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My Long Lost Sister Was My Husband's Mistress
NovelShort
Hoàn thành
"Congratulation, Mrs. Holmes! Your baby is perfectly healthy." The doctor smiled warmly, then added with a hint of caution, "But you must be very careful. If you lose this eighth child... you may neve...
Chương (9)
第1章
"Congratulation, Mrs. Holmes! Your baby is perfectly healthy."
The doctor smiled warmly, then added with a hint of caution, "But you must be very careful. If you lose this eighth child... you may never be able to conceive again."
My heart leapt. Clutching the prenatal report, I hurried to the office, my hands trembling with excitement.
Today was our eighth wedding anniversary.
Our baby—also eight months along—was the best gift I could ever give my husband, Weston.
In one hand, I held the medical report; in the other was a billion-dollar contract I had just secured for his company.
I wanted to surprise him.
But just as my fingers brushed the door handle, a familiar, honeyed voice stopped me cold.
"Weston, for your sake, my sister has already lost seven babies. Are you really willing to let her lose the eighth one too?"
My long-lost sister, Patricia, was sitting on my husband's lap, her arms looped around his neck.
"Mm," he murmured, his tone low and tender. "The doctor said that as long as we take the umbilical cord blood from her eighth child, your body will recover completely. After that, I'll give her another baby."
"Besides," he added, brushing her hair aside, "you're already pregnant. The rightful heir of the Holmes family can only be our child."
A deafening buzz filled my ears. My mind went blank.
For Patricia's sake... my husband had planned to kill our baby?
I froze where I stood, biting my lip so hard I tasted blood.
This couldn't be true...
Just this morning, Weston had rested his hand on my belly, whispering softly to our child, telling me how much he looked forward to becoming a father.
No. He wouldn't... he couldn't...
But memories of my past miscarriages flooded back like a nightmare I could never escape.
The first child was just three months old.
We were at the hospital for a checkup when one of his enemies ambushed him. I shielded him from the attack and lost the baby.
The second time, he hired bodyguards to protect me around the clock. But a runaway truck rammed into my car on my way home.
I spent three days in the ICU, and when I woke up, the baby was gone.
The third time was when his company was about to go public. I told him I was pregnant, and he held me so tightly I could hardly breathe. He swore he'd protect me no matter what.
But then, he was dragged into a gang war.
I led my own people into the fight and saved him—at the cost of our child and nearly my life.
Every time I miscarried, Weston knelt before me in tears, blaming himself.
And every time, I comforted him, telling him it wasn't his fault—that it was just fate.
But now I knew.
He already told me the truth. I had just been too blind to see it.
Hot tears streamed down my cheeks, my chest tightening until I could barely breathe. I clenched my fists and took shaky breaths, trying not to fall apart.
Inside the office, Patricia rested her head on his chest, tracing circles on his shirt with her finger.
"Weston," she murmured, feigning hesitation, "the doctor said if my sister loses another baby, she might never be a mother again. That's too cruel for her. Maybe we should just forget it. Don't save me."
Her teary eyes made his heart ache.
"No, Patricia," he said firmly, "you're the most important person in my life."
"Denise stole everything that should have been yours. If she loses the ability to have children, that's only fair. Compared to what you've suffered, it's nothing."
"Besides, she already has everything—wealth, status, my name. What more could she possibly want?"
His cold words pierced through me like knives.
Eight years of love, of fighting side by side, of sharing every joy and sorrow—and in his eyes, I was nothing but a greedy, ungrateful woman.
He knew how much I longed to be a mother. He knew I'd trade everything just to protect this child.
And still, he was the one who destroyed my dream.
Weston, how cruel can you be?
My heart shattered completely.
"Weston, I love you," Patricia whispered tearfully. "As long as you're by my side, nothing else matters."
Her lips brushed his throat, her hands sliding over his body.
"Patricia, you're pregnant... we shouldn't..." he murmured hoarsely, his breath growing ragged.
"The doctor said after three months, it's fine."
On hearing that, all his restraint vanished. He tore off her clothes and kissed her fiercely, their muffled moans filling the office.
I gripped the doorknob so tightly that my knuckles turned white, fighting the urge to burst in and confront him.
If he truly loved my sister, why did he marry me in the first place?
And he was my child's biological father, how could he bear to kill his own flesh and blood with his own hands?
But reason held me back.
I couldn't let them hurt my baby. Not again.
With trembling hands, I recorded their betrayal through the small crack in the door, then quietly turned away.
Only when I reached the car did my composure crumble.
At eighteen, the Holmes family found me and claimed I was their long-lost daughter. At first, I didn't want to return—but then, I saw Weston, their foster son, and fell hopelessly in love.
