Chapter 3
Clarice's POV
When Darius heard the news, wild ecstasy filled his eyes. He gently kissed my forehead, playing the role of the perfect, doting husband. "Clarice, we're having a baby. I'm going to give him the best of everything in this world."
But that fake warmth didn't even last twenty-four hours.
After Paloma’s wedding reception, Darius kicked our hotel suite door open, reeking of alcohol. He practically crawled onto the bed, pinning me down. His scorching breath hit my neck.
His strength was terrifying as he roughly tore at my silk nightgown.
"Paloma..." he murmured drunkenly, his eyes shut tight. "You heartless bitch. You dumped me just because I was poor?"
A bone-chilling horror struck me. I pushed him violently. "Darius, I'm Clarice! I'm pregnant! The doctor said my condition is unstable! Let go of me!"
He clamped both my hands above my head. He was completely hammered, deaf to anything I was saying. His calloused hand blindly grabbed the lower half of my face, forcing my eyes open.
"Shut up." He stared at me, a mocking sneer twisting his lips. "Clarice never says no. That woman spreads her legs for me every single time."
The words shattered my pride like a sledgehammer. Before I could fight back, he brutally ripped my nightgown apart.
A tearing, agonizing pain instantly ripped through my lower abdomen.
I thrashed wildly, my nails dragging bloody scratches down his back, but I couldn't move him an inch.
It wasn't until warm blood snaked down my inner thighs, staining the white sheets a sickening crimson, that the thick stench of iron finally cut through his drunken haze.
Darius froze. He looked down at the blinding, dark red pool. The alcohol drained from him instantly. His face went ashen.
"Clarice... No. Impossible. Doctor! Get a doctor!" He scrambled for his phone, his hands shaking so violently he couldn't even swipe the screen.
I stared blankly at the ceiling. The excruciating pain in my stomach was slowly taking that fragile little life away.
No tears. No hysterical screaming. I looked at this man who claimed to love me—this man who had just personally murdered our child. Inside my chest, there was nothing but dead, gray ash.
"Darius," my voice was entirely devoid of emotion. "You disgust me."
When I opened my eyes again, Darius was sitting by the hospital bed, his hands buried in his hair. He was sober now. Looking at the blood-stained sheets discarded in the corner, the ruthless Don of Calder City was trembling like a broken man.
"Clarice, I'm so sorry... I don't know what happened, I drank too much." He grabbed my hand, his eyes bloodshot, his tone pathetic. "We'll have another baby. Whatever you want, I'll give it to you to make it up. Okay?"
Watching his deep, affectionate performance only made my stomach churn. My heart had died with that pool of blood on the bed.
I coldly yanked my hand back, picked up my phone, and texted my lawyer, Callum Reed.
"Draft a divorce agreement. Immediately."
A nurse, Beatrix, pushed the door open. "Mr. Harlow, please step outside to sign the post-op D&C consent forms."
Darius nodded frantically and followed her out.
The second the door clicked shut, the bathroom door inside the clinic snicked open. Milo stepped out like a ghost, holding a bakery box.
"Clarice, you look terrible," he said, his eyes swimming in pity. "I brought you your favorite fig tart. God, why did you have to go through another miscarriage? He clearly can't protect you!"
"I'm allergic to figs. Paloma is the one who likes them." I looked at him like he was a clown.
Milo froze. The box slipped from his hands, smashing the pastries into the floor.
"Stop playing the devoted lover, Milo." My face was stone. "That sex tape back at Sedgwick wasn't an accidental leak. You recorded it, and you hand-delivered it to Paloma. Didn't you?"
