Chapter 5

Clara's POV

During the first few days of my hospital stay, Julian kept up appearances as the doting husband for the outside world.

Every morning, a local florist delivered a bouquet of white lilies with a printed card: "Get well soon."

He visited the doctor’s office daily to check on my bone healing and sat by my bedside peeling apples.

I leaned against my pillows, watching his little performance in silence.

One evening, halfway through slicing an apple, his phone buzzed.

He saw the name, his mask slipped, and he answered in that sickeningly gentle tone: "Mallory, what's wrong?"

Muffled sobs came through the line.

Julian bolted upright, pure distress in his voice. "Which lounge are you at? Why didn't anyone pick you up? Stay right where you are. I'm on my way."

Hanging up, he grabbed his blazer from the chair.

"Emergency at the office. I have to go."

Without looking back, he slammed the door shut.

I calmly reached out with my left hand and tapped the save button on my phone.

Mallory's crying, Julian's panicked rush, and the slamming door were all captured in crystal-clear audio.

The following morning, Victoria Sterling marched into the room.

Dressed in a sharp hunter-green designer suit, she didn't even bother setting down her Birkin before standing over my bed.

"You'd better stay in line."

Victoria’s voice was like ice. "Julian marrying you was an act of charity. If you dare bring shame to the Sterling family, or make Mallory cry even once, I will crush you and your father's business into dust."

I lay there, staring back at her without a word.

Thinking she had terrified me into submission, Victoria scoffed, turned on her designer heels, and clacked away.

During routine blood work for my surgery, the lab flagged an unexpected result: I was pregnant.

The night I received the lab report, I sat alone in the bathroom for hours.

Counting back through the dates, the child wasn't Julian’s.

Over the five years of our marriage, pressured by his mother for an heir, Julian had repeatedly spiked my evening water with sedatives.

He had let Patrick Bennett slip into the bedroom to sleep with me in his place.

Once, when the sedative was too weak, I woke up in the dead of night.

The scent of unfamiliar sweat and stale tobacco had weighed down on top of me.

I had been forced to bite my lip until it bled, pretending to stay asleep just to survive.

Later, I had even recorded Julian and Patrick outside the study, casually joking over cigars about passing me back and forth.

Looking at the positive indicator on the paper, tears welled in my eyes.

At dawn, I called Attorney Cole.

He arranged an appointment at a discreet private OB-GYN clinic.

I wanted to protect this innocent life.

But while taking the stairs down the private clinic wing, I lost my footing with my injured leg and tumbled down the steps.

Blood instantly soaked through my sweatpants.

"Save my baby!" I choked out with my last ounce of strength, pleading with the rushing medical team.

Then, darkness swallowed me whole.

"We're so sorry, Mrs. Sterling. The trauma was too severe. We couldn't save the pregnancy."

As the anesthesia wore off, a dull, hollow ache radiated through my lower abdomen.

I touched my flat stomach. My face was paper-white, but there were no tears left in my eyes.

Every surgical log, blood panel, and fetal tissue DNA sample was cataloged and locked in Attorney Cole's safe.

Every single piece of paper would soon become a dagger aimed straight at their throats.