Clara stared at him in disbelief, her body trembling slightly from rage and despair. “She’s the one who pushed me. She made the first move! Why should I apologize?”

“Why?” Liam let out a cold laugh, then suddenly lifted his foot and kicked viciously at Clara’s knee.

*Thud!*

Agonizing pain shot through her knee, her legs buckled, and she collapsed heavily onto the floor. The icy cold surface seeped through her thin clothes, sending chills up her spine.

Liam stepped forward, pressing her head down with such force it felt like he would grind her skull into the ground. His voice was feral, filled with violence. “How long is it going to take for you to learn? You insist on provoking Vanessa again and again, forcing my hand, is that it?”

“Don’t forget—if Vanessa hadn’t saved my mother, I would’ve killed you long ago! The only reason you’re still breathing is because of Vanessa!”

Clara’s mind buzzed—the roaring tinnitus drowned out everything. It felt as though all her strength had been drained, leaving her kneeling there completely powerless.

It took a long time for the ringing to fade. She lifted her head and looked into Liam’s bloodshot eyes, and once again—broken, hoarse, and desperate—she repeated the truth she had said countless times. “It wasn’t me… I wasn’t the one who caused the accident… I—I donated my spleen to save her… Liam, believe me just once… please…”

But Liam’s mind was sealed shut, blocked by lies he refused to question. “Enough!” he roared, his expression filled with raw violence. “It was Vanessa. Why do you insist on stealing the credit? Clara, how can someone be so vile—trying to take credit for saving a life!”

Clara slowly turned her head, staring at the man who once swore eternal devotion to her. His past tender words replayed like cruel echoes—

“Clara, after we get married, we’ll travel the world. I want everyone to know I love you.”

“You’re the most precious treasure of my life. I thank heaven for bringing you to me. I’ll spend my life cherishing you.”

“Clara, one child—just Noah—is enough. I can’t bear to see you suffer through childbirth again. It would drive me insane.”

Those sweet words, once honeyed, now cut like the sharpest blade—slicing her heart piece by piece. She saw a glimmer of something in Liam’s eyes—something that might have once been tears—but now it held only hatred and revulsion.

So his love had always been this cheap. And his hatred could be this immense.

Clara’s heart died completely, like being thrown into an abyss of ice—no warmth remained. She did not resist, did not explain, letting Liam force her downward, her mind holding only one final thought.

Seven days. In seven days, the helicopter would come. She would finally be free.

She slowly opened her mouth and forced out three words—each word soaked in humiliation, blood, and tears. “I’m sorry.”

Only then did Liam release his hand, looking down at her on the floor with a frosty gaze. “Remember—there won’t be a next time.”

He carefully supported Vanessa and was about to walk away. Before leaving, he turned back and spoke coldly. “I have to ensure Vanessa’s child is born safely. No one will harm them—especially not you.”

A nurse hurried forward and gently helped Clara up. The moment her arm touched Clara’s, she could feel how stiff and fragile Clara was—like a single gust of air might topple her. “Clara, your injuries are too severe. You need to lie down.”

Clara let the nurse ease her onto the bed. Her bones still ached, but the numbness inside her heart far overshadowed physical pain. In the past few days, the room had been deathly silent. No one had visited—no calls, no messages. She had even hired a caregiver herself to bring water, feed her medicine, and wash her—tasks a family would normally perform, left entirely to her own endurance.

Until Liam appeared at the hospital room door—Clara’s gaze didn’t even flicker, as if he was no more significant than a passing shadow.

Liam stood there, watching her for a long time. The eyes that once overflowed with tenderness were now filled with something hesitant, conflicted. After a moment, he finally spoke, his voice low. “About that night—at the private club—I heard what happened.”

Clara continued staring silently at the white wall, her fingers absently smoothing the wrinkles on the blanket, offering no response.

“I didn’t know something like that would happen after I left.” He paused, as though gathering courage, before forcing out two reluctant words. “I’m sorry.”

“Those men—I dealt with them.”

A sharp, bitter laugh twisted inside Clara’s chest. A late apology—some meaningless retribution—what would it fix? Would it erase the filth she endured? Bring Noah back? Undo the irreparable damage he inflicted?

Clearly not.

Liam approached the bed, reaching out a hand as if to touch her forehead—perhaps to check if she was alright—but before his hand could reach her, Clara swatted it away, her motion filled with unmistakable disgust.

