“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Stop nagging already.”

I looked up at Dario and realized he hadn’t even heard what I said.

He brushed me off with a grunt, his fingers flying across his phone screen, lips curled into a faint smile.

He grabbed a towel and half-heartedly rubbed the water from his hair, then turned toward the door.

“Pick your own anniversary gift and send me the bill.”

With a loud slam, the door shut behind him. I stared at it, feeling strangely calm.

I had already lost hope in this marriage, but for the sake of the child growing inside me, I knew I had to sit down and talk to Dario.

By 3 a.m., he still hadn’t returned.

Too restless to sleep, I decided to go find him.

Now that my mind was made up, I refused to endure this farce a second longer.

Just as I reached the parking garage, I saw Dario walking in, head down, smiling gently as he recorded a voice message.

He murmured something about “baby” and “I’m home”, his voice dripping with affection, the kind of sweet talk a smitten teenager might use.

Words he had never said to me.

I froze, forgetting to hide.

He barreled into me in the stairwell, nearly knocking me over.

The moment he recognized me, his smile vanished, and his face darkened.