He blamed my return for driving Patricia, their "fake" daughter, out of the house.
But I never cared about her.
My adoptive father was far more powerful than the Holmes, and they only wanted me back to curry favor with him. Sending Patricia away was just a show of loyalty.
I didn't care. I only wanted Weston.
I gave him everything—my love, my loyalty, my family's influence—until he became the richest man in the city.
The billion-dollar contract in my hands would have secured his empire forever.
Now, it just felt like the cruelest joke.
After crying until my chest hurt, I wiped my tears and ripped the contract in half.
My hand moved to my belly. I could feel the faint rhythm of life within.
"Baby," I whispered softly, "since your father doesn't love you, Mommy will find you a new one."
I pulled out my phone and dialed a familiar number overseas.
"Dad," I said, voice trembling but resolute, "I agree to the arranged marriage. Please help me divorce Weston."
A sigh came from the other end.
"Denise, I've warned you. The Holmes family and Weston are both rotten to the core. Your birth parents abandoned you on purpose—how dare they later claim they 'lost' you by accident?"
Hearing the concern in his voice, I choked back a sob.
"I know, Dad. I was wrong. But I'll make them pay for what they did to me."
My adoptive father immediately sent his assistant, Mr. Lenon, to handle things.
"Miss," Assistant Lenon said, "we've already begun collecting evidence of Weston's crimes. The divorce agreement is being drafted as we speak."
I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down.
Then I pulled out my makeup kit, concealing my swollen eyes.
Before I left him forever, I couldn't afford to let Weston see even a crack in my mask.
第2章
When I came home exhausted, I was met by a familiar embrace.
"Wife, you're finally back. Look—today's maternity meal, I made it myself."
"I had an emergency meeting and missed your prenatal check. I'm sorry."
Weston pressed a guilty kiss to my forehead. The memory of the office scene curdled my stomach; I slipped out of his arms without a word.
From the corner of my eye I caught the spread on the table and felt my nausea flare again. I forced a calm expression and said lightly, "I don't feel well. I want to rest."
"What's wrong? Are you upset?" His brows creased with concern, puzzled by my coldness.
"Don't be mad," he hurried on, eager to change the mood. "There's a surprise I prepared for you." He led me down the hall and pushed open the nursery door.
"Wife, look—I decorated the baby room just the way you like."
The walls were covered in warm, light-blue wallpaper.
A small crib stood in the center, surrounded by toys and framed photos of the three of us—a picture of what should've been a happy family.
"For our child?" I asked, my voice steady, my expression void of emotion as I looked at him.
"Of course," he replied quickly. "Wife, who else could it be for... besides our child?"
But as he spoke, a flicker of guilt flashed in his eyes.
A bitter smile tugged at my lips.
Blue... that had always been Patricia's favorite color.
Weston, you truly are a hypocrite.
"Wife, there's another surprise," he said hurriedly, as if to divert my attention. He reached into his coat and drew out a small velvet box.
"Look," he said proudly, opening it. "This bracelet has a safety lock. I paid a fortune for it—to protect you and the baby."
He gently clasped it around my wrist, utterly unaware of the chill in my expression.
From the moment I saw it, I recognized the design. It wasn't something you could simply buy—it was a limited-edition jewelry piece, meant to be a gift.
And just this morning, I'd seen that exact necklace glinting around Patricia's neck.
So that's what I was worth in Weston's heart—only fit to receive the scraps Patricia didn't want.
A bitter smile tugged at my lips. In that moment, I gave up on this hypocritical man completely.
I withdrew my hand and reached into my bag, pulling out a folder. "Before you go on pretending," I said evenly, "sign this contract first."
He blinked, surprised. "What's this…?"
"The billion-dollar contract I mentioned," I replied smoothly.
The excitement in his eyes was immediate. "You got it? That's amazing!" He flipped it open eagerly, but before he could read a single line, his phone rang.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the caller's name—Sweetheart.
Patricia.
Weston's eyes flickered nervously. Without another word, he scrawled his signature across the bottom of the page.
"Wife, something urgent came up at the company. I'll handle it first." He grabbed his coat and hurried out.
As the door clicked shut, I calmly pulled another document from the folder—the divorce agreement.
He still doesn't realize what he just signed.
A special clause was included: since the husband committed adultery, all marital assets would belong solely to the wife.
My gaze fell to his signature, perfectly penned at the bottom. A slow, triumphant smile spread across my lips.
Weston, I was the one who raised you up—and I'll be the one to pull you down.
You will pay the price.
第3章
Weston didn't come home that night.
The next morning, I was woken by the shrill ring of my phone. It was Assistant Lenon.
"Miss, Weston has erased every trace of his crimes too cleanly. We can't find any evidence against him!"
