Jerissa avoided his gaze, her tone was light and dismissive. "Nothing. We were just talking about the past."

Franco clearly didn't believe her. But before he could press further, a nurse entered the ward and began wheeling Juliette out.

"The patient is ready for surgery. We'll begin shortly."

Juliette clutched Franco's sleeve once more. "Franco… I won't die, right? You'll be waiting for me outside the operating room, won't you?"

Her trembling voice pulled every ounce of his attention away. He bent down, his tone soft and coaxed. "I'll be right here. Don't think nonsense. Just listen to the doctors."

He personally followed as they pushed her bed toward the operating room.

Their hands stayed clasped tightly together until the very last moment, when the doors forced them apart.

Around them, nurses and waiting families whispered in awe.

"My God, the way he looks at her is so full of love!"

"They must be deeply in love. I'm envious."

Every word struck like a needle into Jerissa's chest, leaving a dense ache that spread in waves.

She had thought she no longer cared.

So why was there still that inexplicable sting, spreading quietly through her veins?

After asking the doctor about the surgery duration, Franco suddenly seized Jerissa's wrist.

"Come with me."

He pulled her along without explanation, straight into an elevator.

When the doors slid open, she froze.

The obstetrics and gynecology department.

Her eyes widened. "Why are we here?"

He turned back, his voice calm, almost indifferent. "For a checkup."

"A… gynecology checkup?" She couldn't believe it.

Throughout their marriage, even when his desire had burned out of control and his eyes turned red, if he wasn’t using contraception, he had always forced himself to stop. And now he was bringing her in for a gynecological exam?

"Yes." He cut her off. "It's already arranged. Go in."

A nurse appeared quickly to lead the way, and Jerissa, still reeling, followed helplessly through a series of tests.

When she finally received the report, her eyes drifted down to the results column.

[Good physical condition. All indicators suitable for childbirth.]

The words landed like a hammer against her chest.

Her breath hitched. Her heart thundered. He had brought her here… because he wanted her to bear his child?

But before she could process it, Franco, seemingly oblivious to her turmoil, took the report and walked straight into a consultation room.

"Come in."

Jerissa forced a deep breath, shoving her tangled emotions down, and followed.

The doctor greeted them with practiced ease, already pulling out prepared documents.

"Mr. Alba, Mrs. Alba, based on the test results, Mrs. Alba is in excellent condition. And the frozen eggs Miss Nicole left behind are still well-preserved. We can arrange the procedure soon. If Mr. Alba provides a sample, we can proceed directly with embryo implantation."

The words shattered through her like lightning.

"Nicole's... frozen eggs?"

Jerissa stood rooted to the spot, her blood rushing backward in a dizzying chill.

Her hands and feet went ice-cold.

Franco ignored Jerissa's outburst and turned back to the doctor.

"What's the success rate of a single embryo transfer? I've read the reports—women suffer a lot during the procedure."

The doctor adjusted his glasses. "With the current medical standards and Mrs. Alba's physical condition, there should be no problem. I'll prescribe her ovulation-stimulating hormones. The operation can be scheduled for the day after tomorrow."

Jerissa sat rigidly in the chair, a chill seeping into her bones.

Is he worried about hurting me now?

What was this—compassion? Charity?

It felt absurd, like an executioner raising his blade only to pause and ask gently, “Are you afraid of pain?” Cruelty wrapped in false kindness.

She lurched to her feet and staggered toward the door.

"Jerissa!"

Franco caught up in two strides, gripping her wrist hard. "What are you doing?"

She shook him off with force. "Franco, what makes you think I would ever bear a child for you and another woman?"

Ignoring her anger, he replied indifferently, "Because you're my wife. Bearing children for the Alba family is your duty."

The words struck like a thousand ice-needles piercing her skull.

Glancing at his watch, he added impatiently, "Stop making a scene. I'll provide my sample now. Juliette's surgery should be finished soon—I need to be there when she wakes up. Take your medication and go home. Don't wander around."

Without hesitation, he turned and walked away, his back straight and unyielding, not a trace of reluctance in his stride.

Jerissa stood frozen in place, her vision blurring.

So this was her role. Not only a substitute... but a tool.

No... She was worse than that.

Even a tool for childbirth could at least give life connected to itself. But she? She was nothing more than a vessel, a container for Franco and Nicole’s so-called “love crystallization.”

Her chest tightened. Instead of going home, she flagged down a taxi and headed straight to the sanatorium.

Through the glass window of the ward, she gazed at her sleeping mother. The sterile light cast gentle shadows across the room, and Jerissa’s vision blurred as her eyes turned red.

“Mom,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

"Don't we look alike? You loved a man who never loved you. I married one who only ever saw me as a substitute. And now he wants me to carry a child for him and another woman. Loving someone who doesn't love you... it's the most painful thing in the world."

Tears streamed down her cheeks. She wiped them away, her eyes slowly hardening with resolve.

"But it's alright, Mom. We won't waste our lives here. Once I divorce him, I'll take you away to a place where no one knows us. Somewhere with the best medicine, where they can cure you. We'll live well—better than well."

