Chapter 3

I bit down hard on my lower lip until my mouth filled with the strong taste of blood, barely keeping myself from screaming.

My stomach churned violently with nausea.

I turned and stumbled toward the restroom.

Bent over the sink, I dry-heaved until I thought I'd vomit up bile.

The woman in the mirror had a deathly pale face and sunken eyes. Due to long-term hormone injections, her once-slender waist had become bloated, and her skin had lost its luster.

For Damian Bennett, I'd turned myself into a monster.

Five years ago, we got married.

When we happily tried to conceive, Damian was diagnosed with severe azoospermia.

That day, this proud man knelt before me, eyes red, slapping himself hard.

"Seraphina, I've failed you. I can't give you a complete family. Let's break up. I can't hold you back."

I cried and held him, saying it was okay, that modern medicine was so advanced, we could do IVF.

Because of that promise, I embarked on a hellish road of no return.

Down-regulation, ovarian stimulation, egg retrieval, embryo transfer.

Thick needles piercing my ovaries—that tearing pain, I endured it ten times.

Over two thousand days and nights, my belly was covered in purple-blue needle marks. Before the old ones faded, new ones were already stabbed in.

I took so much medication I developed hormonal imbalances and lost hair by the handful.

Damian would always hold me, crying with heartache. "Seraphina, you've worked so hard. Once we have a child, I'll give everything I have to you and the baby."

I thought that was devotion.

Now I know it was a poisoned blade.

He never had azoospermia at all!

That diagnosis report—he faked it!

He watched me suffer like hell on the operating table for a lie, then turned around and lived it up every night with his first love, even getting her pregnant with twins.

A sharp, cramping pain suddenly shot through my abdomen.

I clutched my stomach, cold sweat instantly soaking through my back.

It was ovarian hyperstimulation syndrome.

The doctor had warned me that if I continued with ovarian stimulation, my life would be in danger at any moment.

I endured the excruciating pain, pulled out my phone, and with trembling hands opened Damian Bennett's Facebook.

"Damian, my stomach hurts so much. I think it's a complication. Can you come pick me up and take me to the hospital?"

The message sank like a stone in water.

Ten minutes later, I supported myself against the wall and weakly walked out of the restroom.

In the hallway, Damian was carefully escorting Lena Summer into the elevator.

His phone was in his hand, and the screen lit up.

He glanced down at it, his brow furrowing with disgust. He pressed mute and casually shoved it into his pocket.

Then he turned to Lena Summer and once again showed that infinitely tender smile.

The elevator doors slowly closed.

Shutting away their happy family of four, and completely burying my five years of stupidity.

I leaned against the cold wall and slowly slid down to the floor.

Tears fell heavily onto the floor tiles, but I didn't make a sound.

Damian Bennett, you think you can just kick me out like this?

Dream on.