Chapter 4

**Stella’s POV**

Countdown: Day Two.

After we got back from the gala last night, Ethan acted like a guilty sinner, kneeling by the bed and massaging my legs for two hours.

He kissed my ugly scar over and over, murmuring, "Stella, you’re my life."

If I hadn't already hacked his backup phone, I really would have believed his act.

At 8 AM, Ethan walked in with a bowl of warm organic oatmeal.

"Stella, how do you feel? Are your legs sore?" He placed a soft pillow behind my back, blew on a spoonful of oatmeal, and fed it to me.

I swallowed the tasteless food, looking at the dark circles under his eyes. "You didn't sleep well?"

Ethan paused, then smiled gently. "Just some urgent business at the office. But it’s fine. I’m staying home to play with you today."

The moment he finished speaking, his phone buzzed on the nightstand.

The screen lit up. It was only for two seconds, but I saw the text clearly.

Chloe: *Ethan, the baby kicked today! Come feel him.*

Ethan’s expression changed instantly. A flash of raw excitement and urgency washed over his face. His hand holding the spoon trembled slightly.

He quickly flipped the phone face down, but his smile was stiff now.

"What is it?" I asked, pretending to be clueless.

Ethan cleared his throat, avoiding my gaze. "It’s... the medical team in Germany. They said there’s a breakthrough in your prosthetic materials. They need me on a video call to confirm the specs."

He set the bowl down, holding my hand with a guilty look. "Stella, I’m sorry, but I have to go to the lab. Wait for me at home, okay? I’ll be back to have lunch with you."

"Okay," I said, pulling my hand away. "Go. My leg is more important."

Ethan let out a huge sigh of relief.

He kissed my forehead quickly and walked out of the bedroom.

He was in such a rush that he forgot to hang up his jacket—the one he usually kept close because it smelled like me.

Ten minutes later, I opened my tablet.

The dashcam of Ethan’s Maybach was streaming live.

He didn't drive to any lab. He drove straight into the VIP parking garage of LA’s most exclusive private maternity hospital.

I switched the feed to the hospital hallway cameras.

Ethan was practically running toward the private ultrasound room.

Inside, Chloe was lying on the bed, her small baby bump exposed.

Ethan rushed in, grabbed her hand, and his eyes actually turned red with tears.

"Doctor, how is the baby? Is he healthy?" This man, who was a ruthless shark in the business world and an obsessive monster to me, actually had a trembling crack in his voice.

The doctor smiled, pointing at the screen. "Mr. Vance, the heartbeat is strong. He's a very healthy boy."

Ethan stared at the blurry grey shape on the screen, tears rolling down his cheeks.

He bent down, kissing Chloe’s belly with pure devotion, as if touching a holy relic.

"Chloe, thank you... thank you for giving me a real family."

Sitting in my wheelchair, watching this touching family of three, I felt like a rusty saw was tearing through my heart.

Three years ago, the doctor had handed us my medical report, telling us that due to the heavy trauma and medication, I would never be able to conceive.

What did Ethan say back then?

He had cried, holding me tight, and said, "Stella, I only want you. A kid will only take away my love for you. We are a family, just the two of us. I swear to God, I will never let another woman carry my blood."

But now, he was crying tears of joy over another woman’s belly.

He didn't hate kids. He just didn't want a disabled woman to give him a broken child.

On the tablet, Chloe’s whiny voice echoed. "Ethan, when are you going to leave that cripple? I don’t want our son to be born a bastard."

Ethan’s smile faded, his brow furrowing.

"Soon," he said, stroking her hair. His voice sounded irritated. "She depends on me completely. If I divorce her now, she won't survive. Let me transfer the South Valley estate to your name first. Take care of the baby, and I’ll handle her."

*Handle* me.

I let out a cold laugh and shut down the screen.

Ethan, you don't need to handle me. In forty-eight hours, I’ll be gone from your world forever.

***