His expression darkened instantly, a shadow crossing his face as his voice dropped. “Come with me to the church. Vanessa said the priest told her—you must confess sincerely, or her baby will be in danger.”

Clara finally turned her head, meeting his eyes. Her gaze was frighteningly calm—void of any emotion. “What danger?”

“What you did to my mother—and what you owe Vanessa—will come back on the child.” Liam frowned, his tone filled with absolute certainty.

“Heh—” Clara suddenly laughed—bitter, hollow, despairing. “Absurd. Absolutely absurd.”

“Liam, this kind of illogical, loophole-ridden nonsense—you believe that?”

Liam pressed his lips tightly, his face growing darker. “When it concerns the child, I have no choice but to believe it. Let’s go.”

As he reached to grab Clara’s hand, the nurse came in to change dressings. Seeing the scene, she hurried to intervene. “Sir, you can’t take Clara away! She has multiple fractures and internal trauma—her injuries are very serious. She absolutely cannot get out of bed!”

Clara subtly shifted herself out of Liam’s reach. Liam, however, replied to the nurse in a deep voice, “I’m her husband. I’m taking her home.”

Before he finished speaking, he ignored the nurse’s attempt to stop him and forcibly held Clara by the arm, dragging her out of the hospital room.

Behind them came the nurse’s confused mutter, “Strange… no one visited Clara these days. I thought she was single…”

Liam’s footsteps paused for a moment, the tips of his ears reddening slightly, yet he still said nothing—only tightened his grip on Clara’s arm.

…

The church was vast—so empty that even the slightest sound echoed. Cold wind seeped in from the open side door, carrying a biting chill that whipped Clara’s thin hospital gown, forcing her shoulders to curl inward against the cold.

“Confess your past sins properly here, and pray for Vanessa’s child,” Liam stood before the altar with his back to her, his voice devoid of warmth. “I’ll have someone deliver food on schedule.”

Seeing Clara unmoving, he suddenly turned around, frowning deeply. “Kneel and confess.”

“Three days and three nights. You can’t leave until you’ve repented enough.”

With that, he walked out without looking back. The thick wooden doors slammed shut by the bodyguards, a heavy *bang* sealing the church away from the rest of the world.

Clara stood still, the silence gradually settling her heart. Slowly, she raised her hand to her chest, closed her eyes, and a faint, sorrowful smile curved her lips.

“It’s not for that child. It’s for Noah.”

“Noah, I’m sorry. Mommy failed to protect you.” Her voice was soft with a choked tremor, yet unwavering. “From now on, Mommy will live well—for you. I’ll see the world for you, try every sweet you never got to taste, live the life you wished for.”

“Mommy won’t be defeated. Never.”

On the third morning, just as the sky lightened, Clara ignored the guards blocking the door, her eyes unwavering as she pushed the door open and walked straight out.

Today was the day she could collect Noah’s ashes from the funeral home. She would bring her son home herself—bury him properly and let him rest in peace.

Before going to the funeral home, Clara bought a new phone. She needed to contact the research institute and confirm the details of her departure. It was her only hope—nothing could go wrong.

Holding the small, icy urn in her arms, Clara returned to the place once called “home.” She went into Noah’s room and gathered his tiny clothes, his toys—each one still carrying his scent—each one tightening the sting behind her eyes.

She carried everything into the yard, piled them together, and lit a match.

Flames rose slowly, illuminating the calm lines of Clara’s face. The clothes and toys crackled in the fire as they burned, sounding almost like Noah whispering farewell.

Just then, Vanessa stepped into the yard holding her purse. The moment she saw the scene, she shrieked—her voice sharp and piercing. “Ah! Clara, what are you doing!”

“My conference is coming up, and you dare escape from the church! Aren’t you afraid of the curse falling on my child?!”

Clara’s movement paused briefly, then she let out a quiet, self-mocking laugh. So the repentance, the supposed danger to the child—it was all a lie. They merely wanted her trapped, unable to ruin Vanessa’s conference and the deceit built on Clara’s incomplete research.

She ignored Vanessa’s hysterics, simply watching the fire until everything turned to ash. Only then did she close her eyes and whisper in her heart, “Noah, goodbye.”

Vanessa trembled with rage as Clara continued to disregard her. She immediately took out her phone and dialed Liam, her voice dripping with exaggerated sobs. “Liam, come home! Clara’s gone insane—she set the house on fire! She didn’t confess properly at church and wants to destroy everything!”

No sooner had the call ended than Liam’s car screeched to a halt in the yard. He nearly stumbled as he rushed in, his eyes finding only Vanessa.

