First Marriage Failed, Second Marriage was Sweet

The fake heiress, June Fox, pushed me down the stairs while I was pregnant.

I collapsed in a pool of my own blood, feeling the life inside me slipping away, tears streaming from the pain.

And my husband, Patrick Harding, was wiping the tears of the woman trembling in his arms, murmuring soft words of comfort.

"Don't look. It's ugly. Are you hurt anywhere?"

Because the best window for emergency treatment was missed, I could never carry a child again.

Patrick shrugged it off like it was nothing.

"So you can't have kids. It's not like you're dying."

From the day we started dating, through our wedding, to now, eight full years. He knew better than anyone how much I loved children.

And he had stripped me of the right to ever be a mother.

Three days later, I stumbled home in a daze.

On the master bedroom sheets, there was a half-dried stain. It was obvious. They'd had sex in my marriage bed.

I shut the bedroom door. Something inside me went quiet for good. I dialed a number I hadn't touched in years. "I agree. I'll honor our arrangement.Leave him and marry you."

"Serena Abbott, the divorce papers and the resignation letter are both ready. Are you really going through with this?"

My closest friend handed me the two documents, her eyes full of reluctance and confusion, a sigh caught in her throat.

She had been there since I was brought back to Graystone City. She'd witnessed every chapter of my love story with Patrick.

I took the papers. Eight years of my life, condensed into two thin sheets. Almost laughably light.

I nodded, firm. "Yes."

I was going back to Havenport. My adoptive parents were still waiting for me to come home.

I turned and walked out, carrying those two sheets of paper straight to Harding Group, all the way up to the top floor.

Patrick looked up when I came in, mildly surprised, a crease of irritation forming between his brows.

"Why did you check yourself out? Are you feeling better? I've been swamped. That's the only reason I haven't come to see you."

"You don't need to rush back to work. Your only priority right now is recovering. You know that, right?"

Swamped. Not swamped. He simply didn't care enough. He'd been too busy taking care of June Fox.

I smiled and said nothing. I slid the papers across the desk toward him.

"Sign these."

Patrick's gaze dropped. His pupils contracted, an involuntary reflex.

"What is this?"

I watched his hand reach to flip the first page, and the sting behind my eyes deepened. A bitter laugh escaped me.

"Call it your compensation to me."

A flicker of guilt crossed his face. Even he knew he'd gone too far.

He opened to the first page. Patrick was always careful; no matter how rushed, he'd at least skim the contents.

But then his phone rang. The name on the screen burned into my eyes like a brand.

Sweetheart June.

June Fox. The woman who had stolen eighteen years of my life. Who tormented me the moment I was brought back. Who had now killed my child.

Patrick knew everything I'd suffered. There was a time he'd despised June Fox too.

And now he had her saved as Sweetheart.

How absurd.

I let out a cold laugh. Eight years of love, reduced to a punchline.

Patrick answered immediately, his voice softening without him even realizing it.

A whiny, coquettish voice poured through the speaker.

"Patrick, I want boba from that place in Southvale. Come get it with me!"

He stood without a second of hesitation, already heading for the door.

"Serena, I'll be back in a bit."

I reached out and caught his wrist. My fingertips were ice. My voice was flat.

"June Fox pushed me down a flight of stairs and killed our baby. You signing a little compensation on her behalf isn't unreasonable, is it?"

His brow furrowed. Displeasure flooded his eyes in an instant.

"I told you, June didn't do it on purpose. She had terrible cramps that day. She lost her footing and bumped into you. She was so scared she cried."

"Stop making everything into such a big deal."

Lost her footing.

Three little words, weightless as air.

I laughed. Laughed until my eyes blurred with tears.

I had been writhing in a pool of blood, screaming in agony, and he was wiping June Fox's tears.

I had been on the operating table, hovering between life and death, and he was rubbing June Fox's stomach through the night.

I stared into his eyes, searching for even a trace of guilt. Of love.

Patrick shifted under my gaze. He searched my face too, looking for the old grievances, the hysteria he was used to.

But all he found was emptiness. A silence that had nothing left to give.

