"Mr. Gilbert is really heartless—he actually had his legal team demand that all our operating revenue go to Shirley as compensation!"

"It was obviously Shirley who fed her kid the wrong thing! The favoritism couldn't be more blatant!"

"Exactly! Whose husband is he supposed to be?!"

Sheila quickly clapped a hand over the woman's mouth.

She glanced at me carefully, watching my expression.

I stiffened for just a moment, then smiled.

"It's fine. Let's go."

Relief spread across Sheila's face. "Okay!"

We had barely left the factory grounds when a deafening blast erupted behind us.

Sheila threw herself over me.

A wave of scorching air rolled past.

I whipped around.

Above the factory, flames tore through the sky.

"Mom! Dad!"

I sprinted back like a woman possessed.

Sheila and the others grabbed me, holding me tight.

"Ms. Simmons! It's too dangerous! You can't go in there!"

"My parents' things are still inside!"

"Ms. Simmons!"

They held on tighter.

Fire trucks and patrol cars converged on the scene. Barricade tape went up around the perimeter. Everyone blocked my path, refusing to let me get close.

My breath came in ragged, shaking gasps.

"My parents' keepsakes are in there! Everything is in there! Let go of me!"

"Even so—it's all gone now!"

The rescue worker pleaded with me, his voice worn thin with patience.

I stared at his soot-blackened face.

Every ounce of strength drained from my body.

I turned around.

Not far away sat a Rolls-Royce. A familiar face materialized behind the tinted window.

Nigel had a cigar pinched between his fingers.

He was watching me with perfect, leisurely composure.

When he noticed me looking back, he raised an eyebrow and smiled.

In the passenger seat, Shirley held their child, a satisfied grin finally spreading across her face.

Nigel stepped out of the car.

"You made Shirley cry on the witness stand. Surely you owe her some kind of compensation?"

I couldn't speak.

"The inventory's all gone, sure, but I'll cover the costs later. Don't blame her. This was my idea."

My throat constricted, tighter and tighter.

Everything inside that building had been traces of my parents and my grandfather.

When I was five, my mother used to hold me in her arms while my father walked us through those halls. They would point at each piece of equipment and tell me the story of how the brand was founded.

They would stroke my hair and say, "Someday this company will be yours. Take good care of it."

Mom. Dad. I'm sorry…

The world went black. The ground tilted and spun.

The composure on Nigel's face shattered.

"Chloe!"

Before I lost consciousness, I heard his voice—panicked, frantic.

When I opened my eyes again, a dull, dragging pain throbbed through my abdomen.

I pressed my hand against it and looked up, dazed, at the doctor. Then at Nigel.

The doctor sighed.

"The baby is gone. Caused by extreme emotional distress."

"Baby…"

I pushed myself upright. "I was pregnant?"

The doctor nodded. "Two months."

I fell back against the bed.

Two months. For the past two months, I had been consumed with the lawsuit.

Those bouts of dizziness and nausea—they hadn't been exhaustion after all.

"Your body was already poorly suited for pregnancy. Why weren't you more careful? Going forward… I'm afraid conceiving again may not be possible."

I closed my eyes.

Tears slipped from the corners of my eyes and soaked the pillowcase beneath my head.

After the doctor left, Nigel seized my hand and gripped it so hard his knuckles went white.

"Chloe, I'm sorry. I didn't know… I—"

His voice broke.

He pressed his forehead against the back of my hand, his shoulders trembling.

"I wanted this baby so badly… This is all my fault. I should have noticed you were pregnant sooner. But I was too busy preparing the case against you…"

It was true.

Both of us had longed for a child of our own.

Now that child was gone.

Gone forever.

Because he wanted to avenge Shirley Henson.

"Chloe, I'll send her away. This time, I mean it."

His phone buzzed.

He answered it.

His expression froze.

"I'll be right there."

"Where are you going?"

I stared at him, eyes rimmed red. "Shirley. Right?"

He hesitated. "It's not her. The kid has a fever."

"What about MY child?!"

My nails dug deep into the flesh of his palms.

He paused.

Then pried my fingers open, one by one.

"I'll come back."

I pressed both hands against the cramping ache in my abdomen.

I smiled through my tears.

I didn't have a child anymore.

But he did.

Shirley did.

By the time Sheila came to see me, I had already fallen off the bed.

She rushed to help me up. "Ms. Simmons! Let me get the doctor!"

"Don't bother."

I fixed my gaze straight ahead. "Discharge me. Take me home."

I stood in front of the house Nigel and I had shared, a thick coat draped over my shoulders.

A torch in my hand.

"Ms. Simmons, are you sure you want to burn it?"

I tossed the torch onto the pile of kindling. My voice was flat.

"Yes."

Nigel had carried me through that door once.

Those beautiful memories were blinding now.

If I was leaving, I'd burn the past to ash.

"Ms. Simmons, do you want to say goodbye to Mr. Gilbert?"

"No."

The private jet was already waiting on the tarmac.

I handed her the divorce papers. "Just give him these."

The plane lifted off.

The fire still burned below.

I didn't look back.

I was never coming back.