On the third day of her hospital stay, Elena quietly completed the discharge paperwork on her own.

Her attending physician was a man of striking composure—calm, refined, with an air of aloof elegance. She thought he just looked familiar, but when she learned his name, she recognized him.

Giovanni Hamilton.

Over the past few days, the little girl in the next bed had noticed her melancholy and had been trying every possible way to cheer her up.

It was only later that Elena learned the girl was Giovanni's daughter, Tiffany.

Tiffany was as sweet-tongued as if her lips had been dipped in honey. She clung to Elena's arm like a tiny, precocious guardian, muttering indignantly, "Pretty sister, your family is way too mean! You're this sick, and they won't even come visit you!"

"But it's okay, I'll keep you company! You have to promise not to forget me, okay?"

When it was time to leave the hospital, Elena was still limping. Giovanni personally escorted her downstairs, offering a polite apology.

"I'm sorry, Tiffany is naturally lively. But I can tell she's very fond of you."

Elena shook her head, her mind drifting to her own children. A faint sadness crossed over her face.

"I actually envy you and your wife—for raising such a wonderful child."

Giovanni gave a soft laugh as he opened the car door for her.

"You misunderstand, Miss Torres. My work keeps me too busy; I've never married."

"Tiffany is a child I adopted from an orphanage."

"If you don't mind, may we exchange contact information? Tiffany specifically asked me to."

By the time Elena returned to the villa, the weather outside was heavy and humid, as if the sky had just been washed by rain.

Elena slipped her phone into her pocket—Giovanni's number now sat quietly in her contact list—and stepped into the living room.

Jackson was in casual home clothes, personally cooking in the kitchen, his gaze holding a warmth she had never seen before.

Beside him, Hillary wore a flowing white chiffon dress, exuding gentle, demure charm. Aaron and Maya leaned against her shoulders, sweet voices chattering away.

The scene of the "perfect family of four" cut deep into Elena's heart.

Just then, her phone rang.

"Miss Torres, your flight has been ticketed. Would you like to select your seat now?"

The moment she hung up, an abrupt voice cut in behind her.

"Flight? You're going abroad?"

The scent of Hillary's perfume clung to Jackson as he stepped too close. Elena instantly pushed him away.

"It's nothing—you misheard."

Jackson didn't press further. Later, while at the dining table, he answered a call, his brows furrowing as he ended it.

"Check what my wife has been doing lately," he instructed his assistant. "See if she's been meeting anyone... questionable."

"I can't shake the feeling she's hiding something from me."

Before he could say more, the sharp cries of a child rang out. Jackson strode quickly toward the sound, only to see a dish of buttered chicken—garnished with peanuts—on the dining table.

Maya's cheeks were flushed, a rash spreading down her neck, her breathing grew shallow as if she might suffocate.

Seeing him, she immediately complained,

“Daddy! I feel bad... Mommy gave me a bite of food, and after I swallowed it, I found out there were peanuts in it!”

Jackson's expression turned ice-cold.

"Elena, what's your excuse this time?"

"You don't even know your child's allergens? You're not even half as good to them as Hillary is. Are you fit to call yourself a mother?"

He waited for her usual pleas or protests—but none came.

Elena opened her mouth, but no words emerged. Only a quiet sigh escaped her throat before she gave a small, self-mocking smile.

"Then I'm not fit. Think whatever you want."

Her submissive acceptance bored Jackson. With a scowl, he grabbed his car keys and left without another word.

While he was away to get medicine, Aaron's eyes reddened as he burrowed into Hillary's arms.

"Aunt Hillary, if only you were my real mom... I don't want that bad woman as my mother."

Hillary drew both children onto her lap.

"Darlings, why do you dislike your own mother so much? Let Auntie stand up for you."

Aaron and Maya began counting grievances on their fingers, "Bad Mommy won't let me eat tasty snacks. She only lets us watch half an hour of TV a day and keeps restricting us."

