After His Ex-husband killed his son for his mistress, he went insane

Clara’s hands trembled violently as she gripped the divorce agreement tightly in her palms. She immediately hailed a cab and went home to pack. The moment she entered the house, she saw Liam kneeling on the carpet, carefully applying care oil to Vanessa’s belly as she lay on the sofa. Vanessa blushed, coyly leaning toward Liam with a shy voice, “Liam, I just got pregnant. We don’t need to do all this yet…” But Liam responded gently, “I want to do these things for you.” Clara felt disoriented, remembering how five years ago, when she first got pregnant, Liam had treated her the same way. When he learned she was expecting, the usually cold Liam had red-rimmed eyes as he pulled her into his arms, his voice full of pain and devotion. “Clara, I will love you and only you for the rest of my life. I swear I will never fail you…” And these care techniques were ones Liam specially learned from a fertility specialist after finding out Clara was pregnant. Yet now, all of them were used on another woman. Clara curled her lips in a bitter smile. Just then, the two on the sofa noticed Clara. Liam’s once gentle expression instantly twisted into disgust. He stood and walked toward Clara. “Vanessa is pregnant. From now on, she will stay here to rest.” “She is the new mistress of this house.” Liam tossed the bottle of care oil at Clara. “You’ve given birth before and have experience. Take good care of Vanessa.” Clara did not reach for the bottle, letting it hit her and drop to the floor. She frowned and kicked it aside, letting out a cold laugh. “I should take care of her? Why?” Liam’s face darkened further as he stared down at Clara from above. “Because you’re occupying the title of Liam’s wife, I can’t give Vanessa her rightful name!” “Vanessa is the benefactor of this entire family. If you want to stay in this house, you’d better behave.” Clara didn’t want to argue with him anymore and only wanted to pack her things quickly. She ignored Liam and walked straight toward the bedroom. Liam’s reprimand sounded behind her, “Where did you hide Noah? People come to our house and don’t even know to greet them. He’ll have to call Vanessa ‘Mom’ in the future.” Clara froze where she stood, her heart twisting into a painful knot, pulling at every nerve. Clara thought of the scene right after Noah got off the Ferris wheel — the memory sent uncontrollable tremors through her body. Noah’s face was pale, foam forming at the corner of his mouth, his little fingers weakly tugging at Clara’s clothes, “Mommy, don’t blame Daddy. It’s because Noah’s not healthy.” “I’m sorry, Mommy, for making Daddy fight with you. Noah… will be better, so Daddy won’t punish Noah so much, okay?” Clara clutched her son to her chest and ran frantically toward the hospital, tears streaming uncontrollably, nodding repeatedly. “Okay, Mommy promises, Noah. Don’t sleep yet, sweetheart…” But in the next second, her son stopped breathing, dying in Clara’s arms. Clara clenched her fists and turned back to yell at Liam, “Noah will never call anyone ‘Mom’ again — not in this lifetime!” Vanessa stepped forward, clutching Liam’s arm with a soft sigh, “Liam, it’s okay. Clara has always looked down on me. The child she raised…” “It’s normal if the child has issues with me. I’ll teach him properly.” Watching Vanessa fuel the flames, Clara shook with rage. “Vanessa, you better watch your mouth!” *Slap!* Liam frowned and raised his hand, striking Clara across the face. “Don’t shout at her.” Liam spoke calmly. He picked up a tissue from the coffee table and wiped his hand repeatedly, as if he had touched something filthy. “Vanessa is right — your parenting was the problem. You spoiled the child beyond recognition.” Liam pulled Vanessa into his arms. “Starting tomorrow, Noah learns discipline.” Neither of them looked back as they left the living room, leaving Clara standing alone in stunned silence. Clara stumbled back to her room, her fingertips icy as though they’d been soaked in freezing water, trembling so hard she could barely hold the doorknob. She dragged out the largest suitcase from the top of the wardrobe — the one Liam had specially picked for her and newborn Noah. The off-white case still bore the faded crayon marks of a tiny dinosaur Noah once doodled; now, it felt like a dull blade slicing through her flesh. “I’m leaving. I’m leaving right now. I’m escaping this place that eats people alive!” The scream only echoed inside her mind, muffled into choked sobs. Her hands moved uncontrollably, grabbing clothes in a frenzy — the couple’s shirts she once shared with Liam, the half-knitted sweater meant for Noah, the gown she wore when she received her award… She stuffed all these memories into the suitcase, as if cramming them in could quiet the despair clawing inside her. But halfway through, she suddenly collapsed to the floor. Staring at the suitcase full of memories, tears fell without warning — packing used to mean Liam smiling while folding her clothes, Noah tugging at her skirt saying, “Mommy takes Noah too,” but now, she was alone in this cold house, fleeing in panic. Crying, she eventually fell asleep, and nightmares crept in. In her dream, Noah was being carried down from the Ferris wheel. His face was as white as paper, foam at his lips, his tiny hand still weakly gripping her clothes, his voice fragile enough to break. “Mommy, Noah hurts… Does Daddy not like Noah anymore?” She went mad trying to hold her child, only to feel that same piercing cold — Noah’s body stiffening little by little in her arms, until he turned into a wisp of smoke and vanished completely. “Noah!” Clara jolted awake, chest heaving violently, cold sweat soaking her back. Tears already covered her face, trailing down her jaw and dripping onto the sheets, leaving dark spots on the fabric. She tried wiping them away, but the more she wiped, the more they fell, grief flooding her like a tide — her Noah, the treasure she cherished for four years, didn’t even get to walk his final journey with dignity. She could no longer sleep. She got up, staggering toward her son’s room. It used to be her safest place — every night she sat by the bed, telling Noah bedtime stories, watching him fall asleep holding his tiny dinosaur plush, his breathing steady. The hallway was eerily silent, only her footsteps echoing through the hollow house. As she neared the door, she saw warm yellow light leaking through the crack — the little night-light she had chosen for Noah, saying it could drive away nightmares and protect him. Yet tonight, the glow felt painfully harsh. She slowed her steps, heart pounding wildly, a terrible premonition stitching itself into her bones. She pushed the door open just a little wider — and what she saw froze her blood on the spot, like she had been thrown into an ice cellar. Liam and Vanessa were lying in Noah’s little bed.

