Chapter 5

Watching the scene before me, it felt as if my heart were being torn open by human hands.

The two sons I had fought to bring into this world used their own hands, right in front of me, to push Lydon into another woman’s arms.

And he didn’t release Agnes for a long while after kissing her; a silvery thread of intimacy still bridged their lips.

Agnes’s cheeks flamed as she lowered her head in bashfulness.

“Sorry,” his voice was slightly hoarse. “I just lost my footing for a second.”

Then he turned a stern face toward Kay and Chuck. “Why are you two fooling around?”

The words were harsh, but I knew him too well—he was more satisfied with that kiss than anyone.

He glanced at me again, as if to explain, “That was an accident. The kids were messing around. Don’t take it to heart.”

I shook my head calmly. “I don’t mind.”

And I truly didn’t—not anymore.

Because I didn’t want any part of this trio of father and sons anymore.

After we got off the Ferris wheel, we went to watch the float parade. Night dazzled; amid laughter and cheers, the floats rolled slowly past.

Just then, the horses drawing the float were suddenly spooked and bolted, screaming toward the crowd!

“Watch out!”

In the chaos, I saw Lydon and the two children throw themselves over Agnes first, shielding her tightly beneath them.

I, meanwhile, stood where I was and was slammed down hard by the surging crowd.

“Ah—!”

An explosion of pain—hooves crashed into my ribs; the wheels ran over my legs.

I heard the sound of bones snapping clearly.

Everything went dark. I passed out completely.

…

When I woke again, the ward was deathly quiet.

I struggled to push myself up; the pain in my ribs and legs drove cold sweat from my pores.

I reached for the phone at my bedside to check the time.

The screen lit up; on the lock screen, an Instagram notification popped up—

Agnes had posted a photo.

Lydon and the two children were gathered around her hospital bed: one holding warm water, one holding medicine, and he was gently pulling her covers up.

Caption: [Being loved feels wonderful.]

I tugged at the corner of my lips and set down the phone.

The doctor pushed the door open and came in, flipping through my test results. “Miss, you’ve fractured three ribs, and there’s a tibial crack in your left leg. You need to be observed in the hospital for a few days.” He glanced around. “Where’s your family? We’ll need a family signature.”

I said evenly, “I don’t have any family.”

In the days that followed, the room remained empty and echoing. The nurses’ eyes were full of pity; now and then they secretly slipped me an extra box of painkillers.

It wasn’t until the day I was discharged that he finally showed up, late as ever.

“Agnes was frightened and couldn’t be left alone these few days,” he said blandly. “How’s the recovery? Do you need to stay a few more days? I can bring the kids to look after you.”

I shook my head. “No. Don’t let me keep you.”

His brows knit slightly.

In the past, if he could spare even an hour to be with me, I’d be happy for a long time. Now I was turning him down of my own accord?

He didn’t think much of it. He simply told the driver to head for a haute couture salon in central Paris.

Under the brilliant lights of the boutique, he held up dress after dress against me for size.

I thought he meant to compensate me and said softly, “There’s no need. I don’t like any of these…”

“—Don’t like what?” he cut me off. “It’s almost Agnes’s birthday. I want to custom a most perfect dress for her.”

He looked me over. “You and she have about the same figure. I brought you to try the sizes.”

I laughed.

Laughed at myself for being sentimental—and laughed at how perfectly he knew where to stab me so it would hurt the most.

For the next three hours I was like a puppet. He moved me about and had me try on dress after dress.

In the end, he chose a mermaid gown studded all over with crushed diamonds.

“This one.”

When we got home, he tossed me a paper bag. “Picked this up for you.”

I glanced at it. It was the boutique’s freebie for that couture gown—a plain black dress with a tag that read “Free with Purchase.”

I took it and answered with a flat “Mm.”

Back in my room, I dropped it straight into the trash.