Chapter 11

The surgical light flared; Ivy squinted. That pallid glare was the yacht’s searchlight all over again—exposing everything, even a person’s humiliation and despair.

The anesthetist rolled in a tray. “General or local anesthesia?”

“Neither,” Ivy said.

The anesthetist stared. No anesthesia? Everyone wanted to feel nothing. “I’m allergic to that,” Ivy added. It wasn’t a lie, she was a little allergic to the anesthesia, not so sever. Besides, she wanted to stay awake—to remember exactly what this pain felt like. To remember what that man had done to her.

“It will hurt,” the anesthetist warned. “Are you sure?” “I am.” “Then we’ll need restraints.” “Okay.”

The table was ice-cold, like that lake swallowing her chest and breath. “Relax,” someone said. As if anyone could.

Disinfectant fumes burned her nose. The dilator entered—her body felt ripped open. Metal clinked.

The first scrape made her jackknife with a strangled cry; the monitor shrieked alarms. “Hold her!” Two nurses pinned her shoulders.

“Too much bleeding—start a transfusion. She’s RH negative—tell the blood bank to prep more.” Warm fluid slid into her vein—warming nothing.

The second stroke drove pain into her bones. Her teeth chattered; they put a bite block between them. “Almost there—hold on,” a nurse murmured, wiping the cold sweat running down her temples.

The third stroke turned the light to a blur. She saw Landon raising a knife over her chest. She shut her eyes. The monitor went wild; her blood pressure plunged.

“Pause the surgery!” “No…” Ivy clamped the doctor’s wrist, nails biting skin. “Continue. I can take it.”

Fourth. Fifth. Sixth. She could hear the metal rasp against her womb, a blade on bone, her soul fraying.

A final ping in the tray. “We’re done,” the doctor said—a choir to her ears. It was finally over.

Two thin lines of tears slipped from Ivy’s closed eyes. They transferred her to a wheelchair. Voices trailed behind: “Why is no one here for her?” “She wouldn’t let us call family—must be heartbroken.” “Men have the fun; women pay the price.”

She slumped in the chair. The elevator doors slid shut; her face in the mirrored steel was white as paper, stray hair stuck to her temples—someone dragged back from the edge.

Her phone was missing. Landon Moore wouldn’t look for her anyway.

After a week, she was discharged and went back to the Hayes house. Mrs. Hayes told her the household registry and tickets were ready. Her sister was already on her way back. In two days, Mrs. Hayes would bring Grandma from the nursing home straight to the airport. They would meet there.

Before she left, Mrs. Hayes asked her to write down everything her sister needed to know. Then Ivy returned to the Moore estate.

The house was quiet. Auntie Sue brightened when she saw Ivy. “Ma’am, where have you been? Sir wouldn’t say. He left the country with Miss Lynn—to handle her graduation, I think. Oh—he brought your phone back. I’ll get it.”

“Thank you,” Ivy said. “I’m tired—going to rest.” The staff treated her better than Landon ever had.

In her room she powered on the phone. A stack of messages from Landon waited:

【I’m sorry. I’m so sorry】

【Rowan says he’ll send you back once you’re healed】

【Chloe, to make it up to you, let’s have a wedding next week. I want everyone to know you’re my wife】

Mrs. Moore, the grand title. What a joke. Stabbed, humiliated—whoever holds that title is cursed. But her sister would like it. Ivy typed a single reply:

【Okay】

She told Mrs. Hayes as well, who was delighted. A perfect chance for her sister’s return.

That night Ivy curled up in bed and wrote a journal for her sister—so she wouldn’t slip up.

【Landon Moore】

Birthday: Oct 28 (Scorpio). Blood type: AB.

Drinks one black coffee every morning, no sugar, at 55°C. Sometimes tolerates a sugarless latte. Hates pure milk. Hates desserts.

Prefers single malt whiskey. Favorite cars: black Maybach and Hummer. Only wears bespoke suits; collars must stay crisp.

【Daily Routine】

Up at 6:30 a.m. Prepare 300 ml warm water. One hour workout, then shower. At 7:30, run a full bath—he likes it cool, around 24°C. Breakfast after bathing, around 8:00. Prefers Western breakfast, Chinese occasionally. Leaves for the office at 9:00 sharp. If no lunch meetings, only eats the meal sent from home. Needs total dark and quiet to sleep. Separate bedrooms; do not disturb after 11 p.m.

【Health】

Chronic gastritis—always flares after social drinking. Keep omeprazole and warm honey water ready. No matter how late he’s out, pick him up yourself—he gets mad if only the driver goes. Allergens: mango and dust mites. Keep the bedroom and closet spotless. Avoid mangoes.

【Absolute No’s】

Never touch his phone. Password is Shannon Lynn’s birthday. Never badmouth Shannon or his parents.

【Key Dates】

Feb 14: order white roses for Shannon Lynn. May 7: Shannon’s birthday—may require a party. His own birthday doesn’t matter.

She closed the journal, smiling faintly. She emailed the rest to her sister’s inbox—hoped sister could see the suffering she had endured, be on guard against Shannon and never fell in love with Landon.

After all, they were sisters. The dark was almost over. Dawn was close.