That small bed covered with blue dinosaur sheets was personally assembled by Liam back then, saying he wanted to give their son the best protection; Noah’s favorite stuffed dinosaur was still there—now tossed carelessly onto the floor, stained with dust. Vanessa had her head buried between Liam’s legs, indecent sounds filling the room, and on their wrists was unmistakably the unannounced Neural Empathy Sensor from Clara’s studio! It was the device she spent countless nights on, revising hundreds of design drafts, created solely to ease Noah’s pain during his heart attacks! She remembered the first time she made a working prototype—Noah smiled and said, “Mommy is amazing. Noah doesn’t hurt anymore.” Yet now, a device forged from her love and bloodlike effort was being used by those two to indulge themselves! Vanessa lifted her head, eyes watery and hazy with pleasure, purposely glancing toward the doorway, her voice sickeningly sweet. “Liam, this machine is really something. No wonder Clara sacrificed sleep over it… But if we use it like this, won’t she be mad?” Liam followed her gaze and saw Clara standing pale-faced outside the door. Instead of guilt, a mocking smile curved his lips. He held Vanessa’s head in place, his tone both doting and cruel. “So what if she’s mad? It was always meant to be yours. Think of it as her making up for her ‘mistakes’—a gift to us.” Shameful fluids stained Noah’s sheets, spreading an ugly mark across the blue dinosaur pattern. Clara’s entire body shook violently. Her teeth clamped into her lip so hard she tasted blood but didn’t notice. Her nails dug hard into her palms, leaving bloody crescents. Rage, grief, humiliation—like a volcano ready to erupt—crushed against her throat until she could barely breathe. This was her son. Liam’s biological son! Noah had been gone only a few days, his bones not yet cold, not even cremated—and Liam brought another woman into his room to commit such filth! She couldn’t bear another second. She turned and bolted back to her room, slamming the door with a deafening *bang*, as if the sound could shut out the contamination outside. She curled up in the corner of her bed, burying her face in her knees. The suppressed cries erupted—raw and ripping. “Noah… my Noah…” she whispered his name again and again, her heart feeling torn out of her chest, the pain so intense her whole body trembled. This house—once her entire world. Liam’s vows still lingered in her ears, Noah’s laughter still floated through the rooms, yet now, every precious fragment had been shattered by Liam’s own hand—destroyed beyond recognition. She didn’t know how long had passed before the door opened again. Liam walked in wearing a bathrobe, the satisfied scent of lust still clinging to him, mixed with Vanessa’s perfume—Clara nearly gagged. Seeing Clara crying in the corner surprised him for a moment before impatience hardened his expression. “Why are you crying? Looking like that brings misfortune. It’s unpleasant.” Clara snapped her head up, her bloodshot eyes blazing. She wiped her face roughly, her voice rasping like sand grinding against stone. “Get out. Get out!” Liam merely scoffed, throwing a bundle at her—it was Noah’s stained bedsheet. The pungent smell hit instantly, the marks upon it unmistakable. Clara’s stomach churned violently, and she retched. “Wash it,” Liam ordered with absolute authority. “Noah had delicate skin. You always washed by hand before—don’t be lazy and use the machine.” Before? The word struck Clara like a knife. Before, she cleaned Noah’s sheets so carefully—with baby-safe detergent, gently working each spot, terrified of irritating his skin. But now, this sheet—tainted and defiled—no longer resembled anything from their past. She suddenly grabbed the sheet and hurled it against the wall. The stain smeared across the pristine surface like an ugly scar. She screamed, breaking apart. “Get out! I said get out!” Liam watched her hysteria, a glint of twisted amusement in his eyes. He stepped closer, towering over her, his voice taunting and cruel. “What are you pretending for? You used to cling to me most. What’s this—jealous now that I treat Vanessa well?” He turned to leave, but his gaze caught the half-full suitcase in the corner. The earlier amusement vanished. Liam’s pupils contracted, his steps faltered. He whipped around, voice turning ice cold. “What’s that?” Clara stiffened, instinctively shaking her head. “None of your concern.” “None of my concern?” Liam stormed forward and seized her neck, squeezing so hard she thought her bones would snap. His eyes were bloodshot, filled with madness, possessiveness, rage. “Clara, you want to leave?” “I’m telling you, impossible! You’ll never leave me in this lifetime!” His breath hit her face—heavy with alcohol and violence. “You killed my mother, spoiled Noah, and now you want to run? You caused unforgivable mistakes—you’ll take the punishment. You’ll stay by my side and pay for it—for life!” The suffocation crashed down like a wave. Clara’s face flushed red, her hands clawing at Liam’s arm, nails digging into his skin. Only choked sounds escaped her throat. She stared at the man whose eyes once held only tenderness and saw nothing but brutality now—and her heart sank into bottomless despair. “I… won’t… leave…” she forced out with the last thread of strength. Liam loosened his grip. Clara collapsed onto the floor, coughing violently, tears and snot mixing as she gasped for air. After a long moment, her coughing eased. Liam still stood there, eyes locked on the suitcase, not moving to leave. Clara took a shaky breath, swallowing down the metallic taste in her throat, her voice weak. “I was just… just organizing the room. Too many things. Wanted to sort them.” Liam visibly relaxed, the insanity fading slightly, leaving only coldness. He stared at her for a long moment—as though verifying her words—before finally turning and slamming the door behind him.

