Crista threw off the blanket and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Audrey immediately stepped in, her face etched with worry. "Crista, please," Audrey begged, holding her shoulders. "Get back in bed. Think about your recovering body."

Crista shook her head stubbornly. "Get me a wheelchair, Audrey," Crista commanded, her voice weak but firm. "I'm not lying here while he plays happy family."

Audrey hesitated, but seeing the burning determination in Crista's eyes, she quickly fetched a chair from the corner of the room. She carefully helped Crista into it, making sure the IV line wasn't tangled. Audrey pushed the chair out into the hallway, which was brightly lit, the smell of disinfectant stinging her nose. With every bump of the wheels, a sharp pulling pain tugged at Crista's lower abdomen. Cold sweat broke out on her forehead, her hands gripping the armrests tightly, but she signaled Audrey to keep moving.

They stopped in front of the heavy wooden door at the end of the hall. It was slightly ajar. The sound of laughter drifted out.

Crista peeked through the gap. The suite was filled with expensive floral arrangements. And there, sitting on the edge of the bed, was Conrad. He was holding a silver fruit knife, carefully peeling an apple for Else.

The scene was so warm, so intimate. It was a stark contrast to the cold, empty room she had just left. Crista felt a hand clamp around her heart, squeezing it until she couldn't breathe.

Audrey couldn't take it anymore. She reached past Crista and shoved the door open. It slammed against the wall with a loud bang.

The laughter inside stopped abruptly. Conrad paused, the knife hovering over the apple. He turned his head, his eyes narrowing as he saw them at the door.

Else saw Crista and immediately shrank back into the pillows, putting on her best frightened-rabbit act.

Conrad stood up, his tall frame moving to block Else from view. He glared at Crista. "What the hell are you doing here now?"

Crista pushed away Audrey's supporting hand. She leaned against the doorframe, straightening her spine. She took a deep breath and looked Conrad dead in the eye.

She opened her mouth to tell him about the baby they had lost. But before she could speak, Else suddenly clutched her chest, breaking into a violent, hacking cough. "It hurts," she whimpered, tears welling up in her eyes.

Conrad instantly turned his back on Crista. He poured a glass of warm water and held it to Else's lips, his movements incredibly gentle. He completely ignored his wife, who was standing in the doorway looking like she might collapse at any moment.

Crista watched his tender actions. It felt like a wad of cotton was stuffed down her throat. The words about their dead child died on her lips.

Conrad put the glass down and turned back. The warmth was gone, replaced by the familiar icy glare. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the divorce agreement. He threw it at Crista's feet.

"My patience is gone," he said, his voice like gravel. "If you don't sign this today, you'll leave this marriage with nothing."

Crista stared at the paper on the floor. The man standing in front of her suddenly felt like a stranger. The last bit of hope in her heart shattered into dust.

She let out a short, bitter laugh. Her eyes were full of mockery. "Tell me, Conrad. If I sign this, will you marry this lying piece of trash?"

Conrad's face darkened. He stepped forward, his hand shooting out to grip her chin, his fingers digging into her skin. "I told you to never insult Else."

Audrey lunged forward, slapping Conrad's hand away with all her strength. "You blind idiot!" she screamed. "You're being played!"

Conrad's eyes turned dangerous. He took a step toward Audrey, but Crista grabbed Audrey's arm, holding her back.

Crista looked at Conrad, her voice eerily calm. "I will never sign it," she said, enunciating every word. "I will drag this out. I will make your life a living hell."

Without waiting for his reaction, she turned and walked away. Her back was straight, her steps deliberate, but the sight of her retreating figure was utterly desolate.

Back in her own room, Crista locked the door. She slid down the wood until she hit the floor, and the dam broke. She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs.

Audrey held her, crying along with her. "Why didn't you tell him?" she demanded. "Why didn't you tell him about the miscarriage?"

Crista wiped her face with her sleeve. When she looked up, her eyes were clear and hard. "Because he doesn't deserve to know. Not now. Not like this."