When she returned home from the sanatorium, the first thing she saw was servants clearing out her belongings from the master bedroom.

She frowned. "What are you doing?"

The housekeeper looked uncomfortable. "Sir said… the master bedroom needs to be emptied for Miss Juliette. Your things will be moved to the guest room."

"Juliette?" Her voice dropped, cold and sharp. "She just had surgery. Why isn't she in the hospital?"

The answer came moments later, in a message from Franco.

[Juliette's operation was a success. The doctor recommended rest. Our home has a better environment and a medical team available. You'll stay in the guest room for now.]

Jerissa suddenly understood.

Nicole had once been ill like this—ill until the end.

And now, with Juliette's surgery behind her, her frailty and her resemblance to Nicole made her the perfect patient for him to guard over, day and night.

Franco's selfishness had never bothered to hide itself.

She laughed suddenly, a low, bitter laugh that carried no joy.

Her phone buzzed again. This time it was her father.

[The overseas shares are now in your name. The divorce papers are ready. Tomorrow, someone will present them to Franco under the pretense of a cooperation agreement. Once he signs, you'll be free.]

Her grip tightened around the phone. For the first time in what felt like forever, the fog in her chest began to clear.

This farce—would finally end soon.

Juliette was carried back in Franco's arms. His hold was firm yet cautious, as though he were cradling a piece of fragile glass. Behind him followed several private doctors.

Turning to Jerissa, he ordered coldly, "The doctor said she can eat eight hours after surgery. There are still two hours left. Go make some rice porridge yourself. Make sure it's soft and easy to digest."

The servants exchanged quick glances.

Without a word, Jerissa turned and headed for the kitchen.

At eight that evening, Juliette finally stirred awake.

Franco immediately rose and shouted toward the door, "Bring the porridge!"

Jerissa walked in, holding a steaming bowl, just in time to see Franco moistening Juliette's lips with a cotton swab dipped in warm water.

"Franco…" Juliette's voice was frail. "I'll get better soon, won't I?"

"Of course you will," Franco soothed. He took the bowl, blowing on the porridge several times before carefully pressing the spoon to her lips. "You've slept for a long time. Drink a little first."

She swallowed in small sips, then her eyes reddened. "Since I was little, I've always envied Sister. She's so healthy—she can run and jump… But me? I was always sick, I've never even been to an amusement park."

"Give it some time. I'll take you. Wherever you want to go, whatever you want to do—I'll be there with you," he gently promised.

"Really?" Her eyes lit up. "Then I want to ride a roller coaster, and watch fireworks too!"

"Alright," Franco agreed without hesitation. Then suddenly, he stood and looked out the window. "Fireworks… you can see them right now."

He left, and moments later the sharp whoosh—bang of fireworks split the night.

Brilliant lights blossomed across the sky, their glow illuminating Juliette's delighted face.

Inside, only the two sisters remained.

Juliette turned her head toward Jerissa. The fragile expression she wore a moment ago vanished, replaced by something darker.

"Sis, did you see? Franco set off fireworks just for me. He treats me so well."

Jerissa said nothing. Her silence only deepened Juliette's mocking smile.

"Do you know? All my life, there has never been anything I wanted that I couldn't get."

She raised a hand, pressing it lightly against her chest, her laugh sharp as poisoned thorns.

"The heart beating here? It used to belong to your mother. But now—it's mine. The master bedroom is mine too. And as for the position of Mrs. Alba… I think I'd like to try that as well."

Jerissa's gaze lingered on her twisted expression. Slowly, she stepped closer, her own lips curving into a faint smile.

"I hope everything you schemed so hard to steal… doesn't end up disappointing you."

The words had barely left her mouth when Franco pushed open the door.

Almost at the same time, Juliette's wrist tilted and the porridge bowl at her bedside toppled, spilling across her hand.

The porridge had been sitting for a while—it wasn't even hot. But her eyes still welled up with tears as she pouted pitifully.

Franco rushed forward, dabbing at her hand, his voice tight with anger.

"How can you call yourself a sister? You can't even take care of your own little sister properly!"

"Franco, don't blame her…" Juliette's voice trembled as if she were defending someone. "She just seems a little upset. Maybe it's because I've been staying in the master bedroom. I should've stayed in the guest room—how could I take that from her?"

"She has no right to be upset. This house isn't hers to decide," Franco snapped.

Jerissa let out a cold laugh. "Of course, I have no right. Otherwise, why would I stand by and let my sister and my husband be so… close?"

Franco's face darkened. "What nonsense are you spouting? She's your sister. Naturally, I treat her like my own sister."

"You actually want me to believe that?" Jerissa stepped forward, meeting his furious gaze head-on.

"I've never seen a sister call her brother-in-law with such tenderness. And I've never seen a man carry his sister-in-law into the master bedroom, while sending his wife to the guest room."

"Jerissa!" Franco's roar shook the room as he lifted his hand high.

The next second, a sharp slap cracked through the silence.