Just as dawn broke, the door was struck violently, and Liam’s voice—void of warmth—cut through the crack and pierced Clara’s eardrums. “Get up. You’re coming with me.” Clara hadn’t slept all night. The dark circles beneath her eyes spread like ink stains, exhaustion seeping from every joint in her body—the bruised ache on her neck from last night lingered, and the revolting scene in her son’s room replayed over and over in her mind, suffocating even when she blinked. She rose slowly, pulling on clothes without thought. The woman in the mirror looked ghostly pale, her eyes empty like a soulless puppet—none of the brilliance of the genius scientist she once was remained. Liam was already waiting downstairs. When he saw her emerge, his brows knitted, as if irritated by her pace, though he said nothing—he simply shoved her into the car. The car stopped beside a beach overlooking the sea, where a top-tier luxury couture fashion show was about to begin. A snow-white carpet stretched along the sand, the distant ocean shimmering blue, perfume and diamonds glimmering as the elite gathered—every corner dripping extravagance and splendor. Yet to Clara, it all felt blurred under a sheet of fog—dull, meaningless. Her heart had been buried with Noah; all worldly glamour was nothing more than a blinding mockery. Until the stage lights lit up and the first model stepped onto the runway—Clara’s gaze froze, her blood seemingly halting mid-flow. That moon-white floor-length gown, embroidered with scattered starlight across the hem and trimmed with pearls along the neckline—was unmistakably the sketch she had drawn casually in her yellowed notebook during her school days. Memory rushed in like a flood. Back then, she had just entered university—studying genetics while harboring a budding fascination for fashion design. Late at night, she sketched at her desk, then rushed excitedly to Liam’s rented apartment, tiptoeing to hold the notebook up to his face, her eyes gleaming like stars. “Liam, look! Someday I want my own fashion show—wearing clothes I designed—standing in the brightest place!” Back then, Liam wasn’t the cold man he was now. He would ruffle her hair gently and pull her into his arms, his voice tender and lingering. “Alright. When our Clara returns with her achievements, I’ll give you the grandest fashion show—let the world see your talent.” Those vows still echoed faintly, but the man before her was no longer the one who once promised forever. Clara stared blankly at the runway as one familiar design after another appeared—there was the floral dress she’d doodled, the sharp tailored suit she once imagined, and even a little formal dress for children—one she had dreamed of her future daughter wearing—now worn by strangers under the spotlight, glowing brilliantly. She suddenly turned, looking at Liam with bewilderment and an unconscious flicker of fragile hope she didn't even realize she still held. He remembered? He actually remembered her dream from youth? Liam seemed to notice her gaze. He cleared his throat awkwardly and quickly turned his face away, his voice iced with frost. “Don’t overthink. Know your place.” His words were a bucket of cold water dousing the flicker of hope. Of course—why would he suddenly care? A momentary whim, nothing more. “Pick one to wear.” Liam’s voice held no emotion, as if commanding a servant unworthy of attention. Clara lowered her lashes, concealing her disappointment, and pointed at the simplest white dress. She had no desire to choose; to her, anything she wore was just another tool for Liam’s convenience. “Go change.” Liam ordered without room for protest. Clara frowned, confusion mounting, but she didn’t ask. She took the dress into the fitting room, her fingertips brushing the familiar fabric—excitement and hope she once felt turning into heavy bitterness now. When she stepped out wearing her own design, poised again in the center of the show, fireworks suddenly exploded across the sky above the sea, painting the night in dazzling colors. Then several performers dressed as mermaids emerged from the water, carrying flower wreaths and serenading her with a birthday song. “Happy birthday…” Their soft voices mingled with ocean waves, and Clara’s entire body stiffened. So—today was her birthday. She had long forgotten it. Ever since Noah passed, time existed only as pain and torment—birthdays, holidays, days once worth celebrating had all lost meaning. Emotions crashed into her—shock, confusion, and a bittersweet sting she couldn’t name. She bit her lip unconsciously until blood filled her mouth, snapping her back. Did they think this shallow imitation of warmth could make her forget her son’s death, forget Liam’s betrayal and cruelty? After the fashion show, Liam brought her directly to a nearby private clubhouse. When the heavy wooden doors opened, the room was filled with men—middle-aged, eyes clouded, their gazes assessing her like merchandise. Liam, expressionless, nudged her forward slightly, speaking in a casual tone—as if relaying an insignificant task. “This dress suits you. Entertain the guests and drink with them. They’re all business elites. Make sure they attend Vanessa’s conference.” Clara