Chapter 2
When Lisbeth woke again, she was lying in a bed, her entire body aching and drained of strength.
Instinctively, her hand drifted to her stomach. It was flat. Empty.
Her voice came out shaking. "The baby—where's my baby?"
"Your baby is dead."
Adalyn's voice cut through the room like a cold blade.
Lisbeth whipped her head toward her and lunged, seizing the hem of Adalyn's clothes like a woman possessed. "You're lying! My baby was fine—you must have hidden it somewhere!"
She refused to believe it. Her eight-month baby, gone—just like that. Only yesterday she'd felt the kicks, had been counting down the days until she could hold that little life in her arms.
Adalyn shoved her away, a cruel smile curling at the corners of her lips. "Why would we want that bastard? Nicholas gave the order himself—to feed your baby to the dogs. After what you did, he hates you to the bone."
"No! I don't believe it!" Lisbeth clutched her head and wailed, then fixed her gaze on Adalyn, teeth clenched so hard they could crack. "You did this, didn't you? You forged those photos. You faked the paternity test. You killed my baby!"
"So what if I did?" Adalyn stared back, her eyes glacial. "Who's going to believe you? In Nicholas's eyes, you're nothing but a shameless whore. He'd be happier if you and that baby both dropped dead."
"I have to find my baby…" Lisbeth threw off the covers and tried to stand. The moment her feet touched the floor, her legs buckled. She crashed down hard, and the wound across her abdomen tore open. Blood soaked through the gauze instantly.
She clenched her jaw and grabbed the edge of the bed, trying to pull herself up. Her whole body trembled violently.
Adalyn stood over her, watching her struggle on the floor, then drove the stiletto heel of her shoe into Lisbeth's hand.
Lisbeth screamed. Adalyn grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head up.
"Lisbeth," Adalyn sneered, her face twisted with malice. "This is only the beginning. I'm going to teach you what happens to women who try to steal my man."
She raised her hand to slap Lisbeth—then caught a shadow in the doorway from the corner of her eye. Her hand froze mid-air, reversed direction, and struck her own cheek instead. She pressed her palm to her face, her voice crumbling into a teary whimper. "Lisbeth, I came to check on you out of the goodness of my heart—why did you hit me?"
Lisbeth stared at her, bewildered and lost. Before she could process what had just happened, a tall figure strode through the door and closed a hand around her throat. "Lisbeth! You dare lay a hand on Adalyn? Who gave you the right?"
Lisbeth lifted her gaze. Nicholas's face was contorted with fury. But something inside her had already turned to ash. A bitter smile twisted her lips. "You're always like this. You never believe me. Never."
"Why should I believe you?" Nicholas pulled out his phone and gripped the back of her neck, forcing her face toward the screen.
The video showed Lisbeth attacking Adalyn, then calling someone to assault her. On screen, Adalyn wept and begged. On screen, Lisbeth watched without a flicker of emotion.
"It's fake! That video is fake!" Lisbeth shook her head over and over, tears of despair streaming down her face.
Nicholas didn't hear a single word. He turned to the butler. "Call the police. Have this woman taken to the station."
He shoved Lisbeth aside, bent down to help Adalyn to her feet, and walked out without looking back.
Not once.
Lisbeth curled into a ball on the floor, her body devastated from childbirth, cold sweat covering every inch of her skin.
She didn't understand. What had she done wrong? Why was this happening to her?
She had only loved the wrong man.
One week later, Lisbeth sat hunched in a prison cell, wearing drab inmate clothes. Heavy shackles circled her ankles. The light in her eyes had gone out completely. She moved like the living dead.
Nicholas had put her behind bars. The original sentence was one year, but he'd pulled strings to extend it to three.
Since she'd been locked up, Nicholas hadn't visited once. Her hope, fragile at first, had slowly withered into nothing.
Nicholas's power in Empire City was absolute. Even the prison warden answered to him. It wasn't hard to imagine what kind of life she'd endured inside these walls.
At lunch, an inmate stuck out a foot and tripped her. Her food tray went flying, splattering all over her clothes.
"Well, well—isn't this Mrs. Stuart?" The woman's voice dripped with mockery. "How'd you end up eating with the rest of us?"
The others joined in the laughter. Lisbeth was the prison punchline.
She was used to it by now. Her face blank, she stood, bent down, and began picking up the scraps of food from the floor. The laughter only grew louder.
That night, the pain in her abdomen became unbearable. She lay curled on her bunk, moaning softly.
Her cellmate snapped. She swung off the top bunk and kicked Lisbeth hard. "Shut up! It's the middle of the night—you think anyone can sleep with all your whining?"
The commotion grew until a guard finally came. Seeing Lisbeth's face drained of color, she reluctantly took her to the hospital.
The doctor reviewed the test results and delivered the news without softening it. "Ms. Berkeley, you've been diagnosed with uterine cancer. It's late-stage. I'm afraid it's beyond treatment."
Lisbeth blinked. A muscle twitched at the corner of her mouth. "How long do I have?"
"A year at most," the doctor answered.
Lisbeth closed her eyes. Since her baby died, she'd lost any will to keep living. Maybe this was God's mercy—guiding her to her child sooner.
"Lisbeth…"
The door to the hospital room swung open. Elicia Ramirez, Lisbeth's mother, rushed to the bedside and seized her daughter's hand, tears already falling. "My sweet girl—what have they done to you?"
Lisbeth opened her mouth to speak. Her eyes filled instantly.
Elicia was the last soft place in her heart. She didn't want her mother to see her like this. She held Elicia's hand gently and forced a smile. "Mom, I'm fine. You and Dad just take care of yourselves. I'm sorry I couldn't be a better daughter…"
"Silly girl. Even now, you're saying things like that." Elicia wiped her tears and pulled Lisbeth into her arms. "Lisbeth, your father is working on getting you out. Just hold on a little longer. We're going to bring you home."
"Mom…"
Lisbeth finally broke. She buried her face in her mother's lap and let it all pour out—every shred of pain, every injustice, every moment of despair she'd swallowed in silence.
She cried for a long time. Until she had nothing left. Then she drifted into an exhausted sleep against Elicia's legs.
When she opened her eyes again, Elicia was gone. The room was empty.
She was alone.
"Mom?" Lisbeth called out tentatively. No answer.
She dragged herself out of bed and stumbled toward the door, searching for Elicia. But the moment she reached the threshold, the scene before her stopped her cold.
Elicia was on her knees in front of Nicholas, pressing her forehead to the floor again and again, weeping and begging. "Mr. Stuart! Please—drop the charges. She's not well. Her body can't survive this place…"
