Chapter 3

Kathy's POV

The maids dragged me into the guest room and dumped me on the mattress.

Blood continued to flow. My abdomen felt like it was being cut repeatedly with a dull blade.

I curled up, my fingers clawing at the sheets.

I tried to scream, but only hoarse whispers escaped my throat.

Hours later, the door was kicked open.

Trina stormed in and slammed divorce papers against my face.

"Sign it!" she shrieked. "Susan is pregnant! Get out now!"

Damian's signature was already there.

"I won't sign," I said.

Trina grabbed a fistful of my hair. "You don't have a choice!"

She shouted toward the door: "Get in here! Hold her down!"

Two maids rushed in and pinned my shoulders from both sides. I struggled, but the excruciating pain in my abdomen had drained all my strength.

Trina picked up the basin of cold water from the table.

"Let's wake you up!"

The cold water crashed over my head. I coughed violently as it flooded my nose, searing through my lungs.

The door opened again.

Susan walked in. "Still hasn't signed?" She leaned against the doorframe, her fingers caressing her lower abdomen. "Kathy, be smart. Damian only has eyes for me and my baby now."

She crouched down and pressed her heel into the back of my hand.

My knuckles made a soft grinding sound.

"Look at these hands," she smiled, "rough, cracked, with burn blisters. How could they ever be worthy of Damian?"

Pain exploded from the back of my hand. I bit my lip, tasting blood.

"He liked you once, but it was just for the novelty," Susan leaned closer, "now that the novelty's worn off, you're just a used dishrag. What are you still clinging to?"

Trina threw the papers in front of me again. "Sign!"

I shook my head.

She raised her hand to strike, but Damian's voice came from the doorway. "Still not done?"

He walked in, looking at me like I was an eyesore of furniture. "Kathy, stop wasting time. Sign, take the money, disappear. It's better for both of us."

I stared at him. "When I was pregnant, is this what you thought too?"

"Whether that kid was even mine is questionable," he lit a cigarette, "and even if it was mine, it's gone now. That's fate."

The smoke drifted over, making me cough.

"When you were struggling to start your business," my voice was hoarse, "who made you midnight snacks? Who secretly pawned her jewelry to get you operating capital?"

"Enough!" he snapped, cutting me off. "Those ancient history stories—what's the point of bringing them up? I'm successful now because of my own abilities!"

"Your abilities?" I laughed.

Just then, a tearing pain shot through my lower abdomen.

I gasped and curled up. Warm liquid gushed out again, soaking the sheets.

"Damian..." I reached out, "take me to the hospital, please..."

He stood there, motionless.

"She has to sign!" Trina shrieked. "Once she signs, we're even!"

"Right," Damian seemed to suddenly snap back to reality, his eyes turning cold again, "sign the papers. Sign them, and I'll take you to the hospital."

He grabbed the pen and shoved it into my hand.

My fingers trembled, unable to hold it steady.

"Sign!" he roared.

The pen dropped to the floor.

The abdominal pain intensified, and my vision began to blur. I could hear my own heartbeat, getting slower and weaker.

Then I heard another sound.

Faint, but clear.

The beeping of monitoring equipment. And the smell of disinfectant.

I opened my eyes.

White ceiling. IV stand. A needle in the back of my hand.

I was in a hospital.

A doctor from some small clinic stood beside the bed.

"You're awake," he frowned, "you had a miscarriage with complications and infection. Another half hour and you would have been dead."

I opened my mouth but couldn't make a sound.

"The baby is gone," he said quietly, "I'm sorry."

I closed my eyes.

No tears came. The space where my heart should be felt hollow, like something had been carved out.

The door opened. Damian walked in, carrying those papers.

"Awake?" He approached the bed. "Sign this. Once you do, I'll get you the best room so you can recover properly before you leave."

I looked at his face.

This face I had once loved, kissed, gazed at during countless late nights.

Now it held only calculation and coldness.

"What if I don't sign?" I asked softly.

"Then don't blame me for being ruthless," he leaned down, lowering his voice, "I can make sure you never leave this hospital. After all, a patient with severe postpartum hemorrhaging suddenly taking a turn for the worse—that's perfectly normal."

I smiled.

The corners of my mouth slowly curved upward, pulling at my cracked lips.

"What are you smiling about?" he frowned.

"I'm laughing at myself," I said, "for willingly becoming a housewife for a man like you."

I slowly sat up and pulled the needle from my hand.

Blood beaded up and trickled down my skin.

I threw back the covers and got out of bed. My legs shook, but I stayed standing.

"That agreement," I pointed to the nightstand, "I will sign it."

A flash of triumph crossed Damian's face.

"But not now," I continued, "when I'm better."

"Fine, I'll give you one last grace period." Damian left in a hurry.

I walked to the window and pushed it open.

Cold air rushed in, dispersing the stifling smell of disinfectant.

"I'm ready now, Damian. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth."