Chapter 2

Chloe's POV

On the day I was released from prison, I stood across the street and watched my husband welcome Brenda into our home.

Not only that, but my own biological son was cuddled up in Brenda's arms, sweetly calling her "Mommy."

I was still wearing the same worn-out coat I had on when I went to prison seven years ago.

The autumn wind swept past, and the pilled, faded hem of my coat clung coldly to my legs, carrying a musty smell that no amount of washing could ever remove.

Inside the living room, the curtains were only half-drawn.

The lights were on, blindingly bright.

Logan sat on the sofa in a perfectly tailored suit, his tie flawlessly knotted.

Brenda sat right beside him.

The delicate diamond bracelet on her wrist sparkled under the lights. She was sitting in the exact spot that used to be mine.

On the coffee table, my old photos were gone. In their place was a brand-new family portrait.

In the photo, Brenda held Logan's arm, smiling as if she were his real wife.

Just then, the sound of cheerful footsteps came from the hallway.

A little boy ran out like a happy little bird, throwing himself straight into Brenda's arms. "Mommy, I want some chocolate cake!"

My fingernails dug violently into the hem of my coat, my knuckles turning white from the strain.

That was my baby.

The baby I had given birth to on a cold, iron bed in the prison hospital, nearly bleeding to death.

But before I could even get a proper look at my newborn son, Logan's family had violently torn him away from me.

Back then, I only got to hold my baby for ten minutes.

Seven years had passed. My baby could run and jump now, but he was burying his face in Brenda's lap, calling another woman "Mommy."

Click.

The front door of the mansion opened.

Logan stepped out. The moment his eyes landed on me, I saw his brows furrow in pure disgust.

His cold gaze swept over my miserable, shabby clothes. His eyes lingered on my bare wrist for half a second before quickly looking away.

He reached into his suit jacket, pulled out a one-way plane ticket, and coldly thrust it in front of my face.

"I've set everything up for you over there. Once you land, start a new life."

I didn't take it. I just stared down at the destination printed on the ticket.

"Don't go inside," Logan said, his voice dropped low, carrying an commanding tone. "Mason is doing great. Brenda takes amazing care of him. You just got out of prison. Don't ruin the peace we have in this house."

He forced the ticket into my hand. The sharp paper edge cut into my finger, a stinging pain.

After handing over the ticket, Logan's hand remained suspended in the air.

I calmly folded the ticket and slipped it into my pocket.

Seven years ago, I had accepted another piece of paper from the Vance family with the same submissive obedience.

Back then, Logan was facing charges of embezzlement and wire fraud.

The entire Vance Group was on the brink of collapse.

Logan's mother, Mrs. Vance, had called me into her study. She slammed a stack of false confession documents in front of me and said coldly, "Logan cannot go to jail. Our family only let you marry him because your face resembles his late first love. The Vance family gave you status and luxury. Now, it's time to pay us back."

Even though I was married to Logan, I was never allowed a seat at the main family dinner table. Logan's mother despised me.

Even the maids looked down on me.

Yet, for Logan's sake, I was foolish enough to take the fall. I went to prison for him.

On the day of my sentencing, the officers escorted me into the police cruiser.

Through the tinted window, I looked back. Logan was standing at the back of the crowd, his black overcoat buttoned tightly, his face deathly pale.

Back then, I was still stupidly making excuses for him, thinking he was just as heartbroken and helpless as I was.

In my second month of prison, I found out I was pregnant.

My baby was born in the dingy prison ward. There was nothing but cold metal and sterile walls.

When Mason let out his first cry, I struggled to pull him to my chest, ripping the IV out of my arm and leaving a trail of blood.

But that very afternoon, the Vance family's lawyers forced me to sign a termination of visitation rights agreement, taking my baby away.

I held him for only ten minutes.

Three months before my release, dragging my terminally ill body, I begged a guard for a pen and wrote a letter. I pleaded with Logan to bring Mason to see me just once.

That letter was still tucked under the thin mattress of my prison cell.

And now, my Mason was sitting on the plush carpet of our old home, eating oranges peeled by Brenda, calling her "Mommy" again and again.

I lifted my head, my eyes burning red.

"Does he even know who I am?"

Logan's face instantly darkened. "Chloe, stop throwing a tantrum. Mason is doing perfectly fine."

"I asked you," I took a step closer, my voice raw and raspy, "Does he have any idea who actually gave birth to him?!"

"Logan, the phone keeps ringing. Come inside and grab it. Mason is asking for you, too."

Brenda's sweet, gentle voice drifted out from the house.

Logan glanced back, his tone turning incredibly harsh and ruthless. "All your shares and assets were liquidated years ago. This house has nothing to do with you anymore. The Vance family owes you nothing. Take the ticket and leave. Don't ever come back."

He turned around coldly and slammed the heavy oak door.

Thud.

The door shut right in my face, completely blocking out the warm, golden light of the house, leaving me in pitch darkness.

I let out a self-deprecating laugh.

Battling the freezing wind, I walked numbly along the estate's brick wall toward the main road.

The phone in my pocket vibrated. It was a missed call from a research laboratory.

I called back. A man with a highly professional, robotic voice answered immediately. "Hello, Miss Vance. We have received your authorization form. Once you sign the final papers, it will take effect immediately. We will take full control according to the agreement."

"Alright. Thank you."

The moment I hung up, a sharp, agonizing pain erupted in my lower abdomen, radiating up to my pelvis.

My vision went black. Losing all strength, I collapsed against the brick wall and slid to the ground, cold sweat breaking out across my forehead.

With trembling hands, I unzipped my bag. The pill bottle rolled into my palm.

I couldn't even wait to find water. I twisted the cap off, grabbed a handful of pills, threw them into my mouth, and swallowed them dry.

The chalky tablets scraped down my dry throat, leaving a bitter taste exploding on the back of my tongue.