Ida's tone was full of complaints.

As if the person who'd spent the past few days at another man's side wasn't her at all.

I didn't call her out on it. Instead, a faint smile tugged at my lips.

Ida mistook it for forgiveness. She rose on her tiptoes and pressed a light kiss to the corner of my mouth.

"Roland, I just knew it. You're not like your father."

Not like my father?

The words left her mouth without warning and drove straight into my heart like a blade. The pain stole my breath.

She knew. She knew exactly how much damage my mother's affair and abuse had done to my father and me.

If my father hadn't been strong enough, brave enough, he'd be the one buried in a grave right now.

He wouldn't have escaped abroad and built a life worth living.

And now, with a single careless sentence, she dismissed everything my father had fought to survive.

The worst part was that the knife she wielded had been handed to her by the man I used to be, the one who'd loved Ida Matthews with his whole heart.

Meeting my red, swollen eyes, Ida offered an awkward explanation.

"Sorry, Roland. What I meant was, you don't have to struggle the way your father did. Staying by my side is enough."

"Is that so?" I smiled suddenly, looking her straight in the eye.

Ida held my gaze. Something tightened in her chest without reason, but she didn't examine it. She assumed I was ready to make up.

She nodded eagerly, her voice sure. "Of course. Roland, you just have to trust me the way you used to."

I laughed coldly inside but let nothing show.

That was when my phone buzzed.

I looked up at her and said calmly, "My car's here. Ida, go take care of your work."

"Okay."

She still hadn't noticed anything off. She even walked me to the door, considerate as ever.

Before I got in the car, I called her name.

"Hmm?"

"Goodbye, Ida." The words left my mouth.

This was my final farewell to Ida Matthews. My farewell to the past.

She ruffled my hair and smiled. "Alright, go clear your head. I'll be home working hard, making more money to take care of you."

I said nothing. I just looked at her one last time, quietly, and gave a small wave.

The car was nearly at the airport when my phone started vibrating like crazy.

An unknown number.

I assumed it was a scam call and blocked it.

But as I backed out of the screen, I noticed an anonymous text message.

"Roland, your child isn't dead. Ida lied to you."

I stared at the words. My mind went completely blank.

The baby wasn't dead?

Ida lied to me?

I sucked in several deep breaths before I could think again.

My hands shook as I tapped into the message thread, typing one letter at a time:

"Who are you? What do you mean by..."

Before I could finish, a video came through from the other end.

It looked like it had been recorded in secret.

In the footage, Ida stood holding a small baby in her arms. Humphrey had his arms around both of them, their backs to the camera.

Humphrey spoke. "Ida, are you sure about this? You really want to register your and Roland's child under my name?"

My fingers clenched around the phone until my knuckles went white.

The next second, I heard Ida's voice. Certain. Unhesitating.

"I made you a promise, and I don't go back on my word. Besides, my child is your child."

"But..."

She cut him off and patted his shoulder lightly.

"I've already arranged everything. Roland won't find out. Don't worry. And with your condition, your health being what it is, it would be hard for you to have children of your own."

Ida paused for a beat, her tone breezy. "But Roland's different. If he wants another child, I'll just have one with him later."

At the end of the video, Humphrey shot a taunting glance directly at the camera.

So that was all I ever was to her. A sperm donor. A tool.

So when she'd drunkenly murmured about having another baby, this was what she'd meant.

I sat in the car, cold seeping through every inch of my body. My nails dug into the flesh of my palms until they nearly broke the skin, the only thing keeping the fury from consuming me whole.

My hands shook as I was about to tap "save video."

The next second, the sender recalled it.

The blood drained from my face. I ordered the driver to turn around and head straight for Humphrey's residence.

I had barely reached the front gate when Humphrey strolled out of the villa.

"Hey, brother-in-law! What brings you here all of a sudden?"

I pulled my lips into a cold, thin smile.

"Humphrey. Where is my child?"

He kept up the act perfectly, even managing a look of surprise.

"What are you talking about?"

"I know the premature stillbirth hit you hard, and I'm sorry about that, but you can't just go around making wild accusations."

My face went whiter. He leaned in close, his mouth near my ear.

"You know, brother-in-law, I'm starting to worry about you. Losing the baby, the depression... are you having hallucinations now? I seem to remember you were always paranoid about me and—"

My hand flew toward his face before he could finish.

"You and Ida, you're both despicable—"

My palm was an inch from his cheek when someone seized both my arms from behind with crushing force.

Then Ida's cold voice came from above. "Roland, didn't you say you were going out to clear your head? What are you doing here making a scene?"

I thrashed like a man possessed, but I was no match for the bodyguards' grip.

The bones in my wrists felt like they were being ground to dust, but that pain didn't amount to a fraction of what was tearing through my chest.

I looked at Ida with bloodshot eyes, my voice raw. "I know everything, Ida."

Her pupils contracted for a split second before her expression smoothed over.

"Ida, I'm begging you!" The words ripped from my throat. "Give me back my child!"

Seeing my reddened eyes, she pressed her lips together, seeming about to say something—

Humphrey cut in. "Ida, I think he's having some kind of psychotic episode. I understand he's grieving, but the baby is gone. You know that."

I snapped my head toward Humphrey. My mouth opened, but before a single word could leave it, I heard the coldest sentence I had ever heard in my life.

"Take him to the psychiatric ward for an evaluation. I won't have him making a spectacle out here."

I fought with everything I had, screaming at their retreating backs.

"I'm not crazy! You're the ones who are insane—"

The hospital's assessment came back quickly. I was "diagnosed" with a dissociative disorder.

Ida wasted no time arranging my admission for inpatient treatment and assigned extra personnel to "look after" me.

The doctors subjected me to electroshock therapy, session after session, until they'd nearly tortured me into the very madness they claimed to be treating.

When the treatments were over, I had almost nothing left. No rage, no grief, no will. I lay on the hospital bed like a husk, staring at nothing.

Then a faint signal chimed from the window.

I dragged myself off the bed, walked to the window with slow, steady steps, and looked down.

The instant I moved to jump, the door behind me swung open.

Ida walked in just in time to see me throw myself from the eighteenth floor.

Her pupils shrank to pinpoints. She lunged for the window, her hand clawing at empty air. "Roland! No!"