"Mom, stop joking around. Phoebe needs to focus on her pregnancy, she doesn't have time to take care of a cousin," Nathan said, noticing the change in Phoebe's expression. He was quick to refuse on her behalf.

But the next second, Phoebe smiled. "I don't mind. Let her move in."

And just like that, Clara moved in.

That evening, the housekeeper came in again with a tray. The same three things as always: soup, walnuts, and grapes.

Phoebe had had enough. With a swift motion, she knocked the tray to the floor. "How many times do I have to say it before you understand? I don't want to eat these!"

Nathan rushed over, his face tense as he pulled her into his arms. "Phoebe, are you okay? Did the soup burn you?"

She shook her head, saying nothing.

Seeing that she was unharmed, he exhaled in relief. His gaze turned cold as he glared at the housekeeper. "If she doesn't want to eat it, don't force her! How useless can you be? You can't even take care of a pregnant woman properly!"

"Phoebe, are you having trouble with your appetite? Why don't I make you some soup?" Clara sauntered over, her voice sweet and artificial. "Tomato and beef brisket, nourishing and good for the baby."

Phoebe didn't bother to glance at her. With her eyes lowered, she said quietly, "I'm tired. I'll go rest. You all go ahead and eat."

Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked away.

She fell into a heavy sleep, but the sharp ring of a phone shattered the silence, dragging her awake. Frowning, she reached for the phone. She was sure she hadn't set an alarm.

As confusion set in, a message flashed across the screen. It was from Clara, as sharp and mocking as ever.

[Hey, fatty, dare to come to Nathan's study?]

Phoebe stared at the message for a long time before finally pushing herself out of bed and heading to the study.

The door was slightly ajar. As she approached, the sound of Clara's soft, teasing laughter drifted out.

"Master, stop working, pay some attention to me."

"Cut it out," Nathan's voice was low and harsh. "This is my home, not somewhere else. What if Phoebe sees us?"

"She's already asleep. She won't know," Clara said as she caught his hand, guiding it down her body. "Master, I miss you so much. I can't wait any longer..."

His breath grew heavier. With a swift motion, he pushed her onto the desk and reached for her nightgown. But then, he hesitated.

"Wait," he said, his tone shifting. "This nightgown... it looks familiar. Isn't this Phoebe's?"

Clara smiled seductively, pressing his fingers to her lips. "That's right. It's hers. But she can't fit into it anymore."

A low chuckle escaped him as his hand tightened around her slender waist.

At that moment, Phoebe remembered. Before her pregnancy, Nathan had always loved her slim figure. Whenever things got heated, his hands would cling to her waist as if he couldn't let go.

But now, with her body changed, heavy with their child, he was gripping someone else's waist instead.

He said he cared about her. Yet here he was, just as easily, wanting another woman.

"Ah... Master, I love you so much. Do you love me?" Clara moaned softly, the words exaggerated and sweet. Through the narrow gap in the door, she must have spotted Phoebe outside. Her arms curled around Nathan's neck as she pushed further. "Do you love me more, or do you love Phoebe more?"

"Don't ask questions you don't want the answer to," he said coldly. "Of course, I love Phoebe the most. She's my wife, my one true love."

Hearing that, Clara's eyes burned with resentment. She cast a venomous glance toward the door, unwilling to concede defeat.

"But tell me this, Master," she whispered. "Do you enjoy doing me more, or Phoebe?"

Nathan laughed softly, his movements growing rougher. "Obviously, it's you. A body like yours is made for carnal pleasure."

A triumphant smile spread across Clara's face as her voice rose in satisfaction. Meanwhile, outside the door, tears blurred Phoebe's vision.

'Why am I crying?' she wondered bitterly. 'You let Clara move in, didn't you? Wasn't it because you wanted to see whether Nathan still had any feelings left for you? Wasn't it because you wanted to know if he would dare to touch his mistress under your roof? Well, now you have your answer. Congratulations, Phoebe. You finally know the truth.'

Phoebe fell seriously ill. A relentless fever burned through her, and no matter what she ate, it came back up.

"A bunch of useless doctors," Nathan snapped. "I paid you all this money, and you can't even bring down a simple fever?" If the butler hadn't been holding him back, he might have struck someone.

"Madam is pregnant," the doctor explained, his face tight with helplessness. "Most medications aren't safe, and your parents specifically instructed us to avoid using medicine. Right now, the best approach is through dietary therapy to strengthen her body, but she can't keep anything down."

Nathan carried a bowl of porridge to her bedside. He took her hand, his usual coldness replaced by something raw and pleading. "Phoebe, please. For me, for our child, eat something. Just a little, okay?"

Phoebe turned her face away without a word.

In just a few days, she had become a shadow of herself. Her skin was pale, her cheeks sunken, and her once graceful frame had thinned alarmingly. Only her swollen belly remained—a jarring contrast to the rest of her frail body.

"Phoebe, what's wrong?" Nathan's voice trembled as his eyes reddened. "What happened? Can you tell me?"

She wanted to know, too. What had gone so wrong? How had their perfect, happy marriage turned into this?

Why had the man who once loved her so deeply become a liar the moment she got pregnant?

Who could give her an answer?

"Phoebe, I'm begging you," he said, his composure cracking as he pulled her into his arms. "If you'll just eat, I'll do anything you want. I can't lose you or our child. If anything happens to either of you, I'll lose my mind."