My tone remained calm. "What do you need me to do?"
"We discovered a personal computer in Mr. Weston's study. It might contain something useful…"
"Alright," I replied after a pause. "Pick me up in a week."
I ended the call and turned toward the study—only to be interrupted by another call, this one even more urgent.
"Denise, help!"
The voice on the other end trembled—it was my biological mother, Vivian.
"Mom? What happened?" My heart skipped a beat as I gripped the phone tightly.
"Your mother owes five million in gambling debts," a man's rough voice interrupted. "Bring the money if you want her alive! And listen carefully—come alone. If you call the cops, I'll send her straight to hell!"
The line went dead.
I didn't have time to think. I immediately sent someone to prepare the cash.
Even though I hadn't grown up with the Holmes—and I knew they only brought me back for their own gain—blood was still blood. I couldn't just stand by.
No matter what she'd done, she was still my mother. Saving her was the least I could do to repay the life she'd given me.
When the money was ready, I drove to the location the kidnappers had given me. It was an unfinished building on the outskirts of town.
By the time I reached the top floor, I was out of breath—clutching the heavy bag of cash and the weight of my pregnancy.
"Denise! You came! I knew my daughter would save me!" My mother's tear-streaked face lit up with relief.
I set the bag down and looked coldly at the kidnappers. "Five million, not a cent short. Now release her."
After checking the money, they untied her. My mother stumbled forward and clung to me—but the next words out of her mouth made my blood run cold.
"I'll have you all arrested! My daughter is the wife of the Holmes Group's president! My son-in-law won't let you off!"
My heart sank instantly.
The last thing I needed was for them to know who I was.
Sure enough, the leader's eyes lit up at the name. He looked me over, his expression twisting with greed.
"Holmes Group's president's wife? No wonder you could hand over five million so easily. I bet Mr. Holmes would pay ten times that for his precious wife and unborn child. How about it, Mrs. Holmes? Let's make it a hundred million this time."
"Bastards! You're all liars—greedy scum!" my mother screamed. "When my son-in-law finds out, he'll—"
Before she could finish, I grabbed her hand and ran for the exit while they were distracted. My people were waiting downstairs—if we could just make it there, we'd be safe.
"Stop them!" the kidnapper shouted. "Those two bitches are trying to run! You're dead!"
Gunfire exploded behind us.
Vivian shrieked and clung to my arm. I was already struggling under the weight of my pregnancy and the adrenaline; my body felt like it could give out at any second.
Then, just as the exit came into view, she stumbled.
"Mom!" I reached for her—but a hard shove slammed into my back.
I lost my balance and tumbled down the stairs.
"No!"
Instinctively, I wrapped my arms around my stomach.
The world spun violently, then stopped with a brutal impact—my abdomen smashed against a jagged concrete slab.
A searing pain tore through me.
I felt the baby inside me kick once, faintly, as if saying a final goodbye.
Warm blood soaked through my clothes, spreading fast. The memories of all those lost pregnancies crashed back like waves.
"No... baby... please... don't leave me again..."
I pressed my hands desperately to my stomach, trying to hold onto what I was already losing. But the blood wouldn't stop. My vision blurred, darkened.
I curled up on the cold ground, sobbing in agony.
"Wife! Are you okay?!"
Weston's voice broke through the ringing in my ears. He ran toward me, his face drained of color. When he saw the blood, he pulled me into his arms, shouting, panicked, "Hold on! You'll be fine! I swear you'll be fine!"
I wanted to answer—but the world faded to black before I could speak.
第4章
"Weston, are you sure this won't endanger Denise's life?"
Inside the ambulance, Vivian looked at my pale, bloodless face and finally broke the silence.
"Relax, Mom," Weston replied calmly, his tone disturbingly cold. "I've handled her miscarriages before, haven't I? I know what I'm doing."
He said it like he was discussing a business transaction, not a life.
"Besides," he continued indifferently, "Patricia is also the daughter you raised for eighteen years. You can't be this biased. She's dying, yet all you worry about is Denise?"
Vivian frowned, glancing at me on the stretcher before lowering her voice.
"Biased? Do you even know why I brought Denise back in the first place?" she said, her tone tinged with panic. "It's because Patricia has a rare blood disease, and only Denise's blood type matches hers!"
"I worked so hard to find and bring her home," she went on, "not to make up for lost years—but to make her Patricia's walking blood bank!"
She grew more agitated as she spoke. "If something happens to Denise now, what will we do about Patricia?"
"Enough," Weston cut her off sharply. "Even if that's true, you shouldn't have forced me to marry her."
"That's because... because—" Vivian faltered, a flicker of something complicated flashing through her eyes. Whatever she wanted to say, she swallowed it back down.