“Vanessa! Are you hurt anywhere? Does your stomach feel alright?” He pulled Vanessa into his arms, his fingers trembling as they brushed her belly, her arms, her face—checking every inch. Only when he confirmed she was unharmed did the tension in his shoulders ease, his voice filled with fright.

Vanessa fell into his embrace instantly, her shoulders shaking slightly as she pointed toward Clara, tears streaming as she whimpered, “Liam, Clara set the house on fire—she said she wanted to burn me and the baby!” She clung to Liam’s shirt, hatred flashing beneath her pitiful expression. “And she ran out of the church—the ritual wasn’t completed—the priest said the baby will suffer… I’m scared we’ll lose our child.”

Liam’s gaze snapped to Clara, rage blazing like erupting lava. “Are you insane?! Starting a fire in the house?” Step by step he advanced, his voice sharp with icy fury. “How many times have I warned you? Do not provoke Vanessa. Do not touch her or the baby! Haven’t you learned your lesson?”

He turned to the bodyguards and barked, “Bind her and take her back to the church! Without my permission, she doesn’t take a single step outside!”

The bodyguards immediately moved forward. Clara clutched the urn tightly—cold, solid, her last tie to Noah. She staggered one step forward, her voice hoarse but unwavering. “I’ll go back myself. No need to drag me.”

Vanessa’s gaze landed on the unremarkable urn in Clara’s arms. At Liam’s back, the corner of her lips curled into a cold, triumphant smile—she would see how long Clara could hold onto her last hope.

Back inside the vast, chilling church, wind swept through carrying dust. Clara held the urn against her chest as if shielding the last ember of warmth, but Vanessa suddenly clutched her stomach and staggered, pointing at the urn with a shrill scream. “Liam! It hurts! There’s something wrong with that urn Clara’s holding! She’s using witchcraft to harm me!”

Liam’s expression darkened instantly—his gaze like an ice-forged blade stabbing into Clara. “Clara, hand over that urn.”

“Impossible.” Clara stepped back, her spine pressed against the cold wall, her hands tightening protectively around the urn, knuckles turning white from the force. “It’s Noah’s ashes. It’s my son’s ashes!”

“Enough!” Liam’s veins bulged across his forehead, rage flooding his mind as he lifted his hand and delivered a resounding slap across Clara’s face.

*Smack.*

The slap echoed throughout the vast church, and Clara’s cheek instantly reddened and swelled, a thin line of blood forming at the corner of her mouth. Yet she did not cry—she simply stared at Liam with eyes cold and void of warmth, as if she were looking at a stranger.

“Are you done?” Liam panted, breath heavy with irritation and disgust. “You go on and on about your ‘dead son,’ carrying that stupid urn and performing your little curses—what, are you hoping something happens to Vanessa’s child too? Is that how a mother acts?”

Clara’s heart felt like it shattered with that slap. Slowly, she lifted her head, her gaze devoid of grief—only ice-cold resolve remained. “If you want Noah’s ashes, it’ll be over my dead body.”

Liam was taken aback by her unyielding expression—hesitation flickered in his eyes. He knew, deep down, the urn was likely Noah’s ashes, but faced with Vanessa’s theatrics, any remaining conscience drowned instantly.

Vanessa seized the moment—letting out a sharp cry as she crouched on the floor, hands clutching her stomach, her face turning pale, her voice trembling uncontrollably. “Liam… it hurts… my stomach hurts so much… whatever she’s holding—it has to be some filthy witchcraft, I’m afraid… I’m afraid we’ll lose our baby!”

“Vanessa!” Liam immediately bent down and scooped her into his arms, his voice softening with visible panic. “Don’t be scared, I’m here. The baby will be fine.”

He turned to Clara, his gaze sharpening cruelly. “Clara, stop this! Throw that stupid urn away! Can’t you see Vanessa is in pain?”

Clara watched the absurd scene before her—Liam’s tender concern, Vanessa’s performance—each cutting through her wounded heart like a dull blade. She repeated herself, voice calm yet laced with the determination of burning the bridge behind her. “I said, if you want it, it’ll be over my dead body.”

“Dead? Enough!” Liam snapped, losing the last of his patience. “Someone! Tie her up! Take the urn!”

The bodyguards stepped forward immediately, their faces expressionless as they reached for Clara. “Don’t come any closer!” Clara tried desperately to dodge, holding the urn tightly to her chest—but injured and weakened, she was no match for them.

