Chapter 2

My fingers gripped the trigger tightly, but I just couldn't pull it.

The subordinate knelt on the blood-red carpet, crying and kowtowing: "Mrs. Johnson, I really didn't hit you... please spare me..."

Michael's hand wrapped around mine, tightening bit by bit.

"Olivia." His voice was deep, like muffled thunder rolling from his chest. "What are you hesitating about?"

I clenched my teeth as tears blurred my vision.

If I pulled the trigger, I'd be killing someone.

But if I didn't, Michael would know I'd overheard them.

"I... I can't..." My voice trembled badly. "Michael, I really can't..."

His breathing paused for a second.

Then he let go of my hand.

"Fine." His voice suddenly became gentle, with a hint of indulgent helplessness. "I knew you were soft-hearted."

Hearing that tone, I finally breathed a sigh of relief. All the strength drained from my body, and I nearly couldn't stand.

He believed I hadn't heard anything.

Michael took the gun from my hand, gripped my wrist, and made my hand join his on the trigger.

"But," he whispered in my ear, "messes with my woman."

Bang—

The gunshot exploded.

The subordinate's body fell heavily to the ground, blood pouring from his head, spreading across the red carpet.

Warm blood splattered on my face.

My stomach churned, and cold sweat instantly soaked my back.

"Good girl." Michael pulled out a handkerchief and gently wiped the blood from my face. "From now on, if anyone gives you trouble, just come to me."

His fingers brushed across my cheek. "By the way, are the IVF results back yet?"

I stared at the body on the floor, a metallic sweetness rising in my throat.

If I said I wasn't pregnant...

Would I end up like him, lying in this pool of blood?

"I'm pregnant." I heard my own voice floating in the air. "The doctor just told me today."

Michael's eyes lit up.

He pulled me into his arms, so hard it felt like he wanted to merge me into his body. "That's wonderful, Olivia. This time, I'll protect you and the baby properly."

"I'll get you the best nanny right away." He released me and looked seriously into my eyes. "This pregnancy absolutely cannot have any problems."

Tears streamed down my face again.

If this were before, I would have cried tears of joy, thinking he truly loved me, truly looked forward to this child.

But now I knew.

What he looked forward to was Emily securing her position in the Phillips family.

What he was protecting was Henry's child.

And I was just a walking womb.

The nanny arrived the next day.

Her name was Aria Clark, in her forties, supposedly having cared for many wealthy families' children.

"Mrs. Johnson, this is borscht, very nutritious, especially good for pregnant women." Aria placed a bowl of borscht in front of me.

The soup was bright red.

That color stung my eyes.

Blood.

Blood everywhere.

Splattered on my face, pooled on the carpet, pouring from that innocent person's head...

"Ugh—"

I rushed to the bathroom and threw up violently.

"Mrs. Johnson?" Aria knocked on the door. "Are you alright?"

I held onto the sink, my stomach churning.

I could never eat anything red again.

Whenever I saw red, I thought of that pool of blood.

But I didn't dare tell Michael.

I was afraid he'd kill Aria.

Aria seemed to sense my resistance and became even worse.

"Mrs. Johnson, pregnant women can't be picky eaters."

"Mrs. Johnson, how are you going to take care of your baby if you act like this?"

At dinner, she prepared shrimp for me.

But I'm allergic to shrimp.

When I refused, she said, "Mrs. Johnson, you always have an excuse for everything. I'm going to have to let Mr. Johnson know."

Michael came home quickly.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his face dark. "Olivia, what are you playing at? Are you trying to starve the baby?"

"I'm not..." My voice was hoarse.

His fingers gripped my chin, so hard it hurt. "No wonder you lost the previous babies—turns out you never wanted to carry them to term!"

Those words stabbed into my heart like knives.

I'd miscarried twice before, each time devastating.

And now he was using that to accuse me.

"Open your mouth." He picked up the bowl. "I'll feed you."

"Michael, I really..."

"Open your mouth!"

He shoved the food into my mouth spoonful by spoonful.

My throat swelled, and breathing became harder and harder.

Everything started going black.

My last memory was Michael's panicked face and the urgent wail of an ambulance siren.