Chapter Two

When the emergency room door opened again , a strong scent of iris perfume from a high-end French brand rushed in, brutally dispelling the previous stench of disinfectant and death.

Eleanor walked in, wearing her priceless red-soled shoes. She was dressed in a perfectly tailored black fitted suit, her makeup so flawless that she could have easily rung the bell at NASDAQ the next second.

She stopped a meter away from the bed.

The white sheet had already covered Lily's head. My daughter, now lying quietly under that thin sheet, was a broken shell, her vital organs emptied.

In those brief seconds, an uncontrollable urge surged through my veins—I wanted to pounce on her, grab her long, pale neck, and demand to know if she ever heard her own daughter's heart-wrenching cries in her sleep; I wanted to smash that blood-stained tablet in her face and ask if the heart she had ripped out to offer to her lover was beating peacefully in that villain's chest.

But my reason held this beast firmly back.

I couldn't alert her. If I showed any sign of aggression, Eleanor, with her financial power, could wipe me out within half an hour, or throw me into some mental hospital. I had to endure, chew up this overwhelming hatred, and swallow it down, blood and all.

“Arthur.” She finally spoke, her voice as calm as ever, even carrying a hint of formulaic sigh. “I’m very sorry about Lily. As you know, her condition hasn’t been good, and the doctors had warned about it before.”

I didn’t speak, but slowly raised my head, looking at her with bloodshot eyes.

Eleanor avoided my gaze; she didn’t even step forward to lift the white sheet to see the child she had carried for ten months. Her gaze lingered on the white sheet for less than two seconds before quickly shifting away, as if it were some ominous remnant.

“Chloe.” She tilted her head slightly.

The personal assistant standing at the door quickly stepped forward, pulled a thick folder from her briefcase, and handed it to me with both hands.

“I know you’ve sacrificed a lot and suffered a lot these past five years taking care of Lily. You’re a great contributor to this family, and I’ve never forgotten that,” Eleanor said in a condescending, condescendingly gentle tone. “Here’s a transfer document for the ‘Manhattan United Trust,’ containing five million dollars in cash financing. Also, that villa in Malibu Beach that you once said was perfect for a family vacation—I’ve had Chloe transfer it to your name.” This was

the price.

Five million dollars, plus a villa. This was the bargaining chip she used to buy off a ten-year-old life, to silence a grieving father.

I looked at the document, still smelling of ink, and my stomach churned violently, a wave of nausea rising to my head. If I could, I would have torn those papers to shreds and shoved them into her mouth.

But I just took the document, my hands trembling violently.

I lowered my head, letting my eyelashes conceal the murderous intent in my eyes, like an Arctic glacier, forcing myself to put on the expression of a completely defeated, slightly comforted coward.

“Thank you…Eleanor,” I said in a hoarse voice, tears falling precisely onto the pristine white paper. “Lily…Lily’s gone. From now on, I only have you.”

Eleanor’s tense jawline finally relaxed. She let out a long sigh, as if she had finally resolved a troublesome financial loophole. She looked at me with satisfaction, like a pathetic guard dog soothed by a bone.

“We’re still young, Arthur.” Before leaving, she made a hollow gesture of reassurance through the air. “This weekend is our anniversary, and I’ve already arranged a celebration party. After this period, we can go to the fertility center to thaw the spare embryos. We’ll have a healthy child.”

With that, she turned and walked away, the sound of her high heels echoing in the corridor, fading into the distance as she hurried towards the other end of the hospital’s top floor—Julian’s operating room.

I stood there, clutching the trust document tightly, my nails carving deep cracks into it.

A new child? You blood-stained butcher, what do you think Lily is? Are these parts that can be replaced with a simple press of the refresh button?! That's my life!

But I know the game has begun. Eleanor, your contempt and arrogance towards me will become the first cornerstone in the guillotine I personally build for you.

...

The night before Lily's burial, I returned alone to that vast mansion, as cold as an icebox.

I went into Lily's room. Everywhere there were traces of her life. On the wall were crayon drawings she had made before the car accident. In the picture, a tall man was holding a little girl's hand, and a woman in a beautiful dress was standing next to him.

"Will Mommy come to see me today?"

I seemed to hear that soft voice echoing in my ears again. That was the sentence Lily often said to me when she occasionally became lucid for a few seconds during her deep mental state. Even though Eleanor had visited her for less than ten hours in the past five years, even though Eleanor always complained about the smell in the hospital room, Lily still stubbornly longed for her mother's love.

I neatly folded Lily's few little clothes and her favorite faded teddy bear, and put them into the travel bag. My heart felt like it was being sliced open by countless dull knives, each second agonizingly painful.

I took out my phone and dialed Eleanor's number.

The dial tone rang for a long time, so long that I thought she wouldn't answer, before the call finally went through.

"Arthur? What's the rush to call now?" Eleanor's voice was clearly impatient.

In the background noise, I clearly heard the crisp sound of a porcelain spoon hitting a stew pot, and a man's deliberately feigned weak cough: "Eleanor, it's alright, your family's situation is important... I can handle this rejection reaction myself..."

It was Julian's voice. Inside that body now was my daughter's heart.

I bit my lower lip hard until I tasted the strong metallic taste of blood. With every last ounce of strength I had, squeezing out the last bit of weakness that belonged to a husband, I pleaded into the phone, "Eleanor, tomorrow... tomorrow morning at ten o'clock, is Lily's burial time."

"I know," she interrupted coldly.

"Please, Eleanor," I bowed, like a broken-backed dog begging the empty air, "Just one hour. Come to the cemetery tomorrow, please? Before the car accident, the last name Lily called was 'Mom.' She's been waiting for you, this is the last time... be her mom for the last five minutes, please?"

