Chapter 2

I swallowed the metallic tang of blood surging in my throat and pushed open the apartment door.

Inside, it was warm and brightly lit.

Gemma was standing dead center in the living room, holding my mug.

She was wearing a pure white silk robe.

It was the bridal nightgown I had specially ordered from a Parisian haute couture atelier after finding out I was pregnant with the twins.

Because Dominic had promised me that once I had a child, his snobbish mother would finally agree to our marriage.

Seeing me return, Gemma immediately put on a fragile, flustered act.

"Stella, please don't misunderstand. Sophie is terrified of the smell of hospital disinfectant. Dom felt bad for us, so he brought us back here."

The sliding door to the kitchen opened.

Dominic walked out carrying a plate of freshly made pasta.

He didn't spare me a single glance, completely ignoring my paper-white face.

Gemma feigned friendliness, walking over as if to take my hand.

"Dom had two back-to-back board meetings today. He's exhausted. Stella, please don't make him angry."

Barely two steps in, her legs suddenly gave out.

Dominic reacted instantly, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her securely into his embrace.

Gemma lowered her eyes, her voice dripping with a calculated, victimized sweetness. "I should just take Sophie and leave. I don't want to upset Stella. After all... I'm just an outsider."

"You're not going anywhere."

Dominic released her and turned to look at me, issuing his edict with the tone of an absolute ruler.

"Sophie's condition requires top-tier care. Gemma and her daughter will be staying here for a few months."

A few months.

Our wedding was scheduled for next month.

He was actually demanding I surrender my bridal home to his "illegitimate daughter" and his old flame.

My heart twisted in agony. I met his gaze with a cold sneer.

"Forcibly draining my blood and killing my babies wasn't enough? Now you're bringing thieves into my home?"

"Dominic, do you even know what respect is?"

Dominic's eyes instantly iced over.

His deeply ingrained aristocratic arrogance flared up as he looked down at me.

"Stella, you owe me your very life. You eat my food, you live under my roof, and now you want to nitpick over this?"

"Your words are vile."

I closed my eyes. It felt like a massive, gaping hole had been torn in my chest, freezing wind howling through it.

I didn't waste another word on them, turning and retreating to the master bedroom.

Soon, Gemma's muffled sobs drifted from outside the door.

"Dom, it's so hard raising a child all alone. I'm afraid Stella won't tolerate us..."

Dominic's tone instantly softened into extreme tenderness.

"She's just acting out because I spoil her too much. She lost a little blood and now she's emotionally unstable."

"Ignore her. This is your home, too."

I leaned back against the freezing heavy door.

My nails dug so deeply into my palms that the pain eventually numbed entirely.

In the middle of the night, the post-surgical infection caused my temperature to spike into a high fever.

Trembling violently from the heat, I had no choice but to open the door and head to the living room for medication.

Just as I reached the hallway, I ran into Gemma blowing her hair dry with her back to me.

She was still wearing that bridal robe.

The words "Mrs. Astor," hand-embroidered in gold thread across the back, glared blindingly under the lights.

Dominic happened to walk over holding a glass of water.

Catching me looking at this scene, he didn't look the least bit guilty. Instead, he was entirely self-righteous.

"This was the only silk nightgown in the house with the tags still on. Sophie has sensitive skin; Gemma has to wear clean silk to hold her."

"I'll have my assistant buy you ten new ones tomorrow."

I withdrew my gaze, completely drained of the energy to even argue.

It wasn't until I started rummaging through the medicine cabinet that Dominic finally noticed my alarmingly high temperature.

Frowning, he immediately strode over to feed me water and pills, then brought an ice pack to press against my forehead.

His movements were practiced, brimming with gentleness.

"Be a good girl, Stella. Once the fever breaks, it won't hurt anymore."

He took care of me so naturally.

As if the man who pinned me down to drain my blood and killed my babies earlier today wasn't him at all.

As if there were no cracks between us whatsoever.

Until a childish call shattered this hypocritical peace.

"Daddy."

Dominic's hand, holding the ice pack, violently stiffened.

I followed the sound and looked over.

Sophie stood in the hallway, eyes heavy with sleep, clutching the limited-edition comfort bear I had bought.

And the room she just walked out of... was the nursery I had spent half a month painting with eco-friendly paint, eagerly preparing for my twins.

Dominic hurriedly lowered his voice, trying to cover it up.

"Sophie doesn't have a father. She's just overly dependent on me. It's just a title; don't be so sensitive."

I stared dead at the nursery door, my eyes bloodshot, my voice impossibly hoarse.

"There are three guest rooms in this apartment!"

"What gives you the right to let her sleep in the nursery I set up for my babies?!"

Dominic didn't answer me.

He bypassed me entirely, first scooping up a pouting, tearful Sophie, then turning back to comfort Gemma, who had come running out with red-rimmed eyes.

I felt like a hideous, wicked witch.

Completely ostracized by their "family of three."

After coaxing Gemma and her daughter back into the room, Dominic closed the door and coldly reprimanded me.

"Sophie likes the decor in that room."

"Stella, it's just a room. Even your life was saved by me. Why are you screaming at me over such a trivial matter?"

I suddenly let out a wretched laugh.

Why such a huge reaction?

Because every single thing in there, every stuffed animal, every crib, was supposed to belong to my babies!

I looked in absolute despair at this supremely arrogant man standing before me.

Reaching into my bag, my fingers brushed against the miscarriage certificate.

I had had enough of his controlling nature and self-righteousness.

I pulled out the paper, ready to slap it viciously across his hypocritical face.

"I think you should—"