...

Cheryl's hysterical wails pulled me back to the rooftop drama.

Milton had managed to calm her and bring her down.

They clung to each other, their bodies pressed so close it turned my stomach. His lips trembled as he kissed her forehead repeatedly, murmuring, "Thank God, you're okay."

Cheryl shook in his arms, sobbing. "Are you marrying Claire? If you are, I should've jumped."

Milton wiped her tears tenderly, his gaze flicking to me, cold and predatory. "Marriage is just a formality. In my heart, you're always number one."

He sighed theatrically. "Claire has been with me for eight years. I don't love her anymore, but she saved me from drowning once. And she has been like a maid ever since, always there to care for me. I owe her that much."

The onlookers gasped, their pitying stares burning into me. Yes, I'd pulled him from a frozen lake when we were kids, sparking our romance.

But he acted like my sacrifice was a leash I used to chain him. If I'd known he'd become this, I'd have let him sink then.

Their pity grated on me, and I broke my silence. "Milton, I'm swamped. When are you keeping your promise?"

He smirked, smugness oozing. "So desperate to lock me down, huh?"

He rubbed Chery's earlobe, comforting her, then turned to me with mocking indifference. "Fine, name the date. When do you want the wedding? Since you're so hell-bent on marrying me, I'll..."

I cut him off, calm as a still lake. "Let's break up."

His head snapped up, his eyes blazing with shock and fury. "You're dumping me?"

Ignoring Cheryl's gleeful expression, I met his glare evenly. "Yep."

"What's this, another one of your games?" he scoffed, unconvinced. "Everyone knows you've been glued to me since high school, like a stray dog I can't shake. You finally get a shot at a ring, and now you're bailing? Stop kidding yourself. You're still wearing my ring."

He pointed at my hand, triumphant, as if he'd caught me in a lie.

I glanced at the silver band. "Whoops, forgot. Thanks for the reminder."

I slid it off and, with a flick, sent it sailing off the rooftop.

The ring was a birthday gift from our college days, bought with his first scholarship check, engraved with our initials.

Once, after a car accident left me unconscious, I'd clung to it like a lifeline.

Milton knew it meant everything to me, but not anymore.

His brows knitted into a scowl, but he still didn't buy it. "I don't care what stunt you're pulling. Apologize now, and I'll pretend this never happened. You want to be Mrs. Woodard? It's yours."

"I wish we both got what we deserve." I smiled faintly, turning to leave.

Behind me, Cheryl's voice piped up. "You're not going after her?"

Milton's cold laugh followed. "Nah, she'll come crawling back. A woman who'd scheme to carry my kid? No way she's walking away for real."

...

Milton was right about one thing. I was indeed pregnant.

It happened after a fight with Cheryl. He was drunk, mistaking me for Cheryl, and we had a crazy night.

Weeks later, I found out about my pregnancy.

He knew it, too.

In my last life, I leveraged that debt of saving his life to force a proposal.

We got married, but Cheryl's suicide plunged him into a vengeful spiral. He stuffed me with food and supplements until my belly swelled unnaturally.

When labor came, he refused to take me to a hospital.

The baby was too big. I was torn apart, screaming. My vision went red with pain. I tried to push but could not.

Blood pooled beneath me, and my child suffocated. I bled out, dying in torment.

Back home from the hospital, I rested a hand on my still-flat stomach, feeling the faint flutter of life. It was time to end this cycle.

I crashed hard, sleeping four hours straight. When I woke up, a text from Milton was waiting.

[My mom is sick. Come to the house.]

Milton was a moron, but his mom, Margaret Woodard, had always treated me like her own.

Our parents were friends. Mine died young, and his parents took me in.

Their care for me was real.

But that text? It wasn't Milton's style. He never used punctuation.

This had to be Cheryl, meddling with his phone and setting a trap, but I went anyway.

At the Woodard Mansion, the door swung open, and a bucket of ice-cold water doused me from head to toe.

The chill pierced my bones, a sharp cramp seizing my abdomen.

Laughter erupted from inside.

Blinking water from my eyes, I saw a crowd of young men and women, their gazes mocking.

In the center stood Cheryl, smug as ever. "Make her kneel."

A heavy boot slammed into my back, forcing me to the floor.

Cheryl sneered, clutching a bottle of liquor. "You know Milton can't stand you, you pathetic leech. Sneaking a baby to trap him? Today, you'll regret ever carrying his kid."

She thrust the bottle at me, expecting fear, but I didn't even bat an eyelid.

When she poured the fiery whiskey down my throat, I didn't struggle.

I didn't want Milton or his child.

I drained the bottle, wiped my mouth, and looked at her. "Got more?"

Cheryl spat, "You're insane."

She grabbed a glowing-hot curling iron, its tip red with heat, and lunged toward my eyes.

A scream cut through. "Blood. She is bleeding everywhere."

Agony ripped through my core, my face paling to ash.

Cheryl froze, then smirked, her cruelty reignited. Dropping the iron, she stomped hard on my belly before anyone could react.

Blood gushed, and I blacked out without a scream.

...

In the hospital's surgical office, Milton was flipping through patient files.

A nurse burst in, clutching a surgical consent form, her voice urgent. "Bad news. It's Miss Gallagher."

He cut her off, his voice flat. "We're done. Don't mention her to me."

She pressed, frantic. "She's been rushed in by ambulance with a massive hemorrhage. We need to transfer blood bags from another hospital. Sign the consent, please."

Milton glanced at the form, then, with a smirk, tore it to shreds. "You think I'd fall for this? Didn't expect her to bribe you all. She is obsessed with me. She'd never lose my kid. Even if she's dying, I'm not signing."

He brushed off her pleading tug and strode out, flipping his phone to do-not-disturb to block any further "schemes".

That night, past 10 p.m., he switched it off. His screen lit up with over 100 missed calls, including dozens from the hospital dean.

Frowning, he muttered, "Claire, bugging the dean now? Talk about shamelessness."

He called to apologize, but the dean's voice was ice. "Get back to the hospital, now!"

The line went dead.

Puzzled, Milton drove over, ignoring Cheryl's pale, fidgety expression in the passenger seat.

The dean always valued his work, and he didn't get the sudden venom. He was ready to give me a piece of his mind for stirring up trouble.

As he stepped out of the elevator, a sharp slap cracked across his face. Stunned, he raised a hand to retaliate, then froze.

There stood Margaret with swollen eyes.

"Mom? What are you doing here?" he stammered.

She roared, her voice raw with fury. "You monster! Why didn't you sign the consent? Because of you, Claire miscarried, hemorrhaged, and lost her uterus."