"Just sign. Once you do, I'm gone. I won't keep you from your boba date."

I pressed the pen into his hand.

He hesitated for a moment, then flipped straight to the last few pages. One broad stroke of his hand, and Patrick Harding sprawled across the signature line.

He stepped forward, pulled me into his arms, and pressed a kiss to my forehead, a gesture that almost passed for tenderness.

"Whatever you want, it's yours. Now be good and go home on your own."

Then he left without looking back.

I watched his retreating figure, and eight years of memories crashed over me at once.

When the Fox family first brought me back, everyone in the house hated me. My brother Carl said I'd stolen June's love. June herself found every possible way to bully me, to tear me down.

It was Patrick who stepped forward, shielded me behind him, and told June, stone-faced, to apologize.

He knew I was terrified in that unfamiliar house. Every day after school, he'd come to sit with me, bringing warm milk, saying, "Don't be scared. I'm here."

He promised he'd protect me for the rest of his life. That he'd never let anyone hurt me.

Back then, I was the only one in his eyes.

The door swung open, cutting through my thoughts.

"Ms. Fox, where would you like these pastries and flowers?"

A new assistant walked in carrying an armful of lush red roses and a box of elegant pastries, her face bright with envy.

"Mr. Harding is so good to you. He has fresh flowers delivered every single day and all these desserts specially prepared so you won't go hungry at work."

I looked at the sickeningly sweet macarons and mousse cakes. I looked at the roses I'd never liked, the same ones that always showed up on June Fox's social media. A hollow smile tugged at my lips.

I didn't have a sweet tooth. I hated red roses. Patrick knew that better than anyone.

"Just set them over there."

My voice was flat. I gathered my things and walked out.

The assistant was still chattering behind me.

"Ms. Fox, you're so lucky. Mr. Harding only has eyes for you..."

Lucky?

I walked out of Harding Group. The evening wind hit my face, and my eyes burned.

My phone buzzed. A name I hadn't seen in eight years lit up the screen.

Maurice Sanchez.

On the other end, I could hear the smile in his voice.

"Eight years before you finally called. Much later than I expected. I'll come get you tomorrow."

I shook my head, my gaze steady.

"Give me a week. There's something I need to take care of first."

Finalize the divorce. Then, at June Fox's birthday gala, deliver them a gift they'd never forget.

I came back to the home I'd lived in for three years. Every corner of it I had arranged with my own hands.

The nursery still held the tiny clothes and shoes I'd bought for our baby.

Once, Patrick had held me close, his forehead pressed to mine, his eyes impossibly tender. "Serena, let's have a baby. I want a daughter, as beautiful as you."

He used to rest his hand on my belly and read stories to the baby every single night without fail.

Worried I wouldn't like what the housekeeper cooked, he taught himself to make meals suited for a pregnant woman.

Back then, I believed we would be happy forever.

Now, all of it was ash.

I threw everything connected to Patrick into boxes. I was leaving, and nothing would stay behind.

With every item I cleared away, a memory surfaced. Every movie we watched together. Every trip we took.

But once it all went into the boxes, I could let go. And once I let go, it wouldn't hurt anymore.

Then I called the housekeeper and told her to take it all to the dump. Immediately.

I had just finished when the front door opened.

Patrick's brow creased as he scanned the half-empty rooms. "Why is so much stuff missing?"

I didn't spare him a glance. My voice came out flat and cold.

"It was old. Time to throw it out."

He took my indifference as anger over the incident with June and the sweet soup, nothing more.

He wrapped his arms around me from behind, resting his chin in the curve of my neck.

"Come on, don't be mad. You know how June's been ever since she found out she isn't the Foxes' biological daughter. She's insecure. And you're the real daughter. She has nothing. That's why I..."

Before he could finish, a baby's cry pierced the air from behind him.

Patrick released me. I spun around.

June walked in carrying a child, maybe a year old. The baby's brow and eyes bore an unmistakable resemblance to Patrick.

My blood stopped moving. A high-pitched ringing filled my ears.