felt as though thunder struck her, her blood turning ice. So this was his real purpose. The fashion show, the birthday song—all a carefully laid trap. He remembered her sketches, remembered her birthday—not out of sentiment—but to exploit her, to curry favor for Vanessa’s event. Clara let out a faint, mocking breath, her eyes filled with despair and irony. “I’m not well. I can’t drink.” After donating her spleen and enduring the loss of her son, her body had never recovered—alcohol was forbidden. “You don’t have the right to refuse.” Liam dismissed her words entirely, grabbing her wrist and dragging her into the private room, his grip so tight it felt like her bones might snap. The moment they entered, every man’s gaze latched onto her—sticky, crawling like insects across her skin. Disgust rolled through her stomach. With Liam present, they held back at first—only throwing occasional crude comments, nothing overt. Clara sat rigid, hands gripping her dress, wanting only to escape this nauseating place. Just then, Liam’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen and his expression changed immediately. He answered without hesitation. Vanessa’s voice came through with a weak sob, delicate and pitiful. “Liam, my stomach hurts… I don’t feel well…” “Wait—I’m coming right now!” Liam’s voice brimmed with panic and urgency—a stark contrast to how cold he had been with Clara moments ago. He hung up and stood to leave, tossing a careless parting remark over his shoulder. “I’ll be back soon.” Clara’s heart sank, dread surging through her. She instinctively rose to leave as well—but the moment Liam exited, the men in the room broke loose like beasts freed from chains, surrounding her instantly. A heavyset man pushed her back into her seat, while another, crew-cut and smirking, sat beside her—his greasy hand sliding shamelessly onto her thigh.

“Let go of me!” Clara’s whole body went rigid as she struggled violently to stand up. But how could her strength compare to these men? A man in a black suit yanked her straight into his arms, his rough palm pressing down on her shoulder, pinning her in place. “Pretty thing, what are you pretending to be shy for?” He leaned in close to her ear, his breath reeking heavily of alcohol. “Liam’s gone. Isn’t this his way of sending you up to us?” “Exactly. Be smart, behave yourself, and we’ll treat you real nice.” Another man rubbed his hands together, his gaze roaming greedily over her body. “Otherwise, don’t blame us for getting rough.” Clara felt all hope die. She stared at the door blocked by their bodies, felt the foreign hands on her, and cried out desperately toward the entrance. “Don’t come any closer!” But her resistance only drew laughter from them. Her hands shaking, she pulled out her phone; her fingers were so cold she could barely hold it steady as she dialed Liam’s number. The call rang over and over, but no one picked up. She called again and again. Just as terror was about to swallow her whole, the line finally connected. “What now!” Liam’s voice was thick with impatience, and in the background she could faintly hear Vanessa’s weak sobs. “Come back! Liam, you have to come back!” Clara screamed, her voice breaking, full of desperate pleading and tears. “I told you I’d be back in a bit!” Liam’s tone grew even more irritable. “I’m busy right now. I don’t have time for you!” “Handle it yourself. You’re useless!” With a sharp “click,” the call ended. Clara stood frozen, still holding the phone. The room echoed with crude laughter; hands groped her more boldly, and the only person she could call for help had just called her worthless and abandoned her. Her heart died completely. The men, emboldened by Liam’s reaction, grew even more unrestrained. One man reached out and squeezed her chest, while another yanked open the collar of her dress, exposing a swath of pale skin. “Ah!” Clara let out a piercing scream, fear and humiliation flooding her like a tidal wave. She looked around wildly, her gaze landing on the window on the other side of the private room. Outside was a pitch-black night sky, and below, a steady stream of cars on the road. Noah, Mommy’s coming to be with you. Tears streamed down her face; that single thought filled her mind. Better to die than be defiled here—better to go below and see her precious boy. With death in her heart, Clara suddenly shoved the man in front of her away and, using every bit of strength she had, bolted toward the window and jumped without hesitation. When she woke again, dizziness crashed over her like a wave, her temples throbbing, followed by a violent nausea roiling in her stomach. Clara instinctively curled up, every movement sending bone-deep pain tearing through her, as if she’d been shattered and clumsily pieced back together. She slowly forced open her heavy eyelids. In the blurred view, a doctor in a white coat stood beside her bed, a look of reproach and pity in his eyes. “Clara, you’re lucky to be alive. You landed on a car, which helped absorb the impact. A passerby called an ambulance in time. If they’d been even a little later, we wouldn’t have been able to save you.” Clara parted her cracked lips; her throat felt scraped