Chapter 7 ELLA'S POV

"Yes, she fed Leo peanuts."

I nodded frantically, even though he couldn't see me. My voice trembled with agitation, words tumbling out so fast they nearly tripped over each other.

"I saw it with my own eyes, Justin. Leo's allergy is severe — he can't breathe, he goes into shock. You know this. You know his allergens. You know what peanuts mean for him."

I gripped the receiver so hard my knuckles went white.

"I'm begging you — look into it. Just once. Ask the doctors, check the allergy reports, the hospital has records, all the emergency data is there. Just look into it once. Once."

Two seconds of silence on the other end.

My heart leapt into my throat.

"Enough."

Justin's voice came down like a gavel.

"You've gone to all this trouble to smear Vivian, and now you want hospital staff to commit perjury for you."

His tone carried no inflection whatsoever — flat, matter-of-fact, as though he were stating a conclusion he had reached long ago.

"Ella, do you think I'm that easy to fool?"

I stood frozen.

Perjury?

What perjury?

When had I ever asked anyone to commit perjury?

"I didn't, Justin. I never asked anyone to lie for me. What are you talking about? Who told you that?"

"I don't have time for your petty games."

He was about to hang up. I could tell — that impatient lilt at the end of his words, identical to every other time he was about to press the end call button.

"Wait—!"

It came out almost as a shout.

The nurse at the station startled, springing up from her chair to stare at me.

I couldn't care less.

"Justin. Let's get a divorce."

The line went silent.

My tears fell without stopping, hitting the surface of the nurses' station counter — drop after drop after drop.

"I don't want anything. The house, the money — none of it. Nothing in your name has anything to do with me. It never did. I never wanted any of it."

My voice sank lower and lower, like someone was squeezing my throat as I spoke.

"I only want you to give Leo back to me."

"I'll take him away. Far away. We'll never appear in front of you again. You and Vivian can live however you want — I don't care. I swear I won't interfere."

Every word was forced up from somewhere deep in my chest.

"Please. This is my last request."

Silence.

A long silence.

So long that I thought the call had dropped. I pulled the receiver away to check — the call was still connected.

Then Justin laughed.

Not the laugh of someone amused. A laugh carrying a particular, deliberate contempt.

"Divorce?"

He repeated the word slowly, as though savoring the aftertaste of a bad joke.

"You think I'd believe you? You'd really give up everything you have now?"

I opened my mouth, wanting to say that I had never had anything. Living in the basement. Wearing the same clothes from three years ago. Having to file a report with him just to buy Leo's baby food at the supermarket. What exactly about that counted as a life of luxury?

But he gave me no chance to speak.

"And Ella — listen to me carefully."

His voice dropped, each word released one deliberate beat slower than the last.

"I will not allow you to be the one who asks for a divorce."

"Custody? Don't even dream about it."

"If you dare step out of line, Leo will be the one who suffers."

Click.

The dial tone.

The hand holding the receiver was shaking — shaking beyond my control. The receiver slipped from my fingers and swung in the air, dangling from its coiled cord.

The nurse at the station glanced at me, then quickly looked back down, pretending to flip through a chart.

I stood there without moving for a long time. In my mind, I replayed that phone call three times over.

Why did he say perjury?

Who told him I was looking for someone to commit perjury?

I didn't even have anyone to turn to. Where would perjury have come from?

There was only one answer. Vivian.

Before I had even made that call, she had already gotten to Justin first.

She was ahead of me.

She was always ahead of me.

I don't know how I left the hospital.

By the time I came back to my senses, I was already standing at the gates of the villa. My clothes still carried the smell of disinfectant from the ward. The bandage on my shoulder had been soaked through by rain — heavy and cold against my skin.

The rain was heavy.

My hair was plastered to my face. Rain blurred my vision, and every few seconds I had to drag the back of my hand across my eyes.

The guard at the entrance stood beneath the awning, hands clasped in front of him, watching me.

I took a step forward.

"Let me in."

The guard didn't move.

"Miss Weston's orders. You're not allowed inside."

"This is my home."