In the end, she only left two cold warnings.
"I don't care what happens between you and Patricia. First, Denise must live. Second, she must never learn the truth."
Weston's lips curved into a faint, mocking smile. "And what if she does? What can she possibly do—leave me?"
Under An's mother's furious glare, Weston finally nodded, saying nothing more.
Neither of them noticed the slight tremor of my eyelashes on the stretcher, or the single tear that silently slid down my cheek.
Even when I once learned that Vivian had gifted Patricia a luxury villa and an unlimited black card, I merely smiled faintly. After all, she had raised Patricia for eighteen years—how could she not love her?
And since I returned to the Holmes family, Vivian had done everything to "improve" our relationship.
I had foolishly believed she wanted to make up for the motherly affection I'd missed. But it turned out she only wanted to keep her other daughter alive.
The monthly blood donations, even during pregnancy, weren't out of kindness or care. They were sacrifices—for Patricia.
Denise, you are truly foolish.
I mocked myself silently
For abandoning the foster father who gave me unconditional love...For returning to a mother who only saw me as a tool...For cherishing a husband who never cherished me...For loving a man so deeply that even my child had to suffer for it.
Overnight, I lost my baby, my husband, and my mother.
The wound in my heart was torn open once again. If felt as if salt had been ruthlessly rubbed into it—pain so sharp I could barely breathe.
As I drifted into uneasy sleep, I saw a vision.
A little boy stood at the gate of heaven, waving at me with a bright, innocent smile.
"Mom, I'm leaving," he said softly. "Don't worry. I'm just going to find my brothers and sisters."
His small voice trembled with warmth. "Mom, don't cry, okay? You have to be happy."
Before I could reach him, he turned and climbed the radiant stairway where several children waited with open arms.
"No! Baby! Don't go!" I screamed, running after him—but the light disappeared, and I fell into darkness.
"Don't!"
I jolted awake with a gasp, drenched in cold sweat, only to find myself lying in a hospital bed.
"Denise, it's alright," Weston's hoarse voice murmured beside me. "We'll have another child."
His red eyes and trembling hands only made the emptiness inside me grow deeper.
My trembling hand touched my belly.
Once round and full of life—now utterly flat.
"My child...my baby…"
Disbelief, pain, and despair surged through me all at once.
"Ah—!"
My scream tore through the sterile ward.
"Denise, I'm sorry...I'm so sorry…"
An's mother held my hand tightly, her face full of guilt and false tears.
But her apology only deepened the knife in my heart.
The memory of their conversation in the ambulance echoed in my ears—and I knew none of it was remorse.
"Get out! Both of you!" I screamed, grabbing anything within reach and hurling it at them.
Weston shielded An's mother, his voice soft and gentle. "Denise, please, don't be like this. You still have us."
"Go away! Go away!"
Seeing that I refused to listen, they finally left—leaving behind nothing but the sound of my broken sobs echoing through the empty ward.
第5章
The next day I lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
A soft knock at the ward door broke the silence. "Sister, I heard you had a miscarriage. I came to see you."
At the doorway stood Patricia, one hand resting lightly on her slightly rounded belly as she studied me with exaggerated concern. Weston hovered beside her, fidgeting nervously.
"Denise, Patricia is pregnant. Please don't be like you were yesterday..." he said, worry heavy in his voice.
My gaze locked on her belly. Patricia seemed startled by my stare and took an involuntary step back.
"Don't scare her," Weston scolded, frowning as he tried to smooth things over.
"Is the baby in her belly yours?" I asked, cold and steady.
For a moment both their faces were drained of color.
"No...of course not…" Weston stammered, his gaze darting away.
Patricia's eyes reddened and she stepped forward, clutching at the explanation like a rescue line. "Sister, please don't misunderstand Brother-in-law. I only thought—after what happened, the doctor said you might never be able to have children again...I just wanted to give you my child to raise when the baby is born, so you and Brother-in-law won't be so sad."
Weston cleared his throat, trying to reassure me. "Denise, Patricia meant well... Perhaps—"
"Let's separate." I cut him off before he could finish. "I'm tired. I won't play along anymore."
"If you loved each other so much, fine. Then have each other."
A flash of delight lit Patricia's face for a beat, then it was gone.
Weston's pupils narrowed. "W-what did you say?" He took a step toward me but stopped dead at the sound of Patricia's sudden sob.
"Sister, I'm sorry! I shouldn't have come back. It's my fault—I'll go now!" she wailed, and fled the room.
Weston hesitated, then looked at me with a soft, pleading expression. "Denise, I know you're grieving, but don't say things you don't mean. If you don't want to raise Patricia's child, fine—don't say that in anger. Wait until you recover, and we can have another baby later."
