Chapter 3

My mind drifted back through the past six months of wedding preparations.

Chloe always loved painting herself as an ethereal, pure soul who was above worldly materialism.

Her favorite catchphrase was:

"I never care about money, and I hate measuring love with dollar signs."

In her eyes, a straightforward businessman like me, reeking of cash and hustle, wasn't even in the same spiritual universe.

Yet she swiped the authorized card I gave her without batting an eye, buying limited-edition designer bags worth tens of thousands.

Then she'd turn around and post on Instagram: "The freedom of the soul should never be shackled by dirty materialism."

To preserve her so-called "artistic purity," she even laid down a rule: we were only allowed to be intimate once a month.

And I had to use maximum protection every single time, because she refused to let "carnal desires tarnish our pure romance."

Like an obedient ATM, I covered our entire mortgage, her car notes, and her lavish lifestyle.

At home, I walked on eggshells, treating her like royalty.

Last month on my birthday, I spent hours cooking a full spread of her favorite dishes.

Just as the food hit the table, she saw a post from that sponsored charity student of hers, Julian.

She stood up to leave immediately.

I tried to stop her.

"It's my birthday today... can't you just stay?"

She sneered, looking down on me with utter disdain.

"Julian is having another depressive episode! He is suffering, don't you get it?"

"Your brain only thinks about money! You have zero appreciation for the fragility and sensitivity of a true artist!"

"I need to be there for him right now!"

Oh, she understood the "fragility of an artist," alright.

So much so that she personally checked into a clinic to quietly scrape out the child she conceived with him.

I locked my phone and looked up at the hospital tower.

Mary had already sprinted to the emergency reception desk.

"Check your system right now! Chloe! What room is she in?!"

Mary slammed her palm against the desk, screeching in a frantic rush.

The poor triage nurse jumped, quickly tapping away at the keyboard.

"Ma'am, please calm down. Let me check the ER database... There is no patient under the name Chloe here."

Mary's eyes went wide. She spun around, glaring daggers at me.

"You useless idiot! Did you even get the hospital name right?!"

The nurse kept typing, trying to defuse the situation.

"Hold on, ma'am. Since she isn't in the ER, let me run her name through the general system to see if she was admitted to another department..."

Hearing that, my heart lurched.

If the nurse blurted out "She's in the OB-GYN ward for an abortion" right in front of them right now...

Everything I had planned would go down the drain.

I stepped forward and placed a hand on the counter.

"Don't worry about it, nurse."

"Chloe's situation was an emergency, so they used a VIP priority entrance. It might not be logged yet."

"I asked a friend at the hospital to move her straight up to the inpatient VIP suite."

Richard squinted at me, his brow furrowed in suspicion.

"Since when did you have connections at this hospital?"

Just then, a flurry of hurried footsteps came from the entrance.

Several familiar faces rushed in.

Chloe's colleagues from the dance studio.

The lead instructor recognized me immediately and jogged over, out of breath.

"Brandon! We saw your message in the group chat and rushed over!"

"Where is Chloe? Is she badly hurt?"

"What did the doctors say? How is she doing?"

The other staff gathered around, firing questions left and right with genuine concern.

Richard and Mary's attention was instantly snatched away by the crowd.

I exhaled quietly.

My face instantly shifted back into a picture of heavy, solemn gratitude.

"Thank you all so much for coming. Really, it means the world."

"Chloe is upstairs in a private room. I'll take everyone up to see her right now."