She pulled out her phone and dialed a number she hadn't called in years. It was a private investigator she had met during her brief stint in the architecture world, a man known for digging up the dirtiest secrets.

When the call connected, her voice was steady. "I need you to investigate Else Cherry. I want every move she's made in the last five years. Every bank statement. Every flight record. Everything."

She hung up the phone and placed a hand over her stomach. A fierce, protective fire burned in her eyes. She would tear off Else's mask, piece by piece, if it was the last thing she did.

The next morning, Crista was resting in her hospital bed, trying to ignore the persistent ache in her belly. Suddenly, the door was thrown open with such force that the handle banged against the wall.

Crista jolted awake. Her father, Gardner, and her stepmother, Cristin, stormed into the room, their faces twisted in anger.

Gardner didn't say a word. He strode to the bed and raised his hand. Slap! The sound echoed in the small room. The blow snapped Crista's head to the side, pain exploding across her cheek. A metallic taste filled her mouth.

Cristin stood behind him, gasping in mock horror, though her eyes were gleeful. She grabbed Gardner's arm, pretending to hold him back. "Gardner, no! Don't hit her!"

Gardner pointed a shaking finger at Crista's face. "You ungrateful brat! You refuse to divorce him, and now you're going next door to bully poor Else? Are you trying to ruin this family?"

Crista pressed a hand to her stinging cheek. She looked at the man who was supposed to be her father, and a deep chill settled in her bones.

She lifted her head, her eyes devoid of any warmth. "Let me guess. Else ran to you crying again."

Cristin immediately switched to a look of heartbroken disappointment. "Crista, you're so malicious! The Anderson Group is our only lifeline. Why are you trying to destroy the marriage?"

Crista laughed, the sound sharp and humorless. "Finally showing your true colors, aren't we? This isn't about marriage. It's about selling your daughter for a corporate bailout."

She struggled into a sitting position, fighting through the pain in her abdomen. She locked eyes with Gardner, who had the decency to look away.

"Three years ago," Crista said, her voice rising, "the Cherry family was on the brink of bankruptcy. You got me drunk. You set me up with Conrad. You forced us into a marriage so you could get the bailout money!"

Gardner's face turned purple with rage. He raised his hand again, ready to strike.

Crista didn't flinch. She stared him down. "Hit me," she challenged coldly. "And I will call the press right now and expose every financial fraud this family has committed."

Gardner's hand froze in mid-air. A flicker of fear crossed his eyes. Slowly, he lowered his arm.

Cristin switched tactics. She began to wail, dabbing at her eyes. "We raised you! We gave you everything! Is this how you repay us? You owe us!"

Crista cut her off. "Repay you?" she scoffed. "Did you think about 'repayment' when you stole my mother's trust fund?"

The words hit Cristin like a physical blow. Her face went white. She screeched like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. "You bitch!"

Cristin lunged at the bed. She grabbed Crista's arm, her nails digging in, and shook her violently.

The sudden, violent movement was too much for her already traumatized body. A blinding, tearing pain ripped through her healing abdomen. The incomplete miscarriage had left her incredibly vulnerable, and the rough handling caused something inside to rupture. She doubled over, clutching her stomach, her face draining of all color.

Gardner stood by, unmoved. "Stop playing games," he snapped impatiently. "Just sign the papers."

But Crista couldn't hear him. Her breathing became ragged. Cold sweat poured down her face. She felt a hot, heavy gush between her legs.

She looked down. A bright, terrifying red stain was rapidly spreading across the white hospital sheets.

Cristin saw the blood and screamed. She let go of Crista as if she had touched a hot stove, stumbling backward.

Gardner froze, his face going slack as he stared at the blood, stammering incoherently.

Just then, the door opened again. Conrad walked in, pushing Else in a wheelchair.

Conrad's gaze swept the room, landing on the horrific amount of blood on the bed. His pupils dilated in shock.