Patrick's gaze flickered. He shifted June and the child behind him, cleared his throat, and spoke.

"June and I have a child."

Something detonated inside my skull. Cold flooded every inch of my body. My fingertips shook.

"What did you just say?"

Patrick exhaled heavily.

"You can't have children anymore. But the Harding family needs an heir. Besides, you love kids, don't you? From now on, this will be our child."

"He's still too young to be away from June. I brought them here to stay with us. It'll give you two a chance to bond."

The next second, June turned to me with reddened eyes, tears streaming down her face.

"I'm so sorry, Serena. Please don't blame Patrick. It was all my fault. A year ago, someone drugged me. Those men were going to assault me, and Patrick saved me. I never expected to get pregnant. The doctor said my uterine lining is too thin. If I'd terminated, I might never conceive again. I'm sorry..."

My breath locked in my chest. The cold cut straight to the bone.

A year and a half ago, Patrick and I were planning our future. He held me and said, "Just a little longer. Next year, we'll have our baby."

A year and a half ago, on my birthday, he threw a lavish party. He released sky lanterns and presented me with a one-of-a-kind opal diamond ring, swearing he would love only me for the rest of his life.

A year and a half ago, he coaxed me to sleep every night and made love to me.

And while he was doing all of that, he had already fathered a child with June.

Blood surged up my throat. I choked it back down.

"You're both disgusting."

There was a time when June stole from me, slandered me, and Patrick stood up for me every single time.

He even forced June to apologize to my face.

He pursued me for an entire year. Fresh flowers flown in daily. Breakfast made by his own hands. He memorized every little thing I loved and hated.

When he proposed, he knelt before me and cried like a child. He gave me the grandest wedding.

Eight years. From seventeen to twenty-five, I poured every ounce of love and trust I had into him.

And now, barely weeks after I lost our baby, he was moving June and their child into our home.

I laughed until my whole body trembled. Tears ran unchecked down my face.

"Patrick, can you look our child in the eye and say this is fair?"

His gaze darted away. Guilt swelled dark and heavy behind his eyes.

But June's sobbing pulled him back. He sighed.

"Serena, just be good about this."

I wiped my tears. My voice went quiet. Steady.

"Fine. They can stay."

He froze. He hadn't expected me to agree so quickly.

In his mind, I should have fallen apart. Screamed. Thrown things. Made a scene.

I turned and walked away. I had barely reached the foot of the stairs when Patrick's voice carried after me.

"Have the nursery cleared out. The baby will sleep there."

I whipped around, my voice rising before I could stop it.

"On what grounds?"

I had stayed up countless nights for that room. Visited store after store. Arranged every detail with my own hands. Every inch of it held the hope I'd carried for my child.

June immediately lowered her head.

"If Serena doesn't want to, it's fine. We can take the guest room."

Patrick's expression hardened. His voice turned to ice.

"No. Your health is fragile, and the baby is too young. The Harding heir is not sleeping in a guest room."

The housekeeper headed upstairs at once. I ran after her.

I stood there and watched as everything I had prepared for my baby was carried out, piece by piece.

The pain went so deep it turned numb.

I spent the entire night packing up the baby's things.

By the time dawn broke through the windows, I was so exhausted I finally fell asleep.

When I woke again it was already the next day. I went downstairs to find something to eat.

"Serena."

Patrick walked toward me. He stared at my retreating figure for a long moment, then reached out to touch my hair. I stepped away before his fingers made contact.

His hand froze in midair.

"That room was always meant for a child. You'll be the baby's mother. We'll always be together. No one could ever replace you."

I let out a quiet laugh. "Fine."

Patrick blinked. He'd been trying to make amends for two days straight, yet I remained just as cold.

Impatience crept into his voice. "Think it over carefully!"

The doorbell rang. It was my brother, Carl Fox.

He walked in frowning and headed straight for Patrick.

"I told you not to bring June and the baby here."

Then his gaze shifted to me, sharp and wary.

"You haven't been bullying June and the baby, have you?"

Before I could say a word, Patrick shook his head firmly.

"As long as I'm here, June and the baby won't be hurt in the slightest."

Hearing the commotion, June came out and threw herself into Carl's arms.

His expression softened instantly.

"If anyone's giving you a hard time, just say the word. Mom, Dad, and I will always have your back."

June shook her head, the picture of wounded innocence.

"It's okay. Serena doesn't really like me. I'm used to it."

I watched the three of them and felt something between disbelief and bitter amusement.

So my biological parents and my brother had all known that June was carrying Patrick's child.

Every single one of them knew. I was the only fool kept in the dark.

A dry, humorless sound escaped my throat.

"Your family really raised a fine daughter. She stole eighteen years of my life, humiliated me the moment I came back, seduced my husband, bore his child, and moved right into my nest like a cuckoo."

Carl's face darkened. His voice cut through the room like a whip.

"Shut your mouth, Serena. If you hadn't shown up out of nowhere, June would never have felt so insecure. Everything she did was because she was terrified you'd steal our love."

He looked at me, his eyes glacial.

"Even if she made mistakes, you pushed her to it. And Patrick should have married her in the first place."

I laughed. The sound tore out of me, ragged and raw.

June had slandered me, framed me, more times than I could count. My parents knew the truth every single time, yet all they ever said was, "You're the older sister. Let her have her way."

Whenever anything was bought, Carl always let June choose first. "June has no one but us," he'd say.

I used to hide in my room and cry. Patrick was the only one who wiped my tears, who placed the best of everything in front of me, who told me over and over that he loved me, who held me like I was the most precious thing in the world.

And in the end, the man I'd poured every ounce of love into betrayed me. The family I'd been desperate to belong to despised me.

Patrick's brow furrowed at Carl's words. He wanted to argue but said nothing.

He still believed I was the one he loved and that June had been an accident. But hearing me lash out at her like that made anger flicker across his face all the same.

His expression went cold.

"Serena, I told you it was an accident. Someone drugged June. Was I supposed to just stand there and watch her get assaulted? If it had been you, I would have done the same thing."

If it had been you, I would have done the same thing.

Saved her right into his bed. Saved her all the way to a baby. Saved her straight into our home.

June's eyes welled with tears on cue. Her body trembled.

"I'm so sorry, Serena..."

Carl pulled her into his arms and cut her off.

"You have nothing to apologize for. Stop crying. We'll take you to your favorite restaurant."

As he turned to leave, he cast one last frigid glance in my direction.

"Serena, if you keep throwing these tantrums and bullying June, I will send you back where you came from. You can go back to scraping by."

I smiled. Cold and thin.

They thought I'd grown up in some slum. They thought without the Fox family I had nothing.

They had no idea that my adoptive parents were one of the most powerful families in Havenport.

When I'd insisted on returning to my biological parents, Mom and Dad Delgado had held back tears and said, "Serena, if they ever mistreat you, come home to us."

But I'd chosen blood over the people who actually loved me. I'd pushed them away, convinced that sincerity could be repaid with sincerity.

What a joke.

June walked out surrounded by their doting attention. At the door, she paused and looked back at me, triumph glittering in her eyes. Her lips moved silently.

You lost again.

I met her gaze and let the corner of my mouth curl upward.

The next morning, I went to the office. It was the last time I'd ever set foot in that building.

First, to clear out my things. Second, to take my projects with me.

Every single one of those deals I'd negotiated myself, piece by piece. The partners knew my name, not anyone else's.

Patrick pushed the door open and saw the files in my hands. His brow creased.

"You're still recovering. You shouldn't push yourself like this. Hand these over to June and let her take care of them."

I looked up at him, almost stunned by the absurdity.

These projects were built on how many sleepless nights I'd spent writing proposals, how many rounds of revisions, how many meetings I'd personally sat through with every partner.

And he thought one sentence was enough to gift them to June?

When Patrick saw I hadn't moved, his expression darkened.

"I'm doing this for your own good. Besides, projects don't wait. June needs a big account to prove herself and shut people up."

Funny. When I first joined the company, Patrick said he was worried people would think I'd gotten in through connections. So he made me start from the very bottom.

In the dead of summer, over a hundred degrees, I was out chasing leads. In winter blizzards, I sat across from partners alone.

Back then, giving me any kind of advantage never once crossed his mind.

I let out a quiet laugh and handed him the files.

"Fine."

I hoped June Fox could handle them.

I turned to leave and nearly ran into Patrick's assistant, who was coming in with documents. She froze when she saw me.

"Mrs. Harding, why are you leav"

"I just had a miscarriage. My health isn't great. I'm here to hand off some work."

I cut her off before she could finish.

Patrick's gaze sharpened. He'd caught the start of the assistant's question and was about to press further.

The assistant looked apologetic. "Oh, you really should rest properly then. Mr. Harding is so good to you, always worried you'll overwork yourself."

I smiled. "He is."

Patrick watched me, and only when he saw nothing out of the ordinary did the tension leave his face.

I walked out without looking back.

When I got home, June was lounging on the couch eating fruit. The moment she saw me, she sauntered over with a smirk.

"Hey, sis. See? Patrick's willing to give me anything I want."

"And did you really think what happened a year and a half ago was an accident? I slipped the drug myself. Those men were hired by me. I wanted him to rescue me. I wanted to seduce him."

"Why should he care about you so much? Why should he be willing to hate me for your sake? I won't allow anyone to love you. I'll take everything from you. Mom and Dad's love, our brother's love, and Patrick. So what if you're the real heiress?"

She laughed, mocking and cruel, her red lips curled like a wound.

"You know what? After your miscarriage, Patrick thought you were disgusting. Tainted. He couldn't even stand to touch you."

"But with me? Oh, he was so eager. Kept me in bed for three whole days..."

Crack.

I couldn't hold back any longer. My hand connected with her face so hard my palm went numb.

The sting radiated all the way up my arm.

"As long as Patrick and I aren't divorced, you'll always be the other woman. The mistress everyone spits on!"

June clutched her cheek, stunned for a few seconds. Something vicious flashed through her eyes, and she raised her hand to strike back.

The next second, Patrick and Carl walked through the door.

Her face transformed instantly. Tears poured out like a faucet had been turned. She dropped to her knees in front of me and started slamming her forehead against the floor.

"Please, I'm sorry, I know I was wrong! Don't expose what happened between me and Patrick, I'm begging you. I don't want my reputation ruined. I won't fight for Mom and Dad's love anymore, or Carl's. The baby is yours. You're the only true daughter of the Fox family. I'll leave, I'll disappear..."

Patrick's pupils contracted. He shoved me aside and snarled.

"Serena, why do you keep dragging this out? Apologize to June right now. Tell her she's not the other woman."

The shove sent me stumbling. My lower back slammed into the corner of the table, and the pain was so sharp that tears blurred my vision.

I stared at him, my voice raw and shaking.

"Why should I apologize? Isn't that exactly what she is?"

Patrick looked at my ashen face and something in him flinched. The words on his tongue died before they left his mouth.

Carl rushed forward, pulling June to her feet, and turned on me.

"Just because you can't have children, you want to destroy June and her baby? How can you be this vicious?"

I lifted my chin and laughed, cold and hollow.

Patrick saw that I refused to bend. He looked at June's red, swollen eyes, and his face went dark, fury filling every line.

"Since you won't repent, you can go sit in the storage room and think about what you've done. No one lets you out without my permission. No food. No water."

He waved the bodyguards over. They seized my arms and dragged me toward the storage room.

The door slammed shut. The lock clicked into place.

Darkness and cold swallowed me whole.

I leaned against the frozen wall.

Once, he would panic over a scraped knee. Now, weeks after a miscarriage with my body still wrecked, he locked me in a room cold enough to see my own breath.

They didn't let me out until the following evening.

Every muscle had seized. My thoughts drifted in and out of focus.

I dragged myself down the hallway toward my room. As I passed the master bedroom, the door sat slightly ajar. The sounds that spilled out were unmistakable, breathless moans and gasps, each one drilling into my eardrums like a needle.

I wiped the tears from the corners of my eyes, let out a bitter laugh, and stumbled into my room. I collapsed onto the bed and sank into a black, dreamless sleep.

I didn't know how much time had passed before fingers closed around my throat and jolted me awake.

Patrick loomed over me, his eyes bloodshot, screaming.

"Where's the baby? What did you do with the baby?"

His hand closed around my throat so tight I could barely breathe. I forced the words out through the crushing pressure.

"I didn't..."

June came in crying, dropping to her knees in front of me.

"Please, Serena, you can be angry at me all you want, but the baby is innocent."

"Still lying!"

Patrick's fury spiked. His palm cracked across my face.

My cheek erupted in a searing burn, and the taste of copper flooded my mouth.

"I'll ask you one more time. Where is the child?"

I summoned every ounce of strength I had left and screamed back at him.

"You locked me in that storage room for a full day and night! How could I have taken the baby? Are you blind?"

"There are cameras all over this house. Just check the footage and you'll know exactly where the child went!"

"You still have the nerve to talk back? You're the only person in this house who hates June and the baby."

That set him off. He dragged me into the living room, took a whip from one of his bodyguards, and stood over me.

"I'm asking you one last time. Where is the child? Don't make me do something you won't like."

I lifted my chin. "Touch me, and you'll regret it."

The next second, the whip came down. It bit into my flesh, and a scream tore from my throat before I could stop it.

Once. Twice. Three times.

"Are you going to tell me? Where is the child?"

I clenched my teeth and refused to break.

"I don't know."

I lost count of the lashes. Blood soaked through my clothes, and the edges of my vision blurred.

Just as I was about to lose consciousness, the nanny's frantic voice rang out from the hallway.

"Sir, they found the baby! It was Mrs. Fox's maid. She took the child to the Fox residence!"

The whip slipped from Patrick's hand and hit the floor. He looked at me, at the blood and torn skin, and something behind his eyes cracked.

His hands trembled as he reached down to pick me up.

"Serena..."

He hadn't even crouched all the way down before June's sobbing pulled him back.

"Patrick, the housekeeper says the baby might be sick. He won't stop crying. What do we do?"

The color drained from his face. He straightened immediately, wrapped his arm around June, and headed for the door.

"Don't worry, don't worry. We'll take him to the hospital right now."

He didn't look back at me once.

The footsteps faded. I lay on the floor staring up at the ceiling, a bitter smile twisting my lips. Then everything went black.

When I opened my eyes again, three days had passed. The house was empty.

The one maid who still cared about me brought me a glass of water, her eyes red with pity.

"Ma'am, every doctor in the hospital got called away to look after the young master. I had a private physician come to bandage you up, but you really need to get to a hospital yourself."

I took the glass, nodded, and managed a small, grateful smile.

My phone rang. A courier.

I went to the door and picked up the package. Inside were two finalized divorce certificates.

I placed Patrick's copy on the desk in his study.

Then I picked up the little luggage I had and walked out.

I hadn't gotten far when my phone rang again.

It was Maurice Sanchez.

"Serena, I'm almost there."

At the same time, a string of messages flooded my screen.

From my mother:

"Serena Fox, do you have any idea today is June's birthday? We're all waiting for you. Don't you dare make a scene."

From Carl:

"Serena Fox, get over here for June's birthday party. Apologize to her in front of everyone and we'll let the whole thing go."

From Patrick:

"Serena, once June's birthday is over, I have a surprise for you. After that, we'll be together forever."

The messages made my stomach turn.

Together forever? Patrick, there is no "after" for us.

I blocked every single number without a second of hesitation, then deleted them all.

A moment later, a limited-edition luxury car pulled up in front of me.

Maurice Sanchez stepped out holding a bouquet, his stride steady and sure as he walked toward me.

"Serena, I'm here to take you home."

I nodded. My eyes stung, and my throat ached.

We got in the car and drove away.

On the ride, I sent a message to an anonymous contact.

Make sure my gift drops tonight, right at the peak of the birthday gala.

I watched the scenery blur past the window and let a slow smile curve my lips.

"I hope you all enjoy the present."