After saying that, he left in a hurry, unaware of the cold smile curling at my mouth.
I wasn't angry, but eerily calm. Countless thoughts swirled in my mind as I pulled out my phone and called Assistant Lenon.
"Send that billion-dollar contract to the Lane Group as my dowry," I said. "Let it be my wedding gift."
The Lane Group had always been Weston's greatest rival. Without my adoptive father's covert support over the years, Weston's company would've been devoured long ago. Now, I would cut off his last escape.
Over the next few days, Weston returned often, practically glued to my side. However, I ignored him like air.
On the day I was discharged, he personally drove me home. The villa looked newly redecorated;
I frowned as we stepped inside. Suddenly Patricia appeared from the bedroom—wearing my pajamas.
"Denise, Patricia is pregnant. I was worried about her living alone, so I brought her here. You won't be angry, right?" Weston asked cautiously.
Patricia cowered behind him like a frightened rabbit. "Sister, please don't kick me out."
Watching them exchange those small, intimate glances made my skin crawl.
Expressionless, I nodded then went to my room and started packing.
When I opened the wardrobe, I found a neat stack of tiny baby clothes tucked in the corner. Each shirt had been made with my own hands.
My throat tightened. I had prayed in temples until my voice was hoarse for this child's safe delivery—I had even promised to offer ten years of my life if only the baby could be born safely.
The abbot had seen my sincerity and told me to sew one hundred garments and place them before the shrine for consecration. I had done it all.
"Baby, I'm sorry," I whispered into the fabric, burying my face and sobbing softly. "Mommy... couldn't protect you."
Without warning, Patricia stood in my doorway, smiling sweetly as she picked up one of the tiny shirts. "Sister, these little clothes are beautiful—can I have this one?"
"Put it down." My voice was icier than I intended.
Her smile faltered, and tears immediately welled up in her eyes. "Sorry, sis, I was just curious."
She grabbed my arm suddenly and gripped it hard. "Do you hate me so much? Don't make me leave... please don't hurt my baby."
"Let go!" I flung her hand off and in the struggle, she stumbled and fell to the floor.
"If you don't like me, I'll go. Just—please don't hurt my child!" Patricia sobbed. Weston burst into the room.
"What happened?" he demanded.
"Brother-in-law," Patricia cried, "I only wanted to look at these clothes, but my sister said my baby was the reason for her miscarriage! She pushed me down!"
Weston's face darkened inch by inch. I said nothing; I only watched him, composed and cold.
"Denise," he said at last, tone hard, "I know you're hurting over your loss, but you cannot take it out on a pregnant woman. If this happens again—even though you are my wife—I won't indulge you."
He scooped Patricia up and left. As the door closed, she shot me a triumphant little smile.
She thought she had won. She didn't know how wrong she was.
I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
When the time came, I would make them pay a price they wouldn't forget.
第6章
In the days that followed, it was as if they were deliberately punishing me.
Everywhere I turned, I would "accidentally" stumble upon their moments of intimacy—Weston feeding Patricia tenderly, massaging her hands and swollen feet, or gently applying pregnancy oil to her growing belly.
Sometimes, at night, I would hear him whisper stories to the child in her womb—the same stories he used to tell to my unborn baby.
They looked like the perfect, loving couple, eagerly awaiting their child's arrival.
And I...simply watched in silence. Only waiting for the right moment to strike.
I knew Weston kept something in his study—something that could expose everything he had done.
Finally, one day, my opportunity came. Weston had gone out, and the house fell silent.
I slipped quietly into his study, turned on his computer, and began searching.
When I finally found the evidence I needed, I shut the device and turned to leave.
Just as I was about to head back to my room, a faint burnt smell made me stop in my tracks.
I followed it and turned the corner—only to see Patricia standing by the brazier, tossing something into the flames.
"What are you doing?" I demanded, my brows knitting in suspicion.
Patricia turned, her face painted with that sickeningly gentle smile.
"Sister, I know how sad you've been since the miscarriage. I was afraid these baby clothes would make you even sadder, so...I'm helping you let go."
As she spoke, she flicked her wrist and threw the last tiny piece of fabric into the fire.
"No!"
I lunged forward, shoving my hand into the flames, desperate to save what I could. By the time I pulled back, all that remained was a charred scrap of fabric.
After losing my child, those little clothes were all I had left.
Every night, I slept with them beside my pillow. Now, even that last thread of comfort was gone.
I clutched the scorched cloth to my chest, tears falling heavily onto the ashes.
"Sister, what's wrong? I only did this for your own good," Patricia said, stroking her belly with mock innocence, though pride glimmered behind her eyes.
