My mother's condition suddenly worsened, and she expressed a dying wish to see Miles Freeman one last time.

I stood alone outside the operating room, dialing Miles' number again and over again, but no one answered.

The silence on the other end of the line only deepened my despair. After burying my mother, I drove down the hill, only to be caught in a sudden downpour that triggered a mudslide.

My car was buried in the debris for an entire day and night. Weak and desperate, I called Miles for help.

But the voice that answered wasn't his—it was his childhood friend's, Ophelia Smedley.

"Miles is busy right now. If you need something, you can tell me," she said.

I was silent for a moment, then let out a bitter laugh before replying, "Nothing serious. I'm just dying."

***

Before I lost consciousness, a rescue team arrived.

When I woke up, I was lying in a hospital bed, and the doctor informed me that I was three months pregnant.

I hesitated as my hand reached to pull out the IV, contemplating ending my life, but eventually, I stopped.

My plan to die had failed once again.

The day I was discharged, I unexpectedly saw Miles in the room next to mine. He was holding a cup, carefully feeding Ophelia milk.

His expression filled with a tenderness I had never seen before.

Swallowing the bitterness rising in my throat, I crumpled the prenatal report and stuffed it into my pocket.

There was no need for Miles to know about the pregnancy. I would divorce him soon, and I was capable of raising the child on my own.

I didn't want any further ties to him.

I turned to leave, but Miles noticed me first. His brow furrowed as he whispered something to Ophelia, then stepped out of the room.

"Are you following me?" he asked, his tone accusatory.

I couldn't comprehend how running into someone at a hospital could be considered stalking.

Any normal person would first inquire if the other were unwell, but not Miles.

Despite my pale complexion and the exhaustion etched into my face, he immediately assumed I had ulterior motives.

I let out a soft, humorless laugh, unwilling to speak. I averted my gaze and tried to walk away, but Ophelia blocked my path.

Her face, flawless and delicate, was a mask of insincerity.

"Alexia, don't misunderstand. On the day of your mother's surgery, I was exhausted from an experiment. If Miles hadn't brought me to the hospital, I would be in danger.

"And when you said those frightening things about dying, it really scared me. I even went out in the rain to look for you, but the butler said you were asleep."

I hadn't been home in over a week due to handling my mother's funeral arrangements. Ophelia's lies were blatant, but I had no energy to engage with them.

I shot her a cold glance.

Even then, Miles believed I was the one bullying her.

He stepped in front of Ophelia protectively.

"Alexia, didn't you hear Ophelia talking to you? Where are your manners?"

I couldn't help but laugh in disbelief.

"If you're so well-mannered, why are you blocking someone's way? I haven't been home in a week. Maybe I should call the butler and see if he's gone senile."

Before I could dial, Miles impatiently interrupted me.

"Ophelia went out in the rain and caught a cold because she was worried about you. How could that be a lie? Alexia, do you think everyone is as selfish and deceitful as you?

"You're just in time. Ophelia's developed a new medication. Come with us for a trial."

By "trial," he meant using me as a guinea pig for clinical testing.

Seven years ago, I returned from volunteer work in Aruha with a persistent fever.

At the time, Ophelia, who was a third-year graduate student, diagnosed me in place of her supervisor.

She claimed I had contracted a rare, lethal virus in Aruha, but because I had a rare blood type with antibodies, I survived.

She convinced Miles to have me serve as her test subject for five years, all in the name of helping millions of vulnerable lives in Aruha.

I wasn't noble. I only endured it because of my love for Miles.

But my mother's death made me see Miles for who he truly was, and I could no longer find any excuse to stay entangled with him.

I looked at him coldly.

"That's never going to happen."

"Alexia, what the hell has gotten into you?"

Miles glared at me, as if I was the one being unreasonable.

"I've told you a thousand times, Ophelia and I are just friends. What are you so jealous of?

"You've been testing the drugs for five years now. Aren't you used to it by now? If we switch subjects mid-trial, all the data will be invalidated. And without your antibodies, others might die.

"You think you're the only one suffering? Ophelia's been working tirelessly for the greater good, too."

"So what?"

I stared at him, unable to comprehend how he could say something so grandiose and heartless.

"Because I have antibodies, I should die? Should I sacrifice myself for the so-called good of humanity?

"Miles, let's get a divorce. I'm not your lover, and I shouldn't be your wife."

My nails dug into my palms as I struggled to keep my emotions in check.

Seven years of our relationship—how could I not be on the verge of breaking?

The man who once pampered me, cooked for me, and shared a tiny apartment with me to understand my struggles, who tirelessly cared for my sick mother, and who was tormented by the loss of our first child...

These were what he did when he was pursuing me.

I thought it was love that made him humble himself.

But in the end, I realized that behind the sweet gestures were only deception and manipulation.

