an electric shock, leaving her almost unable to breathe.

Just then, Liam came around the corner holding the vitamins. Panic flashed in Vanessa’s eyes. Seeing there was no time to pull back, she made a split-second decision—shoving Clara with all her might to the ground as she herself fell backward, pretending she’d been pushed.

Clara crashed onto the cold floor, bones screaming in agony. The second impact sent pain ripping through her so fiercely she curled up on instinct, unable even to groan.

“Vanessa!” Liam’s pupils constricted at the sight. He dropped the bottle in his hand and rushed over like a madman, carefully lifting Vanessa up, his voice thick with panic. “Are you hurt? Did you hit anything? Did it touch your belly?”

Tears sprang instantly to Vanessa’s eyes, falling like broken beads. She clung tightly to Liam’s arm, her voice choked and pitiful, dripping with grievance. “Liam… Clara just came at me and pushed me—she said… she said my baby doesn’t deserve to live, that I stole what belonged to her, and that this child should be gotten rid of…”

“That’s your child too—how could she be so cruel!”

Clara lay on the ground, the pain making her vision darken, but she refused to show weakness in front of these two. She gritted her teeth, forced her trembling hands against the cold floor, and slowly pulled herself up along the wall. Her face was ashen, but her lips were bitten blood-red.

Following Vanessa’s gaze, Liam turned his eyes on Clara. His expression twisted into something vicious and terrifying, like a poisoned blade of ice aimed straight at her. “Get on your knees and apologize to Vanessa.”