Her false sweetness made my blood boil. My hand moved before I could think—slap!
"You... you dare hit me?" she gasped, disbelief etched across her face—then, suddenly, she laughed.
"So you've found out, haven't you?" she hissed. "You know how all your children died?"
Her voice was low, venomous. She seized my burned hand and squeezed until pain shot through my fingers.
"It's not enough, Denise. You've lost too little." Her voice was venomous, her eyes twisted with hatred. "I'll make sure you lose everything."
The pain in my fingers was unbearable. I wrenched my hand free with all my strength.
"Ah!"
Patricia screamed as she lost her balance and tumbled backward down the stairs.
"Patricia!"
Weston's voice roared through the hall just as he walked in. He rushed forward and caught her limp body at the bottom of the staircase.
Through trembling lips, Patricia sobbed, "Sister...why did you push me?"
The world froze.
When I lifted my gaze, I met Weston's. His expression was dark, thunderclouds gathering behind his eyes.
I knew that look too well—it was the same one he wore before he destroyed anyone who crossed him.
I backed away, trembling. "I didn't...she tried to burn the baby clothes I made...I just wanted to stop her."
"You know how important those clothes were to me…" My voice cracked. "I didn't push her—she fell by herself!"
But Weston was already consumed by rage.
"Just a few scraps of fabric are more important to you than your sister's life?" he snarled. "Do you even know she's pregnant? How could you be so cruel?"
"Didn't I warn you never again?"
I tried to step back, but before I could move, Weston's hand shot out—pushing me hard.
"No!"
My body hit the stairs, pain exploding through me. My abdomen throbbed violently—the old wound had torn open.
Warm blood spread beneath my hands. My face turned pale as the world blurred.
But the pain in my body was nothing compared to the agony in my heart—watching the man I once loved become my enemy.
"Weston…" My voice trembled as tears streaked down my cheeks. "I really regret it...I regret ever loving you."
For a moment, Weston froze, holding Patricia tightly in his arms. But he still didn't turn around.
He walked away without a backward glance.
I dragged myself out of the villa, each step heavier than the last, until my strength gave out and I collapsed on the roadside, unconscious.
第7章
I didn't know how long I had been unconscious when the sharp, sterile scent of disinfectant slowly pulled me back to reality.
The moment I tried to move, a stabbing pain tore through my abdomen, instantly reminding me of everything that had happened.
The doctor, noticing I was awake, hesitated before stepping closer. His eyes held a pity that chilled me to the bone.
"Mrs. Holmes, I'm afraid I have some bad news. Because of your previous miscarriage and the gunshot injury to your uterus—combined with the severe bleeding this time—the situation was critical. To... to save your life..."
He hesitated, lowering his gaze.
"We had no choice but to remove your uterus."
His words hit me like a bolt of lightning. My mind went blank.
"What... what did you just say?"
My pupils dilated as I stared at his moving lips, unable to register the sound.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Holmes. If you had been brought in sooner, perhaps we could have saved it, but..."
His voice faded into a blur.
Tears filled my eyes, blurring my vision.
My heart, which had already gone numb, clenched painfully again.
How could this be happening?
Was this God's punishment for loving the wrong man?
I shook my head violently, tears spilling down my cheeks, refusing to accept the truth.
Just then, the ward door burst open with a deafening crash.
Weston stormed in, his face dark with rage. "Patricia is having massive bleeding because of you. Your blood types match—I need you to give her a transfusion. Now!"
The doctor hesitated, glancing between us. "Mr. Holmes, your wife just had a hysterectomy. She's extremely weak. It's not safe for her to donate blood now."
Only then did Weston seem to notice my pallor, the sweat on my brow, the tears at the corners of my eyes.
For a brief second, he froze—then his gaze hardened with disgust.
"Denise, it's just a bit of blood. You really bribed the doctor to act for you?"
A bitter laugh rose in my throat. The one acting all this time wasn't me—it was him.
The man who had lied, deceived, and destroyed everything I loved.
I wanted to tear off his mask, to scream until the truth echoed in his ears.
But all I managed was a cold, trembling whisper. "I didn't push her. And I won't give her my blood."
His patience finally snapped.
At his signal, one of the bodyguards stepped forward, holding a porcelain urn.
"Denise," Weston said coldly, "did you know? The child you lost—it was a boy."
My heart stopped. I turned sharply, eyes locking on the urn in his hands.
"You wouldn't want your son to have no peace even in death, would you?" His tone was chillingly calm as he slowly raised the urn higher.
My pupils constricted. Panic flooded my body.
"Don't! Don't touch him! I'll do it—I'll give her the blood!"
The moment I said it, a needle pierced my arm.