For five years, Ophelia's research had shown no progress, and all her experiments were done in secret.

I had my suspicions, but even with Miles' resources, I couldn't find any evidence.

"Divorce?"

Miles' eyes flashed with anger. He let out a scornful laugh. "I don't think you mean it, Alexia."

He gave a signal, and several burly bodyguards closed in on me.

There was no way I was going back to being a test subject.

I tried to escape, but I was quickly subdued, reopening the wounds on my arms. The bandages were stained with fresh blood.

Miles' expression was concerned as he signaled the bodyguards to be gentler, then approached me, speaking softly.

"Come on now, didn't you always want a child? Just go through this one last trial, and we can have a baby."

In the past, I would have agreed without hesitation.

But now, I was beyond caring.

"I don't want one anymore. Let go of me, Miles, or I'll call the police."

Something in my words angered him. Miles' face darkened as he glanced at the curious onlookers in the corridor, then smiled cruelly.

"My wife has a severe mental illness and ran away from the psychiatric ward. I'm sorry for the disturbance."

I stared at him in disbelief.

Had he truly become so depraved, so willing to destroy me while wearing a smile?

Seeing the fear in my eyes, Miles grew restless, but his pride wouldn't let him back down.

"Don't lie to me. There's no way you don't want a child. Besides, wasn't your mother's greatest wish to have a grandchild before she passed?"

Even now, he was using my mother to manipulate me.

I looked up at Miles. His face was as handsome as ever, just like it was seven years ago.

But I no longer felt any affection for him.

Miles had likely long forgotten why I was so adamant about having a child with him.

When I first married Miles, I already knew about Ophelia Smedley.

The way others referred to her as the "academic siren" was enough to make me realize the vast difference between us.

Her mother was a member of the influential Addison family, her father the CEO of the vast Smedley Corporation, and she had the life of a princess.

I, on the other hand, had nothing—ordinary in every way possible.

When Miles claimed to love me, I was overwhelmed with insecurity.

Why would he choose me over someone as perfect as Ophelia?

Yet, in a twisted mix of vanity and misguided ambition, I convinced myself of his love.

I thought I had nothing else to offer Miles, so I foolishly believed that giving him a child would solidify our bond.

In my mind, having a child equated to holding onto him.

My obsession with having a baby was merely an extension of my obsession with Miles.

But now, I no longer wanted Miles, and I refused to let a child become a pawn in his game.

The bodyguards were strong, forcefully shoving me into the back seat of the car.

As Miles climbed in after me, I finally snapped. I struck him hard across the face.

"My mother is dead! I will never be your test subject again!"

For a moment, Miles seemed genuinely stunned, but then he quickly laughed it off.

"Alexia, you're being overly dramatic. I just saw your mother not too long ago."

What he referred to as "not too long ago" was three months.

Even then, his visit to the hospital was brief, just five minutes in my mother's room before leaving, citing an urgent meeting.

My mother, clinging to her last moments, had desperately wanted to see him—not because they were close, but because she wanted to ensure he would take care of me after she was gone.

But even this small wish was denied.

Seeing Miles was a luxury my mother barely had, while Ophelia could see him every single day.

My chest tightened as I wiped away the tears.

Right now, all I wanted was to protect my child. If I participated in another trial, I would surely lose the baby.

Even if I were destined to die, even if this child wouldn't survive, I could not allow myself to be sacrificed for another experiment.

With that thought, I suddenly lowered the car window as far as it would go and leaned my entire body out, letting the wind slash across my face.

A hand grabbed my waist and yanked me back inside.

"Alexia, what the hell are you doing!"

"Let me go! I would rather die than be your guinea pig again!"

I struggled violently, and Miles had to use his tie to bind my hands behind my back, holding me tightly in his arms to keep me still.

For the first time, he saw the extent of my desperation, and in a rare moment of softness, he tried to soothe me.

"Alexia, you've been through countless trials before. This one is no different. I'll be with you the whole time; nothing will happen to you.

"I promise, we'll have the child you want, and I'll arrange for your mother's surgery immediately."

He had coaxed me into these trials many times before, playing on my love for him and my concern for my mother's health.

But my mother's death, the helplessness I felt trapped under the rubble, and my unborn child—all of it had drained the last bit of love I had for him.

As if to prove he wasn't lying, Miles picked up his phone and dialed his assistant right in front of me.

"Mr. Lee, arrange for a specialist consultation immediately. Schedule the surgery for Alexia's mother."

Before the assistant could respond, Miles hung up and looked at me, as if to say, "See? Satisfied now?"

If he had waited just a few more seconds, he would have learned that my mother had already passed away.

He didn't, though. Miles never had the patience for me.

I found it all absurd. I felt like the biggest fool.