My Ex-Husband Begged for a Second Chance, But I Refused

Hello. I'd like to schedule an abortion.

The doctor glanced at Mavis Swanson's prenatal report. Ms. Swanson, your baby is perfectly healthy. Are you sure you want to terminate?

Mavis stared at the report, at the tiny shape already taking form. Her eyes were rimmed red, but in the end her voice came out without a single waver

I'm sure.

The doctor didn't try to talk her out of it. Instead she said, flat and proceduralAn abortion requires both spouses to be present. Where is your husband?

Husband?

When the two of them had been kidnapped together, Bartholomew Henson had saved Sonia Swanson. On their wedding anniversary, when he'd chosen to abandon her and spend the whole night at Sonia's side, she had told herself the truth: she had no husband, and it was time to go.

My husband is very busy. He doesn't have time to come with me. But he'll definitely agree to terminating the baby.

With that, Mavis pulled out her phone and sent Bartholomew a message

I'm at the hospital to terminate the baby. Do you agree?

His reply came almost instantly

Fine.

Mavis gave the doctor a bitter smileYou see? My husband agrees.

In the end, the doctor scheduled the procedure for her.

But the doctor didn't know that no matter what she sent, Bartholomew's reply was always the same single wordFine.

Over the past year, every one of the one thousand seven hundred and twenty-three messages she'd sent had earned the same prompt, flawless replyFine.

Not because Bartholomew answered every word she said, but because he had long ago set an auto-reply on her chat thread.

Bartholomew didn't know she was about to terminate the child he'd been longing for.

Still less did he know that once the child was gone, she was going to leave him completely.

The procedure was quick. Two hours later, the unformed child had been stripped entirely from her body.

The cold instruments churned ceaselessly inside her, but the pain in her flesh was nothing next to the pain in her heart.

After she came out of the operating room, the doctor prescribed her some medication and told her to rest properly once she got home, or she'd do lasting damage to her body.

Mavis's face was deathly pale, her hand pressed against her lower abdomen

Doctor, thank you. There's one more thing I have to trouble you with. This is my first child. Could I keep the placenta?

The doctor frowned and asked gravelyWhat do you want it for?

Mavis smiled, the bleakest smile

My husband's birthday is coming up soon. This is the birthday gift I'm leaving him.

The doctor looked at her like she was looking at a lunatic, but it was her child after all, so she had the nurse below handle it and gave it to Mavis.

Mavis didn't take it home. She left it at the hospital.

Keep the placenta in storage here for now. One month from today, on my husband's birthday, I'll send someone to collect it.

Mavis took a cab home. Bracing her waist, she stepped through the door and saw a table covered in chocolates and roses.

Bartholomew lifted his eyes, saw her, and immediately rose, pulling her toward the coffee table, joy he couldn't hide all over his face

Mavis, come taste these chocolates. Sonia's starting at the company soon, and I want to give her a gift. I bought dozens of kinds, all the ones she loves, but it's a little too many. Help me pick out the few she likes best. You're her sister, you must know her tastes well.

Mavis's arm went stiff. She looked at the table buried in chocolate and gave a self-mocking laugh.

A dozen kinds of chocolate, every one of them a favorite of Sonia's, and Bartholomew remembered each one without a single slip.

The pain in her abdomen and her chest drained the color from her lips bit by bit, and her body trembled before she could stop it.

She raised her eyes, gazing intently at Bartholomew, and suddenly felt unmoored.

She thought of how she'd once been upset because Bartholomew never remembered she liked dark chocolate.

Back then, his face all weariness, he'd saidMavis, I'm busy. The company keeps me run off my feet every day. Where would I find the time to memorize little preferences like yours? Can you stop being so unreasonable?

The annoyance on his face had pushed Mavis into self-doubt, made her think she was the one nitpicking.

Bartholomew was busy with projects worth tens of billions every day. It was only natural he wouldn't remember her preferences.

Not until Bartholomew knew her sister Sonia's tastes by heart did she finally understand. It wasn't that he had no time. It was that she wasn't worth it.

Seeing Mavis stay silent, Bartholomew grew impatient and pressed her to hurry up and choose.