raw, her voice hoarse and barely audible. “Doctor… thank you.” The doctor shook his head, his tone complicated. “You’re so young. What could be so bad that you’d rather die? Anyway, we’ll contact your family to handle the admission procedures.” On the bedside table lay her phone, which had fallen from the building with her. It was shattered almost beyond recognition—the screen splintered like a spiderweb, the body dented and warped—lying there quietly like discarded trash. Gritting her teeth against the pain, Clara slowly shifted, reaching out. Her fingertips brushed the cold surface and she realized it could still turn on—the cracked screen flickered to life, but there were no missed calls, no messages, nothing. Clean, as if no one had ever thought of her. A bitter smile tugged at her lips. Using the wall for support, she slowly got to her feet, every step like walking on blades, staggering as she made her way toward the payment desk. Just as she reached the doorway, the scene in the hallway made her freeze. Liam was holding Vanessa, their posture intimate enough to sting her eyes. He lowered his head to look at Vanessa’s still-flat belly, his gaze so tender it seemed it might drip, his fingers gently brushing over it as he murmured something soft and careful. That tenderness had once belonged only to Clara; now it was wholly given to another woman. Clara drew a deep breath. The dull ache in her chest and the ache in her heart tangled together, almost cutting off her air. Liam soon noticed her too. The tenderness vanished from his face in an instant, replaced by deep disgust and irritation, his brows knitting into a hard line. “What are you doing here? Trying to pull some stunt again?” “The people at that dinner haven’t left, have they? Do you realize how important they are for Vanessa’s conference? Get back there and entertain them!” His gaze skimmed over her pale, haggard face without a trace of concern—only cold urgency. “Vanessa’s sick from morning sickness. I don’t have time to deal with you.” Clara opened her mouth, wanting to tell him she had just crawled back from the brink of death, wanting to tell him how much her body hurt. But before she could speak, a nurse’s voice called from behind her. “Who’s here for Vanessa? Please come sign for the prenatal vitamins.” Liam immediately let go of Vanessa and hurried toward the nurse, his steps quick, as if a moment’s delay might cause Vanessa to suffer. Once he was gone, Vanessa cupped her belly and slowly walked up to Clara, looking down at her from above, her eyes full of pride and provocation. “Clara, how have you been lately?” Disgust surged in Clara’s eyes. She spat out each word, cold and clear. “Get lost.” “Get lost?” Vanessa gave a soft laugh, then suddenly stepped forward to block her path, her hands clamping onto Clara’s collar so hard the fabric nearly tore. “If you’d obediently handed over the money back then, if you’d obediently given up your place as Liam’s wife, I wouldn’t have needed to work this hard to steal your man.” “I used to be too kind to you—thought letting you live was no big deal.” She leaned in close to Clara’s ear, her voice venomous like a snake. “But I’ve changed my mind. I want everything you have—your man, your reputation, your research, and every bit of happiness you ever owned.” Before the words had fully faded, Vanessa suddenly exerted all her strength and slammed Clara hard against the wall behind her. With a heavy *thud*, Clara’s back collided with the solid surface. Her already battered body couldn’t withstand it; pain shot through her like an electric shock, leaving her almost unable to breathe. Just then, Liam came around the corner holding the vitamins. Panic flashed in Vanessa’s eyes. Seeing there was no time to pull back, she made a split-second decision—shoving Clara with all her might to the ground as she herself fell backward, pretending she’d been pushed. Clara crashed onto the cold floor, bones screaming in agony. The second impact sent pain ripping through her so fiercely she curled up on instinct, unable even to groan. “Vanessa!” Liam’s pupils constricted at the sight. He dropped the bottle in his hand and rushed over like a madman, carefully lifting Vanessa up, his voice thick with panic. “Are you hurt? Did you hit anything? Did it touch your belly?” Tears sprang instantly to Vanessa’s eyes, falling like broken beads. She clung tightly to Liam’s arm, her voice choked and pitiful, dripping with grievance. “Liam… Clara just came at me and pushed me—she said… she said my baby doesn’t deserve to live, that I stole what belonged to her, and that this child should be gotten rid of…” “That’s your child too—how could she be so cruel!” Clara lay on the ground, the pain making her vision darken, but she refused to show weakness in front of these two. She gritted her teeth, forced her trembling hands against the cold floor, and slowly pulled herself up along the wall. Her face was ashen, but her lips were bitten blood-red. Following Vanessa’s gaze, Liam turned his eyes on Clara. His expression twisted into something vicious and terrifying, like a poisoned blade of ice aimed straight at her. “Get on your knees and apologize to Vanessa.”