Cold metal against warm skin, and soon, crimson blood began to flow from my body.
I was already weak from blood loss; dizziness clouded my vision as the room tilted.
After one full bag, my face had turned ghostly pale.
The nurse reached to remove the needle, but Weston stopped her. "Draw two more bags. Keep them ready for Patricia."
"Mr. Holmes," the nurse protested softly, "Mrs. Holmes has already lost too much blood—if we continue—"
"She won't die," he said flatly.
Three light words, each sharper than a blade, slicing into my heart until it bled anew.
The nurse hesitated, then reluctantly continued. Only after three full bags did he finally stop, taking the still-warm blood himself and leaving without another glance.
By the time it was over, my lips were colorless, and the world was spinning.
I could barely breathe.
Yet despite the weakness that crushed me, one thought burned in my chest—I had to leave this place.
I staggered out of the bed, and dragged myself toward the door.
第8章
The moment I opened the door, Patricia was already standing outside.
Behind her stood a group of men dressed in black, each holding a box in their hands—eight in total.
Her lips curved into a faint smile as she stepped toward me, her eyes glinting with malice.
"Sis, where are you going?" she asked sweetly. "I heard you gave me three bags of blood. I really ought to thank you for that."
I had no intention of arguing with her. "Move," I said coldly.
Patricia's smile widened, her tone sharpening.
In the next instant, the men in black slammed the door shut behind her.
"What are you doing?" I demanded, taking a step back, my pulse quickening.
"Relax," she said with a laugh. "The truth is I never needed your blood—nor your child's umbilical cord blood."
Then, without warning, she lifted the three blood bags and poured them onto the floor, red liquid splattering everywhere.
Her taunting gaze locked with mine. But I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I simply stood there, silent.
However, my calmness seemed to drive her mad.
She moved closer until her breath brushed my ear.
"Do you know, Sis? When your baby was born, he was still breathing," she whispered, her voice low and poisonous. "He looked so much like you."
My body went rigid. I turned, my eyes sharp with disbelief.
"When the doctor took him out, he was alive—kicking, crying..." Her voice turned into a mocking laugh. "But I smothered him. With my own hands."
The words sliced through me like blades. My entire body went cold, trembling violently.
"Denise, it's your fault! You're the reason your baby died!" she shouted triumphantly, savoring my pain.
I raised my hand, wanting to slap her across the face, but she caught my wrist and twisted it hard, throwing me to the floor.
The next moment, someone pinned me down.
Patricia's smile grew darker. She ripped the black cloth off the boxes one by one.
Under the harsh light, I saw what was inside—and my pupils dilated in horror.
"Do you like my gift?" she cooed. "It took me a lot of effort to keep them from decaying."
Inside each glass case was a perfectly preserved fetus. Eight of them.
"You're lying," I choked out. "You're lying! They were cremated—the ashes were placed at the temple... Weston told me—"
Patricia burst out laughing. "Oh, Sister. You didn't really believe his lies, did you? He told you they were buried properly, didn't he? That the ashes were sent to a temple?"
Her grin twisted cruelly. "It was all a lie! Hahaha!"
I struggled to stand, but she kicked me down again.
"Since you've now seen them one last time," she sneered, "it's time you send them off properly."
"What are you going to do?!" I shouted, terror seizing me.
At her signal, someone brought in a large black dog on a chain.
Patricia snapped her fingers. The men in black opened the glass boxes and hurled the tiny bodies toward the dog.
"No!" I thrashed violently, trying to reach them, but they held me down.
"Patricia, you monster! Give my children back!" I screamed until my throat tore, but it was useless.
The sound of the dog's teeth tearing flesh filled the room. I felt something inside me shatter completely.
I collapsed to my knees, sobbing uncontrollably. "Please... I'll do anything! Just stop! Don't hurt them!"
Patricia's expression softened into something almost sweet. "Well, since you're begging so nicely," she said, "kneel and kowtow a hundred times—to atone for your sins against my child."
My jaw clenched, and slowly, I lowered myself to the floor.
Bang—
My forehead struck the tiles.
Again, and again.
The dull sound echoed through the room, each hit drawing blood until my vision blurred red.
Finally, I lifted my gaze toward her, silently pleading. But she only looked down at me with a sneer.
"Sister, you're really stupid," she said, laughing. "Did you actually believe me? I've hated you for eight years! How could I let you go?"
"If I had known you were so easy to deceive, I wouldn't have had to plan for eight years!"
Her laughter grew manic. With a flick of her hand, the men resumed throwing the remains toward the dog.
"No—!" I lunged forward, but one of the bodyguards kicked me hard, slamming me to the floor.
They held my head down, forcing me to watch as my children were devoured before my eyes.
