Lucy remained at the funeral through the entire night. Ryan did not appear until the next day.

Taking in Lucy’s deathly pale face and the small gravestone, Ryan seemed unable to process the sight. “Lucy… you…”

He rushed forward and pulled her into a crushing hug, his voice thick. “We can have another child, but what if something happens to your health?”

Lucy let out a bitter laugh. “Another one?” Her voice rose, edged with hysteria. “Ryan, do you have any idea how much I struggled to conceive this baby? The doctor said I can never have children again!”

Ryan’s expression darkened. He lowered his head. “I’m sorry, Lucy.”

“Why didn’t you answer your phone?” She pointed a trembling finger at the gravestone, her voice raw. “I kept waiting—waiting for you to come help me. Where were you?!”

“I’m sorry, Lucy. Something urgent came up at the company, so…”

Lucy sneered. “Was it really the company? Or was your little student throwing another tantrum?”

With a heavy thud, Ryan knelt before their child’s grave, his tone suddenly earnest. “Lucy, it’s all my fault. I failed you and our baby. I’m so sorry…”

Watching the man before her perform this show of devastating grief, Lucy suddenly laughed—a wild, broken sound that dissolved into tears.

She should have seen it coming.

The booked movie tickets, the unexplained hotel notifications flashing on his phone, the bouquets of roses that were never for her… Everything had been screaming that Ryan’s heart had long since wandered.

Yet she had chosen to believe his lies.

“You don’t need to apologize,” she said, her voice now eerily calm. “Just send her away, and I’ll pretend none of this ever happened.”

“No.” Ryan refused immediately. “Ruth is all alone in the world. She’s just a kid—how do you expect her to survive?”

Lucy smiled coldly. “Fine.”

She stopped holding back. Pulling out her phone, she called the butler and ordered him to pack up every single item from Ruth’s apartment. “Throw her out.”

“Have you lost your mind?!”

Ryan panicked, snatching the phone from her hand. He muttered a few hurried instructions before hanging up. “She just chose not to donate blood for you. Why are you being so ruthless?”

“She has every right to choose whether to donate or not!”

Lucy felt the sting of betrayal all over again.

That wasn’t what he’d said back then.

“If you’re going to be this heartless,” Ryan said, his voice dropping low and dangerous, “I won’t hesitate to go after your sister. You wouldn’t want to see Amy’s future completely ruined, would you?”

He was threatening her with Amy’s future—for Ruth.

In that moment, the man before her felt like a complete stranger.

“Stop this, Lucy. You need to rest.” He tried to guide her toward the car, but Lucy opened a document and pushed it toward him.

“What’s this?”

She took a deep, steadying breath. “It’s our…”

“It’s fine. If this will calm you down, I’ll sign anything.”

Without even glancing at the contents, he flipped to the last page of the divorce agreement and signed his name in the same bold, flowing script.

Looking at that familiar handwriting, Lucy faintly remembered the first ninety-nine love letters Ryan had written her a decade ago.

The last one had ended with four awkward, earnest words:

“I like you.”

Her eyes stung.

“Oh, by the way,” Ryan added, almost as an afterthought, “I picked out some gifts for you. See if there’s anything you like.”

As he spoke, a long list of luxury items appeared on her phone. It had everything—and yet Lucy felt nothing.

At the very bottom of the list, she spotted a few prenatal education books and CDs. A quick check of the order dates confirmed they hadn’t been meant for her.

Just as Lucy was about to speak, several messages from an unknown number lit up her screen.

Attached was an ultrasound photo labeled: *8 weeks pregnant.*

A follow-up text blinked below: *“Oh, how clumsy of me. My apologies—this was meant for Ryan.”*

It felt like her heart had been ripped out, then ground into the dirt.

A wave of nausea, pure and scalding, rose in her throat. Lucy stared blankly at the screen. Then, slowly, she smiled.

Well. That’s one hell of a present.

“Ryan, is *this* what you have for me?”

Holding up her phone, she let the ultrasound image glow on the screen. Ryan clearly hadn’t expected Ruth to flaunt it in Lucy’s face. His face fell, a portrait of pure awkwardness.

“Lucy, calm down. Don’t touch her.”

“We… we drank too much that night. It was an accident.” He sighed helplessly as Lucy’s face paled further. “I told her to get rid of it, but she absolutely refused.”

“Losing our baby… it pains me, too. But look at it this way—when this child is born, you’ll be its mother.”

“What’s more, my family desperately needs an heir. Lucy, please… be gracious. Do this for me, all right?”

“Ryan, our child is *dead*. She was so small… only seven months.”

“How dare you—”

Tears blurred her vision. The air inside the car grew thick and stifling, the rest of her words choking in her throat, too vile to speak.

“The baby’s buried. What’s the point of dwelling on it now?” Ryan’s voice sharpened with impatience. “Are you going to mourn for the rest of your life?”

Listening to him, Lucy’s heart felt like a candle guttering out on its last inch of wick—the flame dying slowly, steadily.

He was right. What *was* the point?

The car soon pulled into the estate. They entered the house one after the other, each weighed down by private thoughts.

Ryan noticed Ruth’s absence immediately. Strange.

Since Lucy became pregnant, they had slept separately.

She walked to her own bedroom and opened the door—only to find Ruth inside, mopping the floor.

The girl looked like she’d been at it for hours. Sweat beaded her forehead; her face was flushed.

