Chapter 2

Clarice's POV

Early the next morning, his phone rang. The screen flashed Paloma. He answered it faster than taking a breath.

"Darius, can you help me?"

His voice instantly tightened. "You lost the ring? Don't panic. I'll figure it out."

He hung up and turned to me.

"Clarice, give Paloma the diamond ring I designed for you. Next month is our four-year anniversary. I'll get you a much better one."

"That is my wedding ring!" I demanded. "You want me to give my ring to the woman you just slept with last night?"

"What matters is the person, not a piece of metal!" Darius shoved his cufflinks into place, his brows locked in a deep frown. "Do you want to make the entire Thorne family a laughingstock? She's your sister!"

Within hours, my ring was flown in from Calder City and handed directly to Paloma.

"Darius, no matter how much time passes, you always give me everything you have," Paloma gazed at him tearfully. Then she turned to me, squeezing out a few fake tears. "Clarice, I'm so sorry. I've waited so long for this wedding, I was terrified of any mistakes. You're so generous, you understand, right?"

I stared at her hand. That diamond ring, which had always been too loose on my finger, fit hers seamlessly. Almost like it was meant for her.

"Hold this for a second, Clarice. I need a touch-up." Paloma carelessly dropped the ring into my palm.

My eyes casually swept over the inner band.

Six letters were crisply engraved into the metal: PALOMA.

In an instant, the blood froze in my veins.

"Honestly, you really are sisters. Your eyes look exactly the same." Groomsman Jonah's casual joke pierced my eardrums like a knife.

Four years. Whenever we were intimate, Darius always habit of covering the lower half of my face with his large hand, forcing me to keep my eyes open and look at him. I used to think it was just his possessive mafia nature.

Turns out, he never wanted to look at me. He was just looking through my gray-green eyes, desperately missing the untouchable fantasy he couldn't have!

A violent wave of nausea rose from my stomach. Just then, Paloma suddenly clutched her chest, turned pale, and collapsed.

Darius’s face drastically changed. He lunged forward, grabbing my wrist on the way. "What are you standing there for? Check on her with me!"

"My head hurts. I don't feel well," I said coldly.

"Are you out of your mind?!" Darius snapped, his eyes flashing red as he tightened his grip on my wrist. "She just borrowed a ring. How long are you going to throw this tantrum?"

"Let me go!" I fought with everything I had to shake him off.

"You're completely unreasonable!" he roared, letting go of me as if discarding trash.

The sheer force of his release sent me stumbling backward. My lower back slammed into the sharp edge of a marble table. My vision went black. Completely exhausted, I collapsed onto the floor.

When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. Dr. Vance stood there holding medical charts, a professional smile on his face.

"Congratulations, Mrs. Harlow. You're eight weeks pregnant."

When Darius heard the news, wild ecstasy filled his eyes. He gently kissed my forehead, playing the role of the perfect, doting husband. "Clarice, we're having a baby. I'm going to give him the best of everything in this world."

But that fake warmth didn't even last twenty-four hours.

After Paloma’s wedding reception, Darius kicked our hotel suite door open, reeking of alcohol. He practically crawled onto the bed, pinning me down. His scorching breath hit my neck.

His strength was terrifying as he roughly tore at my silk nightgown.

"Paloma..." he murmured drunkenly, his eyes shut tight. "You heartless bitch. You dumped me just because I was poor?"

A bone-chilling horror struck me. I pushed him violently. "Darius, I'm Clarice! I'm pregnant! The doctor said my condition is unstable! Let go of me!"