"Stop... please stop..." My voice broke. I could barely breathe through the sobs.
"Patricia!" I screamed, tears streaming. "I'll make you pay with your life for what you've done!"
Fueled by anguish, I charged toward her—aiming for the life in her belly. But before I could reach her, a guard kicked me aside.
Footsteps echoed in the corridor.
Patricia's expression shifted instantly. She slapped herself twice then tore her clothes, and knelt beside me, sobbing.
"Sis, I'm sorry! Please don't hurt my baby!"
"Patricia! Are you alright?"
Weston burst through the door, rushing to her side.
"Weston," she whimpered, clinging to him, "I only came to thank Sister for saving me... but she had her men humiliate me instead..."
Her voice trembled, her tears falling like pearls.
Weston's face darkened as he looked around at the blood on the floor.
The men in black dropped to their knees.
"Mr. Holmes—we were only following Madam's orders!"
He turned toward me, his eyes burning with disgust. "Denise. Apologize!"
I stared at him for a long moment, then laughed—laughing until the tears streamed down my cheeks.
"Weston, you're right," I said hoarsely. "I was wrong."
"My mistake was not sending you both to hell sooner."
His expression faltered for a split second, unease flickering in his eyes. But then he looked at the trembling woman in his arms, and his heart hardened again.
"Lock her in the water dungeon," he ordered coldly.
The water dungeon—his private torture chamber for his enemies. Once inside, few ever came out alive.
I was dragged away and thrown into its freezing depths.
The pain, the humiliation, the endless cold—it all blurred together until my body gave out.
And at last, everything went dark.
第9章
I don't know how long I lay there. Just when I felt I could endure no more, a sliver of light cut through the gloom of the water dungeon.
Weston stood there—tall, composed, and dressed impeccably in a tailored suit. His cold, chiseled features were illuminated by the dim glow. For a fleeting moment, a trace of emotion flickered in his eyes as he looked at my pitiful state—something like sorrow, or perhaps regret—but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.
"Do you understand what you did?" His voice was cold and steady, slicing through the silence.
I forced my heavy eyes open and spoke in a hoarse whisper, "I was wrong, husband."
He seemed momentarily taken aback. Perhaps he didn't expect me to surrender so easily. The air between us grew still and suffocating.
After a long pause, his low voice finally broke the silence.
"If you had admitted your mistake earlier, you wouldn't have had to suffer all this. Get along well with Patricia, and you'll still be Mrs. Holmes."
I gave a soft, obedient hum in response.
Seeing my newfound gentleness, his tone eased.
"Tomorrow is Mom's birthday banquet. Prepare yourself—we'll attend together."
"Alright," I answered quietly.
He reached out, as if to brush my face with his hand, but I turned away before he could touch me.
Just then, his phone rang.
"Weston, my stomach hurts...I'm scared," came Patricia's soft, coquettish voice through the receiver.
His expression changed instantly. "Don't worry, I'll be right there."
Without another glance at me, he turned and walked away, his voice low and tender as he coaxed her over the phone.
The moment his figure disappeared beyond the door, the faint gentleness in my eyes dissolved—replaced by a cold, unyielding resolve.
Assistant Lenon's arrangements were ready. By tomorrow, I would be gone for good.
I closed my eyes, drew a long breath, and buried every trace of pain deep within me.
When I returned to my room, I packed up everything—only to throw it all away. Then, I canceled every trace of my identity.
The next morning, Weston's driver was waiting outside my door.
"Madam," he said hesitantly, eyes avoiding mine, "Sir asked me to tell you he'll pick up your mother first. He said you should wait for him at the banquet."
His voice trembled slightly. I could guess why.
Without pressing him, I simply got into the car.
As we drove, my phone buzzed with a new message.
It was from Patricia.
In the photo, she was wearing a couture wedding gown, nestled in Weston's arms, her smile radiant.
[Sister, we're choosing our wedding dress. Can you help us decide which one looks better?]
Her arrogance was naked with every words.
I smiled faintly and typed a single word.
[Congratulations.]
The congratulations aren't real.
Because what they don't know is that my revenge will be revealed at Mom's dinner party tomorrow, and they will be plunged into despair.
After I sent the message, I pulled out my SIM card and tossed it out the window.
At the next intersection, I calmly told the driver, "I have something to take care of first. Bring the gift boxes in the trunk to the banquet."
"Make sure they open them in front of everyone," I added.
Without waiting for his response, I opened the door and stepped out.
A black Rolls-Royce was already waiting around the corner.
As soon as I got in, the engine roared to life and the car pulled away from the curb.
As we drove away, I didn’t look back. I clenched my fists tightly as that hate rose up again.
One day, I would make them regret all they did to me.