This was absolutely the last time in my life I would trample my dignity underfoot.

This was also the last chance I was giving Eleanor, this woman, and even for her as a member of humanity, for redemption. If she had even a shred of conscience, if she felt even the slightest remorse for the child she had ordered killed, she should be at tomorrow's funeral.

A brief silence fell on the other end of the line.

Just when I thought she might agree, Julian coughed violently again.

“Arthur, can’t you be a little more mature? Stop acting like a spoiled brat!” Eleanor’s voice suddenly rose, filled with inexplicable frustration. “Julian just had major surgery and is currently in a dangerous period of post-operative rejection with a high fever! The doctor said he can’t be left alone for even a second! How can I leave?”

“But Lily is your own daughter…” My voice trembled uncontrollably.

“Death is a fait accompli! Dead is dead, and the dead cannot be brought back to life!” Eleanor cruelly tore away this veil of hypocrisy, impatiently scolding, “If I stand there in the rain for an hour tomorrow, do you think she’ll crawl out of her urn? Stop bothering me with a dead child, trying to hold my life hostage! The trust fund has been given to you; handle things yourself and don’t embarrass me. Bye!”

“Beep—beep—beep—”

Only the cold dial tone remained on the other end.

I slowly moved the phone away from my ear. The dim light from the screen illuminated my expressionless face.

I didn't cry. Even the feigned trembling and despair I'd just displayed vanished like the receding tide.

I exhaled a long, deep breath.

Enough. Enough indeed.

That phone call was the last thread of humanity I'd severed in my heart. Eleanor had proven to me that she felt no remorse whatsoever when she took Lily's life; she felt perfectly justified in using Lily's heart to feed her lover.

She wasn't a mother. She was a cannibalistic monster in an expensive shell.

I looked at the crayon drawing and gently tore the paper off. I shredded the woman in the pretty dress into pieces and threw them into the trash.

"Lily, from now on, you don't have a mother," I whispered to the void, "but you still have a father."

Your father will take back everything they owe you, principal and interest. Even if it costs him his soul to fall into hell.

...

The next day, the New York sky seemed to weigh down on the city.

A cold front swept through, bringing biting winds and torrential rain. In the luxurious private cemetery on the outskirts of the city, the gray rain washed away all life.

There were no funeral processions, no mourning guests, and certainly no wife who had always said she "hadn't forgotten my contributions." After all, in Eleanor's eyes, a daughter who had been in a vegetative state for six years was unworthy of disturbing her vast social circle, and certainly not worth her leaving her first love's bedside.

On the entire expensive lawn, there was only me, two impatient gravediggers, and a priest in a black raincoat.

I held the urn carved from the finest white marble in my arms. It was as cold as ice, and so light it filled me with despair.

Ten years . I had cared for her for ten years , held her in my arms countless times, feeling her faint yet still warm body temperature. But now? All her weight added up to a mere few pounds of ashes.

The relentless rain pounded against the black umbrella, creating a deafening patter. I tilted the umbrella handle towards my chest, completely shielding the white urn containing the ashes. As for myself, half my body was already soaked through by the icy rain, my custom-made trench coat clinging to me like heavy armor.

"Dust to dust, ashes to ashes..." the priest's voice sounded fragmented in the wind and rain.

The gravedigger activated the small lift. I watched as the wooden, moisture-proof urn containing the ashes was slowly lowered into the bottomless, square pit of mud.

Every inch of descent felt like a nail being driven into my heart. When the first shovelful of wet, rain-soaked earth hit the lid with a dull thud, I closed my eyes.

My mind was filled with the surveillance footage of Lily's body twitching slightly as the nurse removed the ventilator.

It was all of Eleanor's words on the phone: "Don't keep bothering me with the dead child."

It was all that man named Julian, the one who held my daughter's heart, his face basking in the comfort of a woman's arms.

"Sir, the ceremony is over." The priest patted my shoulder, quickly put away his Bible, and fled the downpour with the gravedigger. The

vast cemetery was now empty, save for a newly erected grave and me, his father, alone and helpless like a ghost.

I tossed my umbrella aside.

The torrential rain instantly soaked me from head to toe. I knelt before Lily's tombstone, reaching out to touch the golden numbers engraved on the cold stone.

"0526." That was her birthday.

I knelt there, stunned, rain streaming down my hair, my brow, stinging my eyes as if blinding me, yet I remained fixed on the tombstone.

I slowly raised my left hand. On my ring finger, the simple platinum band ring that represented my vows to Eleanor seemed so ugly, so repulsive. It was like the scales of a venomous snake, tightly constricting my flesh, emitting a putrid stench with every second I wore it.

I roughly gripped the ring and pulled it down forcefully. My knuckles were frozen stiff, and the ring scratched my finger, drawing a trickle of blood.

But I didn't stop; I yanked hard.

A soft "clink" rang out.

The wedding ring, blessed by the priest in the church, inlaid with our initials, traced a faint arc in the air before falling directly into a muddy puddle beside the tombstone.

The murky water instantly swallowed it, never to gleam again.

It was as if I had completed some kind of most resolute severing ritual. I stood up, letting the wind whip my soaked clothes. My eyes held no more hesitation, no more sorrow. In this rainy day, what was buried was not only my daughter, but also the Arthur of the past—weak, compromising, and yearning for a happy family.

“Sleep, Lily.”

My hoarse voice was cold and hard in the downpour, as if it came from an abyss of extreme cold.

“Daddy promises, it won’t be long before I uproot that cancer that’s been sucking your blood. I’ll make them crawl to your grave and spit out a thousand times, a million times, what they stole from you.”

I turned and strode into the rain.

The game has begun. Eleanor, I hope your pitiful resources can withstand the true hell brought by a father who has lost all restraint.