"She says I'm too fat and makes me run every day. Even at mealtime, I can only eat until I'm seventy percent full."

"After school, she signed us up for all sorts of extra classes—she's just trying to get back at us. She's a witch!"

A flicker of cruelty flashed in Hillary's eyes.

"Darlings, if you trust Auntie, then here's what you should do..."

The moon outside hung faint in the sparse night sky. Lying in bed, Elena felt as though all the strength had been drained from her body.

The wound on her foot still hadn't healed. Every small movement sent waves of sharp, bone-deep pain through her.

Her phone buzzed softly.

It was a message from Tiffany, her words full of the girl's liveliness and sweet charm.

[Pretty sister, are you home yet? Daddy says you mustn't get your wound wet, or it will hurt when it gets inflamed.]

[I miss you! Once you're better, can I come play with you?]

A long-lost warmth welled up in Elena's chest—tender, steady, and pure.

She smiled and sent back a playful sticker.

But just as she set her phone down, the bedroom door slammed open.

Maya burst in, crying, and flung herself into Elena's arms.

"Mommy, I have a fever... I feel awful."

"I don't know if it's because the rash isn't gone yet, but Aunt Hillary gave me some medicine."

"It's really hot... can you blow on it for me? Maybe taste it first to check the temperature?"

The rare show of closeness stunned Elena.

After all, this was her own flesh and blood. Her heart immediately softened.

The moment she took a sip, an unbearable itch spread through her body.

Her hand shook violently—the bowl slipped, shattering on the floor.

Instantly, both children's expressions changed. They shoved her to the ground, triumphant smiles lighting their faces.

Maya glanced at Aaron, smirking viciously.

"Aunt Hillary said this medicine would make her embarrass herself in front of everyone!"

Hillary sauntered in, eyes sweeping over Elena as her hands fumbled with her clothes.

Smirking, she spat, "Don't bother struggling. This drug is potent—just one sip is enough to make you live wishing for death, yet unable to die."

"That medicine is called Love Thread Wrap. Even the purest, most virtuous woman will be consumed by uncontrollable desire under its effects, lost in illusions, at the mercy of whoever administered it."

She gestured casually, and several burly bodyguards entered, their eyes fixed on her for orders.

"From now on, they'll be the ones getting close to you. Tell me—by the time Jackson returns from the hospital, how many rounds will you have endured?"

The drug's effects burned hotter and hotter, pain and shame twisting through Elena. Tears streamed uncontrollably down her face.

As the men advanced, Elena gritted her teeth, grabbed a nearby vase, and smashed it. She pressed a jagged shard on her own neck.

"Hillary, if you dare let them touch me, I'll drag you down with me!"

Outside, the roar of an engine cut through the night—Jackson was back.

Elena slashed her arm in several places, forcing herself to stay lucid as he approached.

"Take me to the hospital! Maya drugged me!"

Jackson caught the flicker of guilt in both children's eyes—and for the first time, he roared at his daughter. "Maya! Come here!"

The girl burst into tears, her voice sharp with panic.

"Daddy, she's lying! I don't know anything—she took the wrong medicine herself and now she's blaming me!"

Hillary's face softened into a mask of empathy as she pulled Maya into her arms, gently stroking her back.

"Jackson, don't get angry. Why don't we run a test and see who's telling the truth?"

The private doctor arrived quickly. The results on the floor showed everything was "normal."

Enraged, Jackson stormed back in, his grip closing like iron around Elena's throat.

"Maya and Aaron are your own children! Why do you keep framing them over and over again? What's your goal?"

"You're just jealous of Hillary—unhappy with how I treat her, aren't you?"

Fury boiling over, he ordered the ancestral whip to be brought from the family shrine.

"Elena, you think too highly of yourself! Remember this pain—it will keep you from ever making another mistake. I won't have the Sullivan family's name stained by you!"

Her mouth was gagged, muffling her cries. The barbed whip lashed down again and again, ripping through flesh.

Her heart felt like it was being torn to shreds, every breath thick with the taste of blood.