Seeing Lucy, she quickly put on a fawning expression, her voice meek. “Madam, I’ve finished cleaning your room.”

The sight pierced Ryan’s heart. He pushed past Lucy and pulled Ruth into his arms.

“I told you not to do heavy work while pregnant! Why won’t you listen?”

“Lucy, what is the meaning of this?”

Lucy shook her head frantically. “I never asked her to… I’ve barely even seen her!”

Ruth swayed weakly against him. “Ryan, don’t ask… I’m fine…”

“Silly girl, you’re carrying a child. Tell me who bullied you. I’ll make it right.”

She didn’t speak, only buried her face in his chest and wept—the very picture of pitiful vulnerability.

“Lucy, didn’t I tell you not to bully her?!” he roared, anger blazing. “She’s pregnant too. How can you be so cruel?”

Lucy had no defense. Even through her disappointment, the unfairness brought fresh tears. “What are you saying? You don’t believe me?”

“Ruth is pregnant. Why would she lie about something like this?”

Then, lowering his voice, he spoke softly to the girl in his arms. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. What do you want?”

“Sister Lucy has… a protection charm. It’s very pretty. I’d like one for our baby, too…”

“Lucy, consider it an apology. Go and get that charm for her. Personally.”

Lucy stood rooted to the spot, Ryan’s voice seeming to come from somewhere far away.

Seeing her immobile, his face darkened. “If you don’t apologize, I’ll blacklist Amy from every opportunity in this industry.”

Remembering her sister’s smile, Lucy finally relented.

“I’ll go.”

She hadn’t missed the triumphant glint in Ruth’s eyes. She was just… tired.

Two thousand steps, each one climbed in the driving rain, pouring salt on the wound of her already difficult recovery.

She finally obtained the so-called protection charm. Soaked to the bone, she presented it to Ruth herself. The girl glanced at it and tossed it aside. “Ryan, that thing looks dirty. I don’t want it anymore.”

The last thing Lucy heard before darkness swallowed her was Ryan’s voice:

“Then don’t have it. As long as you stop crying, sweetheart.”

In the middle of the night, Lucy was jolted awake by a sudden, searing fever.

She tried to speak, but her throat was so raw and hoarse that no sound escaped.

Though Ryan's room was right next door, he hadn't come to check on her once—his attention completely consumed by Ruth.

"Lucy, what's wrong?"

Pushing the door open, he stepped inside. At the sight of her flushed face, his voice softened with concern. "You're burning up."

"I'm taking you to the hospital."

She was about to speak when a pained cry echoed from the other room.

"Ryan... my stomach hurts so much..."

The moment Ryan heard it, his hands—which had just moved to lift her—fell back to his sides.

With every ounce of strength left, Lucy grabbed the hem of his shirt, her eyes pleading.

But after a moment's hesitation, he pulled away.

"I'm sorry, Lucy. Ruth... she's carrying a child. I can't let anything happen to her."

"Wait here. I'll take you to the hospital later."

He turned and left, without a backward glance.

Lying in bed, Lucy felt her tears were so hot they might evaporate before they fell.

Summoning the last of her strength, she dialed 911 for herself, then everything went black.

***

"You're awake?"

Waking to Ryan's sharply defined face, she saw worry in his eyes—not feigned, but it only made her want to laugh bitterly.

Lucy turned her back to him, no longer wanting to see him, yet the dam in her chest had already broken.

"I'm sorry, Lucy. I was just... worried and panicked, so I..."

"Get out. I don't want to see you."

"I'm sorry," Ryan sighed. "My family insists I take care of Ruth and the baby. What choice do I have?"

"Just bear with it a little longer. Once Ruth gives birth, I'll send her away. But for now, think of the family, okay?"

"Ryan, I just want to ask you one thing." She turned back, her eyes aching with heartbreak. "You don't believe me, do you?"

Ryan fell silent, then looked away. "It's in the past now."

*It's in the past now.*

With that answer, Lucy let out a self-mocking laugh.

When she was discharged from the hospital, Ryan didn't come to pick her up.

Returning home, she found him—the man who usually acted like the kitchen was beneath him—now fumbling clumsily to play chef for Ruth.

Even at the height of their love, he had rarely cooked for her.

He claimed to be fastidious, hating the smell of grease, so for years Lucy had indulged him, never letting him near the stove.

In the end, it turned out he just hadn't loved her enough.

"You're back," he said, handing her the ingredients as if it were the most natural thing. "Ruth is craving chicken broth. I don't know how to make it from scratch."

"You make it so well, Lucy. Make it for her, just this once."

"No," she said coldly. "I just got out of the hospital, and you want me to cook for another woman?"

Once again, for Ruth's sake, Ryan's expression darkened.

After all these years together, Lucy knew exactly what that look meant. For her sister's sake—and to protect her stake in the company—she bit her tongue.

She took the ingredients in silence, serving the two of them like a maid.

While making the soup, a splash of scalding broth landed on the back of her hand. She flinched from the pain, but when she turned to see his reaction, she found Ryan feeding a peeled grape to Ruth's lips.

She suddenly remembered: Ryan used to do the same for her.

"My, what have I done to deserve being waited on by Prince Ryan himself?"

Hearing that, he had smiled, his hands never pausing. "As long as it makes Lucy happy, I'd serve you for a lifetime."

And now...

Tears fell unexpectedly into the soup. Would it taste a little salty now, she wondered?

Silently wiping her tears, she picked up a bowl of soup and walked out.