Her abdomen hurt so badly that even her voice came out weak, but Bartholomew was so wrapped up in the joy of seeing Sonia that he didn't notice her suffering at all.

When they'd first gotten together, if Mavis so much as scraped the skin on her hand, Bartholomew would fuss over her endlessly.

Ever since Sonia, the Swanson family's true heiress, had been found, everything had changed.

Her parents favored Sonia. Her husband took Sonia's side.

Sonia had become the apple of everyone's eye, while she, the Swanson family's fake heiress, had long since stopped mattering to anyone, alive or dead.

Mavis drew a deep breath, pressed down the pain in her heart, and pointed at a few kinds at randomThese three, then.

Bartholomew looked them over and frowned slightlyNo good. Sonia loves butterflies. She definitely won't like these shapes. Let's switch to the ones next to them instead.

Bartholomew wrapped the chocolates with his own hands, then layered red roses on top, looking for all the world like a gift from a husband to his wife.

A dense, prickling ache spread through Mavis's heart. She couldn't even remember the last time Bartholomew had carefully prepared a gift for her.

Once, a shareholder at the company had fallen for him at first sight and brought him a bouquet of red roses. Bartholomew had thrown it straight into the trash in front of everyone.

He'd saidRed roses are for people in love to give each other. You and I are nothing but ordinary colleagues. Red roses aren't appropriate.

Bartholomew was a man who clearly understood boundaries. He understood all of it. And still he chose to keep up this murky closeness with Sonia.

Even if it meant fighting with her over it again and again.

Bartholomew finished wrapping the gift and rose to leave, only for Mavis to catch the hem of his clothes.

Bartholomew, red roses are a gift for a wife. Sonia is only your wife's sister. Do you really think this is appropriate?

She felt a flicker of defiance.

They had been childhood sweethearts. When the Henson family went bankrupt back then, it was she who had defied her parents and insisted on staying with him.

She'd built everything from nothing alongside him, slept in basements with him, lived on instant noodles, and gone, time after time, to swallow her pride and beg others for partnerships.

During their poorest year, she'd sold the hair she'd grown out for eight years, just to buy him a down jacket to ward off the cold.

After Bartholomew got his start and founded the company, Mavis had wanted no shares, no title. She'd only stayed by his side, serving as his little secretary.

She'd buried every bit of her own brilliance, putting all her heart and strength into supporting Bartholomew, lifting the Henson family back up to the new elite of Capital City.

Bartholomew had once promised her he'd never let her down, not for the rest of his life.

But that promise had lasted only three years.

The day Sonia was recovered by the Swanson family, Mavis learned for the first time that she herself had been adopted.

Sonia hated Mavis. She believed that because of Mavis's existence, the Swansons hadn't bothered to search for her in earnest, leaving her to suffer so much out in the world.

So she framed her, over and over.

At first, the elder Swansons were still willing to believe Mavis. But after it happened enough times, they decided she truly couldn't tolerate Sonia, their real heiress, and warned her.

If she dared to bully Sonia again, the Swansons would cut all ties with her for good.

Bartholomew dragged her thoughts back. He pried her fingers loose one by one, his eyes cold

Mavis, she's your sister. You're going to be jealous over even this?

She drifted out there for over twenty years. She's finally home. What's wrong with us being a little good to her?

Can you not be so selfish!

Mavis stared at him blankly. It was the exact same face, and yet it felt like a stranger's.

She closed her eyes wearily. When she opened them again, she had already let him go.

Just as he reached the door, Mavis asked one more thing

The message I sent you today. Did you read it?

No. It's nothing but more complaints about Sonia, more whining about how wronged you are. I'm not your emotional trash can. I'm under no obligation to read your bad moods every single day.

With a deafening Bang! Bartholomew was gone.

Slowly, Mavis opened her palm. The crumpled abortion form stung her eyes red.

So he really hadn't read it. Bartholomew couldn't even be bothered to fake it anymore. He'd simply set an auto-reply on her chat thread.

No matter what she said, all she got back was one word: Fine.

But from this day on, she would never tell him anything again.

She took out her phone and called her biological father, far away in Sicily.

Dad, I want to go back to my real home. Can you come get me?

All right, Daddy will come for you tomorrow!