The guard said nothing. His expression said everything — this was Justin Brennan's house, Vivian Weston's word was law, and I was nothing.

"My son is in there."

"Mrs. Brennan, I'm only following orders."

I stood in the rain. There was not a dry patch left on my body. The stitched wound from falling off the third floor was soaked, the back of my head pulsing with a dull, itching throb.

"Please. Just one look at him. One look, and I'll leave."

The guard turned his head slightly, as though he couldn't bear to look at me directly.

But his feet didn't move.

How long did I stand at that gate? I didn't know.

Maybe an hour. Maybe two.

Night fell completely. The motion-sensor lights in the courtyard flickered on, then off, then on again — as if even the lights thought I had been standing there too long.

The sound of an engine approached from a distance.

A black Audi turned into the driveway. The headlights swept over where I was standing, paused on me for half a second, then continued forward, coming to a smooth stop at the foot of the front steps.

The driver came around and opened the rear door.

Justin stepped out.

His suit was impeccable. His collar crisp. A black long-handled umbrella in his hand. Not a hair out of place, shoes gleaming — fresh from some upscale engagement.

He walked toward the steps.

"Justin!"

I rushed toward him. My foot slipped on the wet stone path and I nearly went down on my knees, but caught myself just in time.

"Justin, let me in. Let me see Leo—"

He didn't stop.

Didn't even break his stride. He mounted the steps at an even, unhurried pace, the front door opened, and he walked inside.

I followed to the doorway, hands grabbing the door frame.

"Justin! Please—"

The door closed.

The heavy oak door, with a low, solid thud, came together through my fingers. My fingertips were caught for a moment — I pulled them back — a faint bead of blood welling up under one nail.

The rain fell harder.

The light on the second floor came on.

After a moment, the front door cracked open. My heart lurched — I almost threw myself forward —

It was Lina.

Vivian's little shadow. Early twenties, efficient, sharp-tongued. She stood on the steps holding a floral-patterned umbrella, looking down at me.

"Miss Weston says: if you keep making noise, she'll make things difficult for Leo."

A sentence had already formed in my mouth. It was knocked back down by that one.

Every sound I had. All of it, swallowed.

Lina watched me go quiet and raised an eyebrow, satisfied — as though simply delivering a message wasn't quite enough entertainment.

She reached behind her and produced a tablet, holding the screen up in front of my face.

A video was playing.

The image shook, then steadied.

A sofa.

The gray Italian imported sofa from the living room — the one I had knelt on the floor and scrubbed countless times.

Vivian was stretched across it. Justin was leaning over her. The two of them tangled together.

My stomach wrenched. Acid surged into my throat. I turned my head and dry-heaved twice — nothing came up. I hadn't eaten anything in a full day.

"What's wrong? Can't bear to watch?"

Lina shoved the tablet closer to my face, the screen throwing my wretched reflection back at me.

"This is the life Miss Vivian and Mr. Justin deserve."

She paused, tilting her head to look me over, and twisted the knife.

"And you? You deserve to stand in the rain."

Her tone carried the particular smugness of someone borrowing another person's power — every word bitten off with relish, as though delivering humiliation on behalf of her mistress was its own kind of honor.

I stayed bent over for a long moment, forcing that burning sourness back down my throat.

Then I straightened up.

Rainwater ran down my forehead, into my eyes, stinging.

I looked at Lina.

And then I smiled.

I didn't know where that smile came from. Maybe when pain reaches a certain threshold it becomes a strange reflex — the body decides that continuing to suffer is too exhausting and finds another way.

Lina's smile faltered.

"What are you smiling at?"

I took a step forward.

Lina instinctively stepped back half a pace, tightening her grip on the tablet.

I lowered my voice — very low. The rain was too loud; she had to lean in slightly to hear me.

"You know, Justin is very good in bed."

Lina's expression went blank for a second.

"I would know."

I held her gaze, my voice carrying a calm that felt unfamiliar even to myself.

"After all, I'm his wife. Four years of marriage. Did you think we never once—?"

I took another half step forward, until only an arm's length separated us.

"Worth finding out. Why don't you go ask Vivian — is she willing to share?"

Translation by Claude