Chapter 2

The lounge was dimly lit, with only a thin layer of sheer curtains drawn, casting Matthew's silhouette in a blur.

When Matthew's kiss came down, I was already half asleep.

I was so tired I could barely open my eyes. Instinctively, I turned my head away and raised my hand to press against his firm chest. "Stop it, I'm really tired."

But he acted as if he hadn't heard me. His hand urgently slipped under my pajama top, his calloused fingertips sliding across the skin at my waist, sending shivers through me.

His desire had always been intense. Every time we had sex, it wasn't satisfying unless it lasted at least an hour.

Though I was also drawn to his passion, my body really couldn't take it.

After each time, the soreness in my waist and legs would last for days.

Plus these past few days, with the discomfort in my abdomen, I had absolutely no interest in sex.

"I really can't," I met his lust-filled eyes, my tone pleading. "I haven't been feeling well lately."

The heat in his eyes visibly cooled, and his smile faded.

Clearly, my rejection had upset him.

He didn't stop considerately as he usually would. Instead, almost spitefully, he lowered his head again and captured my lips.

This kiss carried a punishing edge, biting hard as his tongue forcefully pried open my teeth.

I whimpered and struggled, but he easily caught my wrists and pinned them above my head on the pillow.

He was very strong. I couldn't move.

Then wet, hot kisses traveled down from my jaw, gnawing as if venting his frustration.

Sharp pain came, and I couldn't help but gasp, crying out, "It hurts! Matthew!"

My voice was tearful, my face instantly pale.

Matthew was startled awake by my cry of pain and abruptly stopped all movement, propping himself up to look at me.

"I'm sorry honey, I'm sorry!" He immediately released his grip on me, his hands fumbling to touch my face, his tone full of regret. "Did I hurt you? I just missed you so much, I couldn't control myself for a moment."

He pulled me into his arms, his grip tight, as if afraid I'd run away.

I didn't move. My neck still ached faintly.

Missed me so much—then why didn't he come home last night to spend my birthday with me?

I closed my eyes, suppressing the grievance welling up inside and my physical discomfort, repeating softly, "I really haven't been feeling well lately."

Matthew paused, a flash of confusion in his eyes, then as if remembering something, "Is it from when you bumped your waist? Still not fully recovered?"

As he spoke, his hand naturally slid to my lower back, massaging with moderate pressure. "Look at my memory, only thinking about myself. Does it still hurt? Should I get some ointment to rub on it?"

I opened my eyes suddenly, stunned.

Bumped my waist?

When did I bump my waist?

"It's not my waist that hurts." I looked at him, stating clearly.

Matthew's massaging motion instantly froze, as if someone had hit pause.

A flash of panic crossed his eyes. He forced a smile, his expression somewhat stiff. "Look at me, I'm so worried I'm confused. I must have mixed up a dream where you fell with reality."

He quickly found himself an excuse, then asked with concern, "So where exactly don't you feel well? Should I take you to the hospital tomorrow for a full checkup?"

"My abdomen feels a bit uncomfortable." I avoided his gaze and said softly.

"Abdomen?" He repeated hesitantly, as if considering various possibilities. "Abdomen—could it be your stomach? With the weather changing so much lately, you might have caught a chill."

"How about I have the maid take you to the hospital tomorrow? Get some medicine?"

I had actually already gone for a checkup.

Last Thursday, while he was away on business, I went to the hospital alone.

It wasn't a special trip—my physical exam results had come back with some concerning indicators, and a nurse called asking me to come back for follow-up tests.

I figured while I was there, I'd also get a gynecological exam.

The doctor looked at the ultrasound for a long time, so long I thought something was seriously wrong.

Then she said to me, "Mrs. Jones, congratulations, you're pregnant."

I froze there, somewhat at a loss, feeling more panic than joy.

But after looking at the other reports, the doctor deliberated for a long time over her wording before finally saying,

"Mrs. Jones, your situation is rather special."

"The embryo implantation position isn't ideal. Continuing the pregnancy would cause significant damage to your uterus. You're still young, so we recommend terminating the pregnancy."

My heart clenched into a knot. I felt so awful I couldn't speak.

Seeing my distress, the doctor continued, "Mrs. Jones, I actually don't want to advise you this way, but the embryo's implantation position is poor. If you continue the pregnancy, the risk to you is very high."

I asked nervously, "How high?"

The doctor was silent for a few seconds before saying, "There's a possibility of having to remove your uterus."

I clutched the report in my hand, crumpling it into a ball.

She suggested I discuss it with my family as soon as possible and consider terminating the pregnancy.

She prescribed me two weeks of medication to regulate my body, saying if I decided on the procedure, I should get my body in good condition first.

I folded the prescription into a tiny square and tucked it into the innermost layer of my wallet.

When I walked out of the consultation room, there was a man in the corridor supporting his wife who had just finished her exam, carefully, as if she were something fragile.

She touched her belly while he lowered his head to kiss her hair.

I stood there watching for a long time.

I had originally planned to find a warm moment after last night's birthday celebration to discuss this matter with him properly.

Matthew had always longed for a child of our own, so I wanted to let him make this decision.

I had also fantasized that perhaps we could face this difficult choice together, that perhaps a miracle might happen.

But his not coming home all night, those glaring photos on the trending searches, and his lie about the ring this morning full of holes—like buckets of cold water, they completely extinguished the little warmth and courage remaining in my heart.

I now had absolutely no mind, nor confidence, to bring this up with him.

Before the truth came out, this child's fate had become my only, and last, bargaining chip.

I wanted to give him, and us, one last chance.

"No need to trouble yourself," I shook my head, trying to keep my tone flat. "I'll go get some medicine myself tomorrow. It's probably just a common stomach issue. I'll take medicine for a few days and see."

Matthew looked at me and breathed a sigh of relief.

Then he pulled me into his arms, resting his chin on top of my head and nuzzling affectionately. "Alright then, you rest well. If you feel uncomfortable, tell me right away."

"I'm going to take a shower."

Watching his back as he walked into the bathroom, hearing the sound of water soon coming from inside, I finally let out a slow breath, though my body remained tense.

I sat on the bed in a daze for a few minutes until my heartbeat gradually calmed, then picked up my phone from the nightstand again.

The screen unlocked, and that glaring trending topic was still there.

I clicked on it again, my fingertip trembling imperceptibly as I tapped into that candid photo I'd already looked at countless times.

The quality was still blurry—the man's profile, the woman's hand, that glaring pink diamond.

I took a deep breath, pressed two fingers on the screen, and slowly zoomed in on the image, then zoomed in more, my eyes fixed on those blurry pixels, trying to find some flaw.

Then, unconsciously, I scrolled down the screen, and below the image appeared several of the most popular comments.

Most were gossip and amazement, mixed with envy and curiosity about the mysterious woman's identity.

My gaze mechanically scanned over them, my heart numb.

Until an unremarkable comment abruptly caught my eye.

Its content made my blood freeze instantly.