Phoebe forced herself upright. He was right—she couldn't die now. If she did, until her last breath, she would still be his wife.

She no longer wanted that. She wanted to leave him.

Suppressing the nausea rising in her throat, she picked up the bowl and took a sip of the porridge.

Seeing her finally eat, Nathan's face lit up with relief. "Phoebe, you're eating! What else do you want? I'll have the kitchen make it for you—no, I'll cook it myself!"

But before his words had fully settled, Phoebe bent forward and vomited everything back up.

Her body was too weak. Even when she forced herself to eat, nothing stayed down. Within a minute, it all came back out.

Left with no choice, Nathan took her to the hospital for observation.

But even after being admitted, her condition remained dire. The attending physician, brows furrowed with worry, gave him a grim assessment. "Mr. Marshal, your wife is not in a condition to continue the pregnancy. If she does, both mother and child will be at serious risk."

"I recommend delivering early," the doctor continued. "Although it's still risky at this stage, the safest window is after six and a half to seven months. We can attempt a cesarean section then."

"Will that endanger Phoebe?" Nathan's voice was tight with panic.

"Our recommendation is based on her current health," the doctor said. "Once the baby is delivered, we can focus entirely on treating her without worrying about complications from the pregnancy."

"Then do it," Nathan said without hesitation. "Get that little brat out of her as soon as possible. How dare he make Phoebe suffer like this? I'll make him pay for it when he grows up—I swear I will."

A nearby nurse, moved by his words, leaned toward Phoebe and whispered, "Your husband loves you so much. Most men, when they come in with their wives for checkups, only care about the baby. And that's if they bother to come at all. Many women have to go through this alone."

"But look at your husband," she added softly. "He cares about you more than anything. He's willing to deliver the baby at six months just to spare you any more pain."

Phoebe smiled faintly but said nothing.

Pregnancy was supposed to be a sacred, joyous experience, the miracle of bringing new life into the world. But why, then, was it filled with so much suffering—for her and for so many others like her?

Phoebe had no intention of keeping the baby.

Quietly, she reached out to her brother. Under his arrangement, she transferred to another hospital.

"Phoebe, why the sudden transfer?" Nathan asked, confusion in his voice. "You're scheduled for a C-section soon. Isn't it risky to change hospitals now?"

"My brother arranged it," Phoebe replied coolly. "He said the doctors here work directly with the military. They're more reliable."

Nathan's doubts eased. "If it's your brother's recommendation, it should be fine."

Phoebe's brother had always been the authority figure in their family. Nathan trusted his judgment without question.

The transfer proceeded smoothly.

The new hospital's plan remained the same—an early delivery. The surgery was scheduled for the following day.

Nathan cleared his schedule. He moved into the hospital to stay by Phoebe's side.

"You don't have to do this," Phoebe said flatly. "You're busy. It's okay if you're not here for this."

The truth was, she didn't want to see him.

"Nothing is more important than you," Nathan said, his voice soft with affection. "You've gone through so much carrying this child. If I leave you now, how could I call myself a man?"

He smiled faintly. "I can't do much to help, but at least I can bring you water tonight."

Phoebe said nothing more.

That night, she woke up needing to use the bathroom. Struggling to sit up, she turned on the light and glanced at the bed beside hers.

It was empty.

Nathan was gone.

A chill crept through her heart. Without hesitation, she picked up her phone. As she expected, a message from Clara awaited her.

[Room 606.]

Following the numbers along the corridor, Phoebe stopped in front of the door. Laughter, soft and teasing, drifted through the crack.

"Master, your little bunny is sick," Clara's voice was sweet, almost cloying. "She needs a big, thick syringe thrust into her body to make her feel better..."

"Are you insane?" Nathan's voice, low and tense, cut through the air. "Why did you come to the hospital? Phoebe's surgery is tomorrow. She can't handle any stress."

"As long as she doesn't find out, what's the harm?" Clara giggled as she slipped her arms around his neck. "Master, your little bunny wore a nurse's outfit just for you. Don't you want to see it?"

He hesitated. It was slight but enough for Clara to press closer. Her hand slid down, fingers deftly working at his belt.

"You've been holding back for so long," she whispered. "Aren't you suffering? Let me help you..."

The sound of his zipper filled the room. Then, slowly, she knelt before him.

His breathing grew heavier. Whatever resistance he had left crumbled as he placed a hand on the back of her head.

The sounds that followed were obscene.

Phoebe closed her eyes, a single tear slipping down her cheek.

She turned and walked away without a word. On the elevator ride down, her fingers trembled as she dialed her brother's number.

"Move the surgery up," she said. "I can't take this anymore. Get this child out of me—tonight."

Disgust twisted in her stomach.

The preparations were swift. Within hours, Phoebe was on the operating table, staring at the bulge of her belly.

Six and a half months. The baby was almost viable.

Could she really kill a child that had already taken shape inside her?

For a long moment, she lay silent.

In the end, she gave him one last chance.

"Call Nathan," she told the doctor. "Tell him the surgery has been moved up. If he comes right away and stays with me, I'll keep the baby. I'll leave with the child and never look back."

Her voice hardened. "If he doesn't, I don't want this child."

She had done nothing wrong. She refused to bear the weight of killing her own child.

If this baby died tonight, the blood would be on Nathan's hands.