Mavis saidDaddy, tomorrow is too soon. There's still so much I haven't settled. Wait a month, until Bartholomew and I are divorced, and then come for me.

On the other end, her father went quiet for a few seconds. When he spoke again, his voice had dropped low

Divorce? When I first wanted to bring you home to inherit the family fortune, you told me you had a husband who loved you deeply. It hasn't been long at all. Why this sudden talk of divorce?

Tell Daddy. Has he mistreated you?

Mavis's throat was raw, and she didn't know where to begin.

Mistreated? Not exactly.

It was only that his heart no longer belonged to her.

She drew in a deep breath and forced down the sob threading through her voice

No. I just realized we don't suit each other. It's time to leave.

Afraid her father might sense something more, Mavis offered a few light words and hung up.

Without thinking, she tapped open her chat thread with Bartholomew.

Somewhere along the way, every reply he sent her had narrowed to a single word: Okay.

She pressed hard against her memory, and at last a few faint threads surfaced.

Half a year ago, she had gone to close a difficult client for Bartholomew, only for the man to take advantage of her.

But that man's project decided whether Henson Group could go public, so Mavis didn't dare offend him. All she could do was send Bartholomew message after message, begging for help.

Her hands had been trembling the whole time she typed.

Those messages were still there, even now

Bartholomew, I'm in the Nightfall VIP lounge. Come save me, quick.

His replyOkay.

Half an hour passed. Mavis sent another message

Bartholomew, are you here yet? How much longer? I can't hold on much more.

Right away, he replied with another okay.

Because of those replies, Mavis kept waiting for him, again and again.

But Bartholomew never came, and she was nearly raped. By some mercy she'd smashed a wine bottle over the client's head, and the police hauled them both away.

Yet that night left her with an intimacy disorder. She couldn't bear any closeness with a man after that.

Bartholomew didn't drift in until the next day, and only then did he apologize.

He saidMavis, I'm always so busy, and I was afraid I couldn't reply to you in time, so I set up an auto-reply.

Bartholomew promised her it would never happen again.

But the ending was always the same.

Mavis scrolled through her old conversations with Bartholomew, deleting each one the moment she read it.

Line by line, she was peeling him out of her heart.

She didn't know how long she deleted before the pain dragged her into a fitful sleep.

At two in the morning, the chime of a message jolted her awake.

Cold sweat still beaded on her forehead. The moment her eyes opened, she saw the taunting messages Sonia had sent, one after another.

In the photo, Sonia's fingers were laced through Bartholomew's, and the ring on the woman's hand was glaringly bright.

The logo on that ring belonged to a brand Bartholomew had designed for her after founding his company.

He'd once called it the symbol of true love, and sworn that this brand would create pieces for her alone, for the rest of his life.

Back then, to design a ring that was one of a kind in all the world, Bartholomew had gone three nights straight without sleep.

The Bartholomew of those days truly had loved her. But how easily a man's love turns on a dime.

She looked at the taunting messages Sonia had sent, one after another.

One of them cut all the way through her.

So while she'd been on the table for her abortion, Bartholomew had been in bed with Sonia.

Mavis curled in on herself against the pain, and forcing it down, she typed out each word

Sonia, everything you're wearing, everything on your hand, all of it is marital property shared by me and Bartholomew. Don't come taunting me again, or I'll have you stripped of every last piece on the spot and take back everything that belongs to me!

The moment the message sent, Mavis powered off her phone.

She told herself, over and over, to hold on a little longer. Once she was gone, she'd never have to swallow anyone's temper again.

All night, Mavis slept poorly, sharp pains stabbing through her lower abdomen.

Only at daybreak did she drift into a shallow sleep, but she'd barely closed her eyes before a thunderous slam of the door jolted her awake.

Bartholomew, gone all night, had finally come home. His face was twisted with rage.

He clamped down on Mavis's wrist, gripping so hard he nearly crushed the bone.

Mavis, why can't you stand the sight of Sonia? You sent her threatening messages, scared her so badly she ran away from home. Are you satisfied now?

Years ago you stole the place that should have been hers, the rightful Swanson heiress. Now you pull every trick in the book to drive her out. Do you think that's going to win you more of our love?

