Chapter 3

Lennox's POV

The hospital corridor reeked of pungent disinfectant.

I sat on the plastic bench outside the ICU, covered head to toe in dried blood, like a lifeless, numb shell of a person.

Nana Mae had been in surgery for five hours now.

The doctors had issued two critical condition notices.

Intracranial hemorrhage, multiple fractures—for a woman in her seventies, every attempt to save her was a walk through death's door.

As for me, I had just come out of the emergency room in the OB-GYN department.

The doctor looked at my pale face, his tone stern.

"Mrs. Vance, you're showing signs of a threatened miscarriage. You must have complete bed rest and avoid any emotional distress. If you experience another shock like this, you will absolutely lose this baby."

I gently placed my hand on my flat stomach, feeling the faint flutter of life within.

Baby, I'm sorry. Mommy will protect you, I promise.

I took out my phone. The screen was clean—no missed calls, not a single message.

I dialed Declan's number.

"We're sorry, the number you have dialed is turned off."

I tried again. Same message.

I closed my eyes, that sickening wave of nausea churning in my stomach again.

At the end of the hallway, a nurse was comforting a family member who had broken down in tears—that same look of helpless, frantic worry that I must have had just a few hours ago.

But there was no one by my side.

I opened Instagram.

Sienna's account had posted an update ten minutes ago.

The photo showed a VIP room in some high-end private clinic.

There was a cute little band-aid on the back of Sienna's hand, and Declan's hand—the one wearing his Patek Philippe watch—was clasped tightly around hers.

The caption read: [No matter how difficult I am, he's always right there by my side the moment I'm scared. I guess this is what it feels like to be truly cherished.]

In the background of the photo, I could faintly make out my mother's diamond bracelet, carelessly tossed onto the nightstand.

My Nana Mae was hanging on by a thread.

My baby had almost slipped away.

And my husband was busy comforting a mistress who had nothing more than a scratch.

Suddenly, I found it hilarious.

I actually laughed out loud, right there in the empty hallway, laughing like a madwoman.

The family member sitting across from me flinched, scooting their chair further away.

I didn't blame them.

If I were someone else looking at me right now, I'd think I'd lost my mind too.

For him, I gave up the opportunity to study in Paris. For him, I stayed up all night drawing until my eyesight deteriorated. For him, I endured his mother's cold mockery, learning to become the perfect wife for a wealthy family.

I thought that if I was just good enough, he would eventually turn around and see me.

Now I finally understood—he had never truly loved me at all.

The ICU doors opened.

The doctor walked out, looking exhausted.

"Mrs. Vance, the surgery is over. The patient is temporarily out of immediate danger, but when she'll wake up remains uncertain. The follow-up treatment costs will be extremely high. You'll need to go to the payment counter to cover the remaining deposit."

"Thank you, doctor." I stood up calmly.

I didn't cry.

Tears were the most useless thing in this world.

I walked over to the payment counter and handed over the supplementary card Declan had given me.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, this card has been frozen." The cashier handed the card back to me, a hint of impatience in her voice. "There are people waiting behind you. Please use a different card."

I froze for a second.

Frozen.

Declan had frozen my living expenses to punish me for being "unreasonable."

The people in line behind me started whispering amongst themselves, their strange looks landing on my blood-stained pajamas.

In that moment, for the first time, I realized that something even more terrifying than losing your dignity was not even being allowed a shred of decency.

I took a deep breath and pulled out my last remaining personal savings card, draining every last cent to barely cover three days' worth of medical expenses.

I turned and walked toward the restroom.

Looking at the disheveled, blood-streaked woman in the mirror, I turned on the faucet and slowly, meticulously washed the blood off my face.

Washed the blood off my hands.

Washed away the last lingering trace of attachment I had for Declan in my heart, completely and thoroughly.

The woman in the mirror lifted her head, her eyes growing colder and harder by the second.

Three years ago, I thought marrying him was the best destination my life could ever have.

Three years later, I finally understood—from beginning to end, this marriage had been a one-woman show, performed by me alone.

I took out my phone and dialed a number.

It belonged to the coldest, most feared divorce attorney among New York's elite—Javier, the go-to lawyer for Declan's fiercest rival in the business world.

"Mr. Javier. This is Lennox. I want a divorce. I want Declan Sterling to walk away with absolutely nothing."