Clara stared at him in disbelief, her body trembling slightly from rage and despair. “She’s the one who pushed me. She made the first move! Why should I apologize?” “Why?” Liam let out a cold laugh, then suddenly lifted his foot and kicked viciously at Clara’s knee. *Thud!* Agonizing pain shot through her knee, her legs buckled, and she collapsed heavily onto the floor. The icy cold surface seeped through her thin clothes, sending chills up her spine. Liam stepped forward, pressing her head down with such force it felt like he would grind her skull into the ground. His voice was feral, filled with violence. “How long is it going to take for you to learn? You insist on provoking Vanessa again and again, forcing my hand, is that it?” “Don’t forget—if Vanessa hadn’t saved my mother, I would’ve killed you long ago! The only reason you’re still breathing is because of Vanessa!” Clara’s mind buzzed—the roaring tinnitus drowned out everything. It felt as though all her strength had been drained, leaving her kneeling there completely powerless. It took a long time for the ringing to fade. She lifted her head and looked into Liam’s bloodshot eyes, and once again—broken, hoarse, and desperate—she repeated the truth she had said countless times. “It wasn’t me… I wasn’t the one who caused the accident… I—I donated my spleen to save her… Liam, believe me just once… please…” But Liam’s mind was sealed shut, blocked by lies he refused to question. “Enough!” he roared, his expression filled with raw violence. “It was Vanessa. Why do you insist on stealing the credit? Clara, how can someone be so vile—trying to take credit for saving a life!” Clara slowly turned her head, staring at the man who once swore eternal devotion to her. His past tender words replayed like cruel echoes— “Clara, after we get married, we’ll travel the world. I want everyone to know I love you.” “You’re the most precious treasure of my life. I thank heaven for bringing you to me. I’ll spend my life cherishing you.” “Clara, one child—just Noah—is enough. I can’t bear to see you suffer through childbirth again. It would drive me insane.” Those sweet words, once honeyed, now cut like the sharpest blade—slicing her heart piece by piece. She saw a glimmer of something in Liam’s eyes—something that might have once been tears—but now it held only hatred and revulsion. So his love had always been this cheap. And his hatred could be this immense. Clara’s heart died completely, like being thrown into an abyss of ice—no warmth remained. She did not resist, did not explain, letting Liam force her downward, her mind holding only one final thought. Seven days. In seven days, the helicopter would come. She would finally be free. She slowly opened her mouth and forced out three words—each word soaked in humiliation, blood, and tears. “I’m sorry.” Only then did Liam release his hand, looking down at her on the floor with a frosty gaze. “Remember—there won’t be a next time.” He carefully supported Vanessa and was about to walk away. Before leaving, he turned back and spoke coldly. “I have to ensure Vanessa’s child is born safely. No one will harm them—especially not you.” A nurse hurried forward and gently helped Clara up. The moment her arm touched Clara’s, she could feel how stiff and fragile Clara was—like a single gust of air might topple her. “Clara, your injuries are too severe. You need to lie down.” Clara let the nurse ease her onto the bed. Her bones still ached, but the numbness inside her heart far overshadowed physical pain. In the past few days, the room had been deathly silent. No one had visited—no calls, no messages. She had even hired a caregiver herself to bring water, feed her medicine, and wash her—tasks a family would normally perform, left entirely to her own endurance. Until Liam appeared at the hospital room door—Clara’s gaze didn’t even flicker, as if he was no more significant than a passing shadow. Liam stood there, watching her for a long time. The eyes that once overflowed with tenderness were now filled with something hesitant, conflicted. After a moment, he finally spoke, his voice low. “About that night—at the private club—I heard what happened.” Clara continued staring silently at the white wall, her fingers absently smoothing the wrinkles on the blanket, offering no response. “I didn’t know something like that would happen after I left.” He paused, as though gathering courage, before forcing out two reluctant words. “I’m sorry.” “Those men—I dealt with them.” A sharp, bitter laugh twisted inside Clara’s chest. A late apology—some meaningless retribution—what would it fix? Would it erase the filth she endured? Bring Noah back? Undo the irreparable damage he inflicted? Clearly not. Liam approached the bed, reaching out a hand as if to touch her forehead—perhaps to check if she was alright—but before his hand could reach her, Clara swatted it away, her motion filled with unmistakable disgust. His expression darkened instantly, a shadow crossing his face as his voice dropped. “Come with me to the church. Vanessa said the priest told her—you must confess sincerely, or her baby will be in danger.” Clara finally turned her head, meeting his eyes. Her gaze was frighteningly calm—void of any emotion. “What danger?” “What you did to my mother—and what you owe Vanessa—will come back on the child.” Liam frowned, his tone filled with absolute certainty. “Heh—” Clara suddenly laughed—bitter, hollow, despairing. “Absurd. Absolutely absurd.” “Liam, this kind of illogical, loophole-ridden nonsense—you believe that?” Liam pressed his lips tightly, his face growing darker. “When it concerns the child, I have no choice but to believe it. Let’s go.” As he reached to grab Clara’s hand, the nurse came in to change dressings. Seeing the scene, she hurried to intervene. “Sir, you can’t take Clara away! She has multiple fractures and internal trauma—her injuries are very serious. She absolutely cannot get out of bed!” Clara subtly shifted herself out of Liam’s reach. Liam, however, replied to the nurse in a deep voice, “I’m her husband. I’m taking her home.”