Crista weakly lifted her head. She looked past her panicked parents, her eyes locking onto Conrad.

She tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come. Her vision went black. She collapsed backward onto the blood-soaked mattress, losing consciousness.

Conrad stared at the expanding pool of blood on the white sheets. His brain felt like it had been hit by a sledgehammer. For one second, there was nothing but white noise.

In the wheelchair, Else saw the blood. Instead of fear, a flash of malicious triumph flickered in her eyes.

Conrad snapped out of his daze. He shoved Gardner aside, sending the older man stumbling, and rushed to the bed.

He reached out with a trembling hand, pressing his fingers to Crista's neck. The pulse was there, but it was thready. A strangled sound tore from his throat. "Doctor!" he roared.

Footsteps echoed in the hall. Audrey burst through the door, dragging her cousin in surgical scrubs behind her. It was Dr. Caleb Arnold, the trauma surgeon she had mentioned earlier. Caleb took one look at the blood-soaked bed and his face hardened. His protective instinct flared instantly. He shoved Conrad hard in the chest. "Get the hell away from her!" he barked.

Conrad stumbled back, his shock turning to anger. He raised a fist, but Caleb was already at the bedside, his hands moving with practiced speed to apply pressure to the bleeding.

Audrey threw herself at Cristin, slapping the woman hard across the face. "Murderers!" she screamed. "You killed her!"

Nurses rushed in with a crash cart. The room erupted into chaos. Alarms blared from the monitors.

"OR now!" Caleb yelled. "Get the gurney!"

They lifted Crista onto the stretcher. Conrad instinctively moved to help, but Audrey blocked his path.

Her eyes were red, her face contorted with hatred. She pointed a finger at his chest. "If she dies," she hissed, "I will make you pay with your life! You already took her baby!"

Conrad went pale. "Baby?" he repeated, his voice barely a whisper. "What baby?"

The gurney started moving toward the door. In the jostling, Crista's eyes fluttered open. Her hazy gaze found Conrad, standing frozen in the middle of the room.

With a monumental effort, she ripped the oxygen mask from her face. Her voice was weak, but the words hit Conrad like a physical blow.

"The baby you killed in the ocean," she gasped out, her voice a fragile thread. "It was yours. And now it's gone."

She let out a bitter, mocking smile, and then her eyes rolled back. She went limp, unconscious once more.

Conrad's hand dropped to his side. The strength drained from his legs. He staggered backward, his back hitting the wall with a thud.

The gurney was wheeled out at a run, leaving a trail of bloody drops on the linoleum.

Else saw the shift in Conrad's demeanor. She quickly rolled her wheelchair toward him, grabbing the edge of his jacket. "Conrad... maybe she's lying. You can't trust her."

Conrad slowly turned his head to look at Else. The look in his eyes was feral, so full of rage that Else flinched back, shutting her mouth instantly.

He ignored her. He took off running, following the trail of blood toward the operating rooms.

At the end of the hall, the gurney disappeared behind the heavy metal doors. The red "In Surgery" light clicked on with a final, decisive buzz.

Conrad slammed into the doors. He pounded his fists against the cold metal, the sound echoing his despair.

Audrey walked up beside him. She let out a cold, bitter laugh. She reached into her bag and pulled out the crumpled piece of paper she had found in Crista's apartment earlier. She threw it at his face with all her might.

The paper hit his chest and fluttered to the floor. Conrad looked down.

It was an ultrasound image. The black and white graininess showed a tiny, eight-week-old gestational sac.

The proof was undeniable. Conrad's psychological defenses crumbled. His knees gave out. He sank to the floor in front of the operating room doors.

He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking violently. A sound like a wounded animal escaped his throat.

At the end of the corridor, Caleb had changed into his surgical gown. He paused, looking coldly at the man kneeling on the floor. Then he turned and walked into the OR. The doors swung shut, locking Conrad out in the silence of the hallway.