She couldn't hold on any longer.

The world went dark—she collapsed and passed out.

When Elena opened her eyes again, the acrid scent of disinfectant stung her nostrils.

Murmured voices drifted into her ears.

"Mr. Sullivan, per your instructions, we've removed Madam's uterus. From now on... she will never be able to have children again."

The private doctor withdrew.

Tears welling up in her eyes, Hillary covered her mouth, and collapsed weakly into Jackson's arms, her voice trembling with guilt.

"Jackson, this is all my fault. If only I had watched the children more closely, they wouldn't have argued with Elena. She wouldn't have suffered such irreversible damage from the whipping... I've ruined her."

Jackson's frown eased. Wrapping an arm gently around her waist, he murmured in comfort.

"Hillary, you're still, as kind as ever. You don't have to take everything upon yourself. If anyone is to blame, it's Elena herself. She brought this upon herself."

From the side, Aaron and Maya chimed in in perfect unison, wrapping their arms around Hillary's legs like obedient little angels.

"That's right, Aunt Hillary! Mom already has the two of us. Why would she want to have more children with someone else?"

No one knew how much time passed. The four of them began laughing together, their voices light, and left hand in hand.

Elena stared blankly at the ceiling, her eyes and chest aching with a deep, dull pain. She forced herself to accept the reality—her womb was gone.

Strangely... this time, not a single tear fell. Only a crushing heaviness sat in her gut, as if her organs themselves were aching.

Days slipped by.

While she was recovering, Aaron and Maya made a rare appearance at her bedside.

"Stop pretending. Did you see how happy Dad and Aunt Hillary are together? You've delayed them for seven years—always faking illness, playing the pitiful victim, clinging to our family like some beggar."

Elena's chest tightened. Her voice was hoarse as she replied, "I don't know who's been filling your heads with this poison, making you hate me as if I were your mortal enemy. But the truth is—seven years ago, that drunken night was a trap set by your Sullivan family. I was a victim too. If I hadn't gotten pregnant with the two of you by accident, I would never have married Jackson!"

"Liar!" Aaron's shrill voice cut her off. "Aunt Hillary and Grandma told us the truth. If you hadn't used your cheap tricks to crawl into Dad's bed, Aunt Hillary would've been married here long ago!"

Maya glared, her small face—so much like Elena's—twisted with pure hatred.

"Then I'll show you who Dad really cares about!"

She dragged over a stool. Aaron climbed up, reached the windowsill, and knocked over a lit candle.

The two of them bolted from the room faster than monkeys.

Flames roared to life, devouring the curtains. In an instant, thick smoke and blistering heat engulfed the room. The air reeked of burning fabric and choking soot; the fire leapt wildly, and the wardrobe and ceiling began to tremble as if ready to collapse.

Elena limped out of bed, but the door was locked from the outside. Despair washed over her.

From the hallway, the housekeeper's panicked voice rang out as she fled the spreading smoke.

"Sir! Madam is still inside—"

Jackson hesitated. After all, they had been married for seven years—he couldn't just stand there and watch her burn to death.

But before he could move—

"Let her die there!" Aaron's voice was crisp and innocent. "If she's gone, nothing will stand in the way of Dad and Aunt Hillary!"

"And if Mom is dead," Maya added boldly, "no one will force me to eat or make me take those awful lessons anymore."

Jackson froze, his expression darkening.

"Aaron, Maya—who taught you to say such things?"

Sensing the shift in mood, Hillary quickly added fuel to the fire.

"The candle was so high up. How could the children even reach it? Unless... Elena did it on purpose."

As expected, the man fell silent for several seconds. Doubt and displeasure flickered in his eyes, his handsome features growing cold and hard.

The housekeeper tried again.

"Sir, should I at least unlock Madam's door—"

"No need."

Jackson took one child in each hand and turned away with Hillary.

"If she wants to kill herself, let's grant her wish. Until the firefighters arrive, no one should open that door for her."