Suddenly, one of the bodyguards seized her arm and yanked hard. Clara lost her balance, crashing onto the cold stone floor, pain blazing through her bones like lightning. Two bodyguards pinned her down, leaving her helpless as another reached to take the urn from her.

“No! That’s Noah! Don’t touch him!” Clara’s cries tore through the church—raw, broken, and desperate. Tears surged, but her strength was nothing—she watched as the urn, her last connection to her son, was taken and handed to Liam.

Liam looked down at Clara’s devastated sobbing with not a shred of mercy—only a rising sense of irritation. “What are you crying for? Stop pretending!”

He twisted off the urn’s lid without hesitation and dumped the ashes over Clara’s head.

The white ashes fell like silent snow—covering her hair, her cheeks, settling into her collar—carrying that cold, lifeless chill only death possessed. Clara’s pupils shrank sharply, her eyes bloodshot as she frantically raised her hands, trying desperately to catch the remnants of her child fluttering away.

At that moment—

*Splash—*

A bucket of icy water was dumped onto her.

The freezing water mixed with the ashes, trickling down her face, turning Noah’s remains into spreading dirt across her skin and clothing. Liam stood over her, looking down with frosty disdain. “This is to wake you up. Stop carrying these unlucky things around.”

Her son’s ashes—washed clean away—leaving behind only a puddle of muddy residue on the cold floor.

Clara sat motionless, collapsed on the ground, water dripping from her hair and clothes, falling heavily onto the stone tiles. Her trembling fingers reached out, touching nothing but frigid, dirty sludge—and bone-deep despair.

“Noah… my Noah…” Her voice was so faint it sounded like the whisper of an insect—broken and trembling.

Vanessa wrinkled her nose in disgust, shrinking behind Liam. “Ugh—so filthy. Such bad luck.”

Clara had no tears left. Her eyes were bloodshot, yet completely dry. In the moment the ashes were spilled—washed away—her heart turned to ash with them, lifeless and void.

Slowly, she raised her head and stared directly at Liam. There was no love, no hatred—only a desolate emptiness, yet carrying a terrifying chill. Liam felt suffocated under her gaze, an inexplicable discomfort tightening his chest. He quickly looked away and barked, “You’ll stay here and repent! You don’t come out until you admit your mistakes!”

Their footsteps faded—followed by Vanessa’s sweet, playful voice. “Liam, remember—my conference is at ten tomorrow morning! It’s my first appearance as a ‘genius scientist!’ You can’t miss it.”

“Of course,” Liam replied, his voice dripping with tenderness that contrasted brutally with the violence moments earlier. “I’ll be there.”

The church doors slammed shut with a heavy *clang*, locking Clara back into dead silence.

She sat on the freezing floor the entire night, soaked through, chills stabbing her bones—but she felt none of it. As dawn broke, the first light streamed through the stained glass window, casting colors across the dirt-streaked lines of her face.

Clara slowly took out her new phone and dialed the number etched deep into her memory.

Today was the day she agreed to leave.

Soon, engines roared outside the church in synchronized cadence. More than ten bulletproof black cars lined up, forming a protective barricade. Above, helicopter blades thrashed the air, sending a harsh wind sweeping through the church.

A white-haired elder with an air of authority descended from the helicopter, several men in black suits following solemnly. The elder spotted Clara and immediately quickened his pace, greeting her with respectful urgency. “Clara, we’re here to take you.”

Clara nodded slowly, rising to her feet. She was filthy, drenched, disheveled—but her eyes were clearer and more resolute than ever, stripped of all weakness.

The elder frowned at her condition, concern tightening his features. “You’re hurt, aren’t you? Your physical state looks unstable. Should we delay departure a few days?”

“It’s nothing.” Clara’s voice was calm and steady. “We’re leaving now.”

She walked toward the helicopter decisively, her steps falling over the muddied traces of her son’s ashes—as if making one final, irreversible farewell to the pain that forged her.

She didn’t look back when she boarded.

As the helicopter lifted into the sky, the city beneath her grew smaller—this city where she once loved, once dreamed, once bled—shrinking to a blurred speck of light. Clara gazed out the window, whispering her farewell. “Goodbye—and never again.”

Before leaving, she had prepared a “gift” for Liam—

the complete research data,

the evidence of Vanessa’s hit-and-run and false accusation,

the proof that Clara donated her spleen,

and a detailed “data flaw analysis.”

She counted the timing precisely—by now, that gift should already be in Liam’s hands.