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.

Franco's hand never fell.

Instead—Juliette slapped herself.

A bright red mark bloomed quickly across her pale cheek as tears spilled like broken pearls.

"I'm sorry… it's all my fault. I caused my Sister and Brother-in-law to quarrel…"

She choked on her sobs, looking up at Franco with a face drenched in tears. "I never had a brother growing up. Brother-in-law has always treated me so well, just like family—that's why I called him by his name. If Sister doesn't like it, I'll never call him that again."

"If Sister doesn't like me living here, I'll move out right now. I just hope she won't be angry with me anymore."

With that, she lifted the quilt and tried to get out of bed.

Franco's anger dissolved in an instant. He gently tucked the blanket back over her.

"Don't say such foolish things. None of this is your fault. It's her making trouble for no reason. You can call me whatever you want, and you'll stay right here until you've recovered. Whoever doesn't like it... can get leave."

Just then, thunder rumbled outside.

A torrential downpour followed, rain hammering against the windows.

Franco's gaze hardened. "Apologize to Juliette."

Jerissa pressed her lips together, unmoving.

"Fine." His tone was ice. "Someone, take Madam outside. Let her stand in the rain until she clears her head."

The servants obeyed without hesitation.

"Watch her closely. She should not come back in for three hours."

Jerissa was shoved onto the rain-soaked stone courtyard. Water drenched her hair and clothes within moments, coldness seeping into her bones. Her knees scraped against the ground, sending sharp pain up her legs.

She lifted her head. Rain blurred her vision, but she could still see the master bedroom window—and the smug, undisguised triumph on Juliette's face.

It was summer, yet a bone-deep chill crept through her, making her body tremble uncontrollably.

No one knew how much time passed before darkness edged into her vision. At last, her body gave out and she collapsed unconscious.

The servants rushed to alert Franco. He ran out instinctively, scooping her limp, icy form into his arms and carrying her inside.

He laid her on the guest room bed, changed her into dry clothes, and wrung a hot towel to wipe her down himself.

A maid brought ginger tea to warm her, but her lips were pressed tightly shut—nothing could be coaxed past them.

Franco frowned deeply, studying her face under the soft lamplight. Her brows were sharp, her features carrying a quiet resilience. Even in fainting, she looked unyielding.

Nothing like his gentle Nicole.

A strange jolt struck his heart, spreading out in a faint, numbing ache.

He sat by the bed, cradling her against his chest. With one hand, he slowly fed her spoonfuls of ginger tea, slipping it between breaths.

...

The next morning, Jerissa opened her eyes to a splitting headache.

She forced herself out of bed and downstairs, only to find Franco bustling in the dining room. A hot breakfast waited on the table, steam curling upward.

In a trance, the scene of Franco changing her clothes and feeding her ginger soup last night flashed through her mind. But the warmth faded quickly, leaving only a cool indifference in her heart.

"You're awake? I made you breakfast. Cold medicine is next to it—eat first, then take it."

She didn't respond, and sat down quietly. At that moment, the secretary entered, bowing slightly.

"Mr. Alba, Mr. Cortez said a few cooperation documents need your signature again. It's urgent. Once you've signed, I'll deliver them right away."

Franco took the papers and began flipping through them.

At the table, Jerissa's grip tightened on her spoon, her heartbeat thundering in her chest.

Then, from upstairs, came a weak cough. It was Juliette.

At the sound, Franco stopped skimming the papers, swiftly signed his name, and picked up a breakfast tray to carry upstairs.

The secretary turned to leave, but Jerissa spoke suddenly, "Wait. Give them to me. I'll bring them to my father later."

The secretary blinked, then nodded.

Since Mr. Cortez was his boss's father-in-law, and the documents were urgent, he thought nothing of it. Without checking further, he handed them over.

Jerissa's hands trembled slightly as she pulled a paper free from the stack—a divorce agreement, already bearing Franco's signature.

Without hesitation, she added her own name. She immediately contacted a lawyer to process the divorce certificate, then bought two plane tickets abroad.

She packed only her essentials and documents, then headed for the door.

The moment she stepped outside, Franco's voice drifted from behind her.

"You've caught a cold. Don't go out. Stay home and recover. I've spoken with the hospital—the embryo transfer has been postponed for a few days."

Jerissa's heart sank, but she forced her tone to be steady. "The nursing home called. My mother's condition isn't good. I need to see her."

Franco didn't stop her.

"Come back early," he only said.

What he didn't know—was that she would never return.

When Jerissa arrived at the sanatorium, she found her mother sitting in a wheelchair, gazing quietly out the window.

Earlier, she had called ahead to remind the staff not to give her mother any sedatives that day.

"Mom."

The woman in the chair turned her head, her eyes startlingly clear. "Jerissa…"

Jerissa froze.

All those years ago, her mother had attempted suicide by swallowing sleeping pills after suffering a devastating blow. Though she had been saved, the ordeal left her with heart failure and memory loss. Ever since, her mind had remained trapped in the past, with no recollection that she even had a daughter.

Now, as her mother looked at her, tears slowly welled in her eyes. "All these years… you've suffered so much."

Jerissa rushed forward and clasped her mother's hand tightly. "From now on, neither of us will ever suffer again."

Leaving the nursing home, Jerissa managed to escort her mother onto a plane bound for Massachusetts.

As she gazed out at the rolling sea of clouds beyond the window, it felt as though all the pain of the past had finally been cast far, far behind her.