Keep dreaming! All you've done is make us hate you, make us sick to our stomachs over you!

Mavis's head buzzed. She'd ached the whole night through, the sweat on her pillow still damp. But Bartholomew couldn't see that. There was room for no one in his eyes but Sonia.

Her nose stung, and her eyes brimmed with wounded grief.

Bartholomew, are you blind? Can't you see Sonia provoked me first? All I did was tell her the truth. Which part of it, which single word, did I get wrong?

Seeing Mavis on the verge of breaking, Bartholomew's brow knit faintly, yet his voice stayed hard:

Sonia's younger than you. She's got a grudge against you in her heart. Would it kill you to give in to her a little?

Mavis, I'm the one who loves her, I'm the one who wants to be with her. If you've got a problem, take it up with me. Picking on a young girl, what does that make you?

The man's iron-edged words struck the very bottom of her heart, blow after blow.

She remembered the first time Sonia had bullied her. Back then, Bartholomew had stood by her without question. He'd said:

Sonia, so what if you're the real Swanson heiress? Mavis is my wife. Whatever grudge you've got against her, bring it to me. Don't you dare pick on her.

How long ago had that been? And now the man's attitude had flipped to the opposite extreme.

Inch by inch, Mavis's heart iced over. Stubbornly, she lifted her gaze and locked it on him:

I've already said what I said. What's the point of you coming to me now?

Bartholomew: To take you to find Sonia, so you can apologize to her face to face!

The scorn on Mavis's face deepened.

She wasn't the one who'd done wrong, yet she was the one being ordered to apologize to Sonia.

But the old Bartholomew, he used to ache just hearing her speak a single soft word to anyone else.

Mavis's nails dug into her palm, blood seeping out drop by drop. She spoke each word slow and deliberate:

I did nothing wrong, and I will not apologize!

In an instant, Bartholomew's face went dark, and he hauled Mavis downstairs.

She hadn't even put on shoes. The skin of her feet scraped raw against the floor, and she winced, brows pinched tight with pain.

Bartholomew, let go of me. I want a divorce. You have no right to treat me like this!

But Bartholomew shot back: Divorce you, and let you crawl back to the Swansons so you can bully Sonia even more freely? Mavis, I will never give you that chance!

Mavis's feet hurt, but what hurt more was her heart.

So he'd refused the divorce not because he loved her, but because he couldn't bear to see Sonia suffer the slightest wrong.

No sooner had she been dragged downstairs, dizzy and still unable to find her feet, than a slap cracked hard across her face.

Mavis's vision went black, her ears ringing, her skull splitting with pain. It took a long while before she could make out the face in front of her.

Davina Swanson looked at her the way one looks at a mortal enemy.

Mavis, if I'd known you'd hurt our flesh-and-blood daughter like this, we never should have taken you in. We should have strangled you the moment you came back!

Mavis's heart felt like it was being twisted by a merciless blade, the pain stealing the breath from her lungs.

The day Sonia had been brought home, the Swansons had promised her with their own lips:

Mavis, no matter what happens, you'll always be Mom and Dad's good daughter.

The Davina of those days had been afraid of hurting her if she so much as snagged a hair while brushing it. Now she drove the knife in, again and again.

Then Davina pulled a document from her bag and flung it in Mavis's face.

This is the disownment agreement between you and the Swansons. From this day on, you are no longer our daughter!

Mavis, we will never give you another chance to hurt Sonia!

The color drained from Mavis's face inch by inch. She looked at her arm, at the burn scars on it, and her eyes turned red.

She was the one who'd been hurt all along, yet her husband, her parents, every last one of them stood on Sonia's side.

Fine. If they cared about Sonia that much, then let them all be together for the rest of their lives.

She would never, ever give them another chance to hurt her.

Because the family ties had been severed, the elder Swansons forbade her from ever setting foot in the Swanson house again.

Bartholomew had gone out with them to look for Sonia.

Mavis dragged herself up from the floor inch by inch, but a flood of dark red blood seeped from between her thighs.

Her vision went black, and she collapsed completely.

When she woke again, the servants had already carried her to the bed. The family doctor finished examining her and said, with concern,

"Mrs. Henson, you've just suffered a miscarriage. The bleeding hasn't fully passed, and with such violent swings in your emotions, if this keeps up, I'm afraid you'll be left with permanent damage."

Permanent damage?

All these years, she'd been schemed against by Sonia, in the open and behind her back. The wounds on her body were too many to count.

Before she could say a word, the television in front of her blared out the hottest headline of the moment.

"Breaking news: Mavis Swanson, eldest daughter of the Swanson Group, is a fake heiress who has secretly bullied the true heiress, Sonia Swanson, for years."

What followed was a barrage of video "evidence," shot from every angle, of her tormenting Sonia.

There was even official confirmation from Bartholomew and the Swanson parents. Just like that, she had become the wicked woman on everyone's lips.

The family doctor was on fairly good terms with Mavis, and offered kindly,

"Mrs. Henson, would you like me to tell Mr. Henson that you've only just had a miscarriage, so that he'll take better care of you?"

Mavis shook her head. "Thank you for your kindness, but please don't tell him I was pregnant. When the time is right, I'll tell him myself."

The doctor didn't understand, but respected her wishes.

"All right. This is a private matter between you and Mr. Henson, so I won't say a word."

Weak as she was, Mavis slept through the entire afternoon.

When she woke that evening and came downstairs to find something to eat, she happened to see Bartholomew walking in with Sonia.

Sonia pointed at Mavis and said,

"Bartholomew, you said it yourself. My sister has to be my maid for seven days."

Bartholomew noticed how pale Mavis looked, and felt a flicker of reluctance.

Sonia caught the man's hesitation and pretended to be hurt.

"Never mind. If you don't want to, I won't force it. I just don't know how my dear sister will bully me next time."

At that, Bartholomew immediately caved.

"Fine, fine, I promise you. She really was in the wrong this time, and she really does owe you some kind of amends."

The two of them simply made the decision for Mavis, as though she weren't even there.

"Bartholomew," Mavis said, "what gives you the right to decide for me?"

"I did nothing wrong, and there's no way I'm playing Sonia's maid to apologize. Dream on, both of you!"

With that, Mavis turned to leave, only for Bartholomew to seize her arm.

"Mavis, don't be ridiculous. You were a counterfeit heiress to begin with, and now you've hurt Sonia again. What's wrong with being her maid and letting her vent a little?"

Mavis's throat closed up, every word she wanted to say jamming in her mouth.

The day her identity had been exposed, this man had said the one he loved would always be her, no matter who she was.

Now it was clear. All of it had been garbage.

Mavis drew in a deep breath. Perhaps she should end this as quickly as possible.

"You want me to be her maid? Then sign something for me."

Mavis went into the room, took out the divorce agreement, flipped straight to the last page, and held out a pen.

Bartholomew didn't flip through it. He cared about only one thing. "Once I sign this agreement, you'll agree to be Sonia's maid?"

Mavis answered without a shred of hesitation. "Yes."

Sonia tugged at the corner of Bartholomew's shirt, wheedling,

"Bartholomew, hurry and sign it."

Bartholomew didn't hesitate. He didn't even read a single line. He simply signed his name.

Watching the man's signature land on the page, Mavis's throat went dry and raw.

Once, to marry him, she had stolen the family's household registration book, and Bartholomew had clawed his way up through years of grueling struggle.

And now, divorcing was this effortless.

Mavis took the divorce agreement and turned to go.

But at that very moment, the pregnancy test slip from before slipped free and fell, and Bartholomew, a step quicker than she was, saw what was written on it.

His expression turned grave in an instant.

"Mavis, you were pregnant?"

Mavis's heart leapt straight into her throat.

Before she could even reach for an excuse, Bartholomew let out a soft scoff.

Fake, obviously. Just another one of your little stunts to get my attention.

Mavis, you'd fake a pregnancy now? All to fight for my favor?

She froze for a moment, then laughed. A bitter, mocking sound.

That's right. There's no baby. It's fake.

How could I ever have a child with you?

A love this rotten didn't deserve a child.

Watching how little she seemed to care, Bartholomew felt as if a boulder had settled on his chest, crushing the air out of him.

There's a business banquet tonight. You're coming with me.

Bartholomew, you already have Sonia, Mavis said. Why drag me along?

Sonia's the precious heiress. You're my secretary. If anyone tries to push drinks on me, that's your job, naturally.

Every word she wanted to say jammed in her throat. She only gave a faint smile. Fine. I'll go.

Once this was over, she'd treat it as the clean, final cut from every feeling that had ever existed between them.

Mavis filed the divorce petition, demanding it be expedited. Three days, and she would have the papers in hand.

That evening, just to humiliate her, Sonia made a point of forcing her into a server's uniform.

Amid the clinking glasses and the easy laughter of the banquet, Mavis stood out like a wrong note.

Plenty of people thought she looked familiar, but the outfit threw them, and no one dared place her.

Mr. Henson, who's this beside you?

Her marriage to Bartholomew had always been a secret. The world didn't know who she was. But out here, in front of people, he had always acknowledged her work, her ability.

This time, though, Bartholomew tossed out one careless line.

The household help.

She'd known for a long time that the man's heart had turned. Still, hearing it from his own mouth made something inside her ache.

She lowered her eyes and let out a low, cold laugh.

Help? What household help slept in the basement beside her employer, pulled all-nighters on proposals, drank until her stomach bled, again and again, all for his sake?

The host, baffled by whatever was going on between these three, hurried to change the subject.

I hear congratulations are in order, Mr. Henson. Marrying into the Swanson family? Though I'm told there are two Swanson heiresses now. Which one is the lucky bride?

Before Bartholomew could answer, a familiar voice cut in from behind. It was Mr. Wagner, a man with deep business ties to Henson Group.

Secretary Swanson, why on earth are you dressed like that? Is this some new project your company's running?

Mavis couldn't bring herself to say it: that it was nothing but Sonia's petty revenge, and Bartholomew's silent permission.

Seeing she wouldn't speak, Mr. Wagner went on, teasing with a grin.

Never mind, never mind, I won't pry. Maybe it's some private little game between you and Mr. Henson.

Word is Mr. Henson's about to get married. You've stood by him all these years, and he's always looked after you so well. Don't tell me the two of you are the ones tying the knot?

Sonia's face went white in an instant, and Bartholomew's expression turned stiff, too.

Mavis took it all in, then smiled at Mr. Wagner.

You're joking, Mr. Wagner. I'm only a secretary. How could I marry Mr. Henson? Besides, I don't even like him.

Something in those words struck a nerve. Bartholomew's face hardened in a flash, and his voice dropped low.

Good thing you know your place. Of course I'd never marry a fake heiress. If I'm marrying anyone, it'll be the real one!

Mavis had once been the Swanson heiress. Few people knew that.

She was already standing at the eye of the storm, and now Bartholomew had ripped the truth open without warning. Every gaze around her shifted.

Voices started up.

An adopted girl, actually dreaming of taking the real heiress's place? Shameless.

She probably knew the truth ages ago. Why else would she cling to Mr. Henson's side, playing little secretary all this time?

The jeers kept coming, sharp and relentless, and Bartholomew didn't react at all.

Mavis laughed at herself, then turned and walked up to the second-floor terrace. She'd had enough of that crowd.

But Sonia had no intention of letting her have any peace, and followed her up.

Away from Bartholomew, she let herself be more brazen, more vicious.

Mavis, Mom and Dad have cut ties with you. Bartholomew doesn't want you either. How can you still shamelessly cling to the Henson household!

Mavis fixed her with a cold stare. Sonia, I'm the one who married Bartholomew. I'm the name on his marriage certificate. You're the one clinging to the Henson household. Provoke me again, and I'll walk out there right now and tell every single person that I am Bartholomew's wife, and you're nothing but the mistress wrecking our marriage!

Sonia, the only reason I haven't bothered to settle scores with you is that I did spend over a decade enjoying the Swanson wealth in your place. But my patience has a limit. Don't push me again.

Mavis stepped around Sonia, ready to head downstairs, but the woman's arm shot out to block her.

"Mavis, you're nothing but a cheap little fraud who stole my place!"

"Do you really think Bartholomew loves you? He's only with you because you carried the Swanson name. If the Swansons hadn't handed you that chance, you'd still be out begging on some street corner!"

Mavis looked at Sonia's strutting arrogance and almost laughed.

"Sonia, without the Swansons and without Bartholomew, I'll only be better off. And when that day comes, you won't even be worthy of carrying my shoes!"

She had no patience left to waste on her. She pushed past her and moved to leave.

But Sonia let out a sudden, sinister little laugh.

"Keep talking tough, Mavis."

"Tell me, if the two of us were in a life-or-death moment, who do you think Mom and Dad and Bartholomew would choose to save?"

Mavis thought Sonia had lost her mind. But the next second, a waiter ten yards off suddenly pulled out a fruit knife and charged straight at them.

Sonia screamed for help: "Somebody, help! Murder!"

The Swanson parents and Bartholomew appeared almost at once. The panic in their eyes was real, and the person they moved to protect was the same one.

The waiter was lunging toward her, yet every one of them shielded Sonia.

As Bartholomew threw himself around Sonia, she ducked into his arms and shot Mavis a taunting smile.

She deliberately let her whole weight fall against Bartholomew, and the man, caught off guard, bumped into Mavis and shoved her out on instinct.

A burst of searing pain. The waiter's fruit knife drove into her abdomen, and blood poured out in a wild rush.

The pain sent tears streaming down her face.

So in a moment of life and death, she would always be the one who could be shoved out to take the blow.

What happened after that, Mavis no longer knew.

Before she slipped into total darkness, only one thought burned itself into her heart.

She and Bartholomew were done. Right here.

The wound had struck somewhere vital, and Mavis lay unconscious for three full days.

When she finally woke, the doctor told her:

"Ms. Swanson, your uterus was injured. I'm afraid it'll be very difficult for you to have a child of your own in the future."

Mavis's heart lurched, and her hand drifted instinctively to her stomach.

So she could never have a child of her own again.

But she had never been the one in the wrong. Why did she have to bear so much of this injustice?

She refused to accept it!

Bartholomew, in the room next door, heard that Mavis had woken and rushed over at once to comfort her:

"Mavis, what happened this time was my fault. We'll never fight again. Let's live a good life together."

"Didn't you always want me to acknowledge you as my wife in front of everyone?"

"These past few years, the company was never stable. Now we're about to go public. I'll announce your status at my birthday banquet. All right?"

Mavis looked at him with no expression at all, finding it bitterly absurd.

Once, she really had longed for Bartholomew's public acknowledgment.

But now, she didn't need it.

That was what she felt inside, yet on the surface she kept up a hollow smile.

"Sure. As it happens, I've prepared a big gift for you on your birthday too."

"It's a gift you've been waiting six years for."

Bartholomew didn't know that the reason they'd gone childless all these years was his own low sperm count.

For six years, she had downed hundreds of tonics, nearly wrecking her body, just to finally conceive this child.

Since Bartholomew had killed the one person who once loved him most,

then she would kill the child he longed for most.

Fair enough.

Bartholomew had braced for Mavis to make a scene. Seeing her so reasonable, he was finally reassured.

"Mavis, I knew you'd understand me. I'll treat you well from now on, I promise."

She let him hold her, his breath hot against her, but she felt none of it.

When even her hopes in him were gone, how could she feel anything in his warmth?

Over the next few days, Bartholomew tended to her with great care.

But Mavis quietly got in touch with her biological father overseas.

The day before Bartholomew's birthday, she made a trip to the hospital, packaged the embryo herself into Bartholomew's favorite style, and set it inside a cold-chain box.

"Tomorrow at noon, twelve sharp, please deliver this to the Capital City Grand Hotel."

The courier asked: "What's this person to you?"

"My ex-husband."

With everything arranged, Mavis didn't go back to the Henson house. She took her ID, wheeled her suitcase, and went to the airport.

After meeting her father's people, just before boarding the private jet, she placed one more call to the local police.

"Hello, I'd like to report Sonia Swanson for hiring a hitman. She'll be at the Capital City Grand Hotel tomorrow at noon, twelve o'clock. Please go and make the arrest."

Every piece of her revenge in place, Mavis boarded.

Bartholomew, anyone who betrays a true heart should swallow ten thousand silver needles.

And you, you should rot in hell!