Before he finished speaking, he ignored the nurse’s attempt to stop him and forcibly held Clara by the arm, dragging her out of the hospital room. Behind them came the nurse’s confused mutter, “Strange… no one visited Clara these days. I thought she was single…” Liam’s footsteps paused for a moment, the tips of his ears reddening slightly, yet he still said nothing—only tightened his grip on Clara’s arm. … The church was vast—so empty that even the slightest sound echoed. Cold wind seeped in from the open side door, carrying a biting chill that whipped Clara’s thin hospital gown, forcing her shoulders to curl inward against the cold. “Confess your past sins properly here, and pray for Vanessa’s child,” Liam stood before the altar with his back to her, his voice devoid of warmth. “I’ll have someone deliver food on schedule.” Seeing Clara unmoving, he suddenly turned around, frowning deeply. “Kneel and confess.” “Three days and three nights. You can’t leave until you’ve repented enough.” With that, he walked out without looking back. The thick wooden doors slammed shut by the bodyguards, a heavy *bang* sealing the church away from the rest of the world. Clara stood still, the silence gradually settling her heart. Slowly, she raised her hand to her chest, closed her eyes, and a faint, sorrowful smile curved her lips. “It’s not for that child. It’s for Noah.” “Noah, I’m sorry. Mommy failed to protect you.” Her voice was soft with a choked tremor, yet unwavering. “From now on, Mommy will live well—for you. I’ll see the world for you, try every sweet you never got to taste, live the life you wished for.” “Mommy won’t be defeated. Never.” On the third morning, just as the sky lightened, Clara ignored the guards blocking the door, her eyes unwavering as she pushed the door open and walked straight out. Today was the day she could collect Noah’s ashes from the funeral home. She would bring her son home herself—bury him properly and let him rest in peace. Before going to the funeral home, Clara bought a new phone. She needed to contact the research institute and confirm the details of her departure. It was her only hope—nothing could go wrong. Holding the small, icy urn in her arms, Clara returned to the place once called “home.” She went into Noah’s room and gathered his tiny clothes, his toys—each one still carrying his scent—each one tightening the sting behind her eyes. She carried everything into the yard, piled them together, and lit a match. Flames rose slowly, illuminating the calm lines of Clara’s face. The clothes and toys crackled in the fire as they burned, sounding almost like Noah whispering farewell. Just then, Vanessa stepped into the yard holding her purse. The moment she saw the scene, she shrieked—her voice sharp and piercing. “Ah! Clara, what are you doing!” “My conference is coming up, and you dare escape from the church! Aren’t you afraid of the curse falling on my child?!” Clara’s movement paused briefly, then she let out a quiet, self-mocking laugh. So the repentance, the supposed danger to the child—it was all a lie. They merely wanted her trapped, unable to ruin Vanessa’s conference and the deceit built on Clara’s incomplete research. She ignored Vanessa’s hysterics, simply watching the fire until everything turned to ash. Only then did she close her eyes and whisper in her heart, “Noah, goodbye.” Vanessa trembled with rage as Clara continued to disregard her. She immediately took out her phone and dialed Liam, her voice dripping with exaggerated sobs. “Liam, come home! Clara’s gone insane—she set the house on fire! She didn’t confess properly at church and wants to destroy everything!” No sooner had the call ended than Liam’s car screeched to a halt in the yard. He nearly stumbled as he rushed in, his eyes finding only Vanessa. “Vanessa! Are you hurt anywhere? Does your stomach feel alright?” He pulled Vanessa into his arms, his fingers trembling as they brushed her belly, her arms, her face—checking every inch. Only when he confirmed she was unharmed did the tension in his shoulders ease, his voice filled with fright. Vanessa fell into his embrace instantly, her shoulders shaking slightly as she pointed toward Clara, tears streaming as she whimpered, “Liam, Clara set the house on fire—she said she wanted to burn me and the baby!” She clung to Liam’s shirt, hatred flashing beneath her pitiful expression. “And she ran out of the church—the ritual wasn’t completed—the priest said the baby will suffer… I’m scared we’ll lose our child.” Liam’s gaze snapped to Clara, rage blazing like erupting lava. “Are you insane?! Starting a fire in the house?” Step by step he advanced, his voice sharp with icy fury. “How many times have I warned you? Do not provoke Vanessa. Do not touch her or the baby! Haven’t you learned your lesson?” He turned to the bodyguards and barked, “Bind her and take her back to the church! Without my permission, she doesn’t take a single step outside!” The bodyguards immediately moved forward. Clara clutched the urn tightly—cold, solid, her last tie to Noah. She staggered one step forward, her voice hoarse but unwavering. “I’ll go back myself. No need to drag me.” Vanessa’s gaze landed on the unremarkable urn in Clara’s arms. At Liam’s back, the corner of her lips curled into a cold, triumphant smile—she would see how long Clara could hold onto her last hope. Back inside the vast, chilling church, wind swept through carrying dust. Clara held the urn against her chest as if shielding the last ember of warmth, but Vanessa suddenly clutched her stomach and staggered, pointing at the urn with a shrill scream. “Liam! It hurts! There’s something wrong with that urn Clara’s holding! She’s using witchcraft to harm me!” Liam’s expression darkened instantly—his gaze like an ice-forged blade stabbing into Clara. “Clara, hand over that urn.” “Impossible.” Clara stepped back, her spine pressed against the cold wall, her hands tightening protectively around the urn, knuckles turning white from the force. “It’s Noah’s ashes. It’s my son’s ashes!”

“Enough!” Liam’s veins bulged across his forehead, rage flooding his mind as he lifted his hand and delivered a resounding slap across Clara’s face. *Smack.* The slap echoed throughout the vast church, and Clara’s cheek instantly reddened and swelled, a thin line of blood forming at the corner of her mouth. Yet she did not cry—she simply stared at Liam with eyes cold and void of warmth, as if she were looking at a stranger. “Are you done?” Liam panted, breath heavy with irritation and disgust. “You go on and on about your ‘dead son,’ carrying that stupid urn and performing your little curses—what, are you hoping something happens to Vanessa’s child too? Is that how a mother acts?” Clara’s heart felt like it shattered with that slap. Slowly, she lifted her head, her gaze devoid of grief—only ice-cold resolve remained. “If you want Noah’s ashes, it’ll be over my dead body.” Liam was taken aback by her unyielding expression—hesitation flickered in his eyes. He knew, deep down, the urn was likely Noah’s ashes, but faced with Vanessa’s theatrics, any remaining conscience drowned instantly. Vanessa seized the moment—letting out a sharp cry as she crouched on the floor, hands clutching her stomach, her face turning pale, her voice trembling uncontrollably. “Liam… it hurts… my stomach hurts so much… whatever she’s holding—it has to be some filthy witchcraft, I’m afraid… I’m afraid we’ll lose our baby!” “Vanessa!” Liam immediately bent down and scooped her into his arms, his voice softening with visible panic. “Don’t be scared, I’m here. The baby will be fine.” He turned to Clara, his gaze sharpening cruelly. “Clara, stop this! Throw that stupid urn away! Can’t you see Vanessa is in pain?” Clara watched the absurd scene before her—Liam’s tender concern, Vanessa’s performance—each cutting through her wounded heart like a dull blade. She repeated herself, voice calm yet laced with the determination of burning the bridge behind her. “I said, if you want it, it’ll be over my dead body.” “Dead? Enough!” Liam snapped, losing the last of his patience. “Someone! Tie her up! Take the urn!” The bodyguards stepped forward immediately, their faces expressionless as they reached for Clara. “Don’t come any closer!” Clara tried desperately to dodge, holding the urn tightly to her chest—but injured and weakened, she was no match for them. Suddenly, one of the bodyguards seized her arm and yanked hard. Clara lost her balance, crashing onto the cold stone floor, pain blazing through her bones like lightning. Two bodyguards pinned her down, leaving her helpless as another reached to take the urn from her. “No! That’s Noah! Don’t touch him!” Clara’s cries tore through the church—raw, broken, and desperate. Tears surged, but her strength was nothing—she watched as the urn, her last connection to her son, was taken and handed to Liam. Liam looked down at Clara’s devastated sobbing with not a shred of mercy—only a rising sense of irritation. “What are you crying for? Stop pretending!” He twisted off the urn’s lid without hesitation and dumped the ashes over Clara’s head. The white ashes fell like silent snow—covering her hair, her cheeks, settling into her collar—carrying that cold, lifeless chill only death possessed. Clara’s pupils shrank sharply, her eyes bloodshot as she frantically raised her hands, trying desperately to catch the remnants of her child fluttering away. At that moment— *Splash—* A bucket of icy water was dumped onto her. The freezing water mixed with the ashes, trickling down her face, turning Noah’s remains into spreading dirt across her skin and clothing. Liam stood over her, looking down with frosty disdain. “This is to wake you up. Stop carrying these unlucky things around.” Her son’s ashes—washed clean away—leaving behind only a puddle of muddy residue on the cold floor. Clara sat motionless, collapsed on the ground, water dripping from her hair and clothes, falling heavily onto the stone tiles. Her trembling fingers reached out, touching nothing but frigid, dirty sludge—and bone-deep despair. “Noah… my Noah…” Her voice was so faint it sounded like the whisper of an insect—broken and trembling. Vanessa wrinkled her nose in disgust, shrinking behind Liam. “Ugh—so filthy. Such bad luck.” Clara had no tears left. Her eyes were bloodshot, yet completely dry. In the moment the ashes were spilled—washed away—her heart turned to ash with them, lifeless and void. Slowly, she raised her head and stared directly at Liam. There was no love, no hatred—only a desolate emptiness, yet carrying a terrifying chill. Liam felt suffocated under her gaze, an inexplicable discomfort tightening his chest. He quickly looked away and barked, “You’ll stay here and repent! You don’t come out until you admit your mistakes!” Their footsteps faded—followed by Vanessa’s sweet, playful voice. “Liam, remember—my conference is at ten tomorrow morning! It’s my first appearance as a ‘genius scientist!’ You can’t miss it.” “Of course,” Liam replied, his voice dripping with tenderness that contrasted brutally with the violence moments earlier. “I’ll be there.” The church doors slammed shut with a heavy *clang*, locking Clara back into dead silence. She sat on the freezing floor the entire night, soaked through, chills stabbing her bones—but she felt none of it. As dawn broke, the first light streamed through the stained glass window, casting colors across the dirt-streaked lines of her face. Clara slowly took out her new phone and dialed the number etched deep into her memory. Today was the day she agreed to leave. Soon, engines roared outside the church in synchronized cadence. More than ten bulletproof black cars lined up, forming a protective barricade. Above, helicopter blades thrashed the air, sending a harsh wind sweeping through the church. A white-haired elder with an air of authority descended from the helicopter, several men in black suits following solemnly. The elder spotted Clara and immediately quickened his pace, greeting her with respectful urgency. “Clara, we’re here to take you.” Clara nodded slowly, rising to her feet. She was filthy, drenched, disheveled—but her eyes were clearer and more resolute than ever, stripped of all weakness. The elder frowned at her condition, concern tightening his features. “You’re hurt, aren’t you? Your physical state looks unstable. Should we delay departure a few days?” “It’s nothing.” Clara’s voice was calm and steady. “We’re leaving now.” She walked toward the helicopter decisively, her steps falling over the muddied traces of her son’s ashes—as if making one final, irreversible farewell to the pain that forged her. She didn’t look back when she boarded. As the helicopter lifted into the sky, the city beneath her grew smaller—this city where she once loved, once dreamed, once bled—shrinking to a blurred speck of light. Clara gazed out the window, whispering her farewell. “Goodbye—and never again.” Before leaving, she had prepared a “gift” for Liam— the complete research data, the evidence of Vanessa’s hit-and-run and false accusation, the proof that Clara donated her spleen, and a detailed “data flaw analysis.” She counted the timing precisely—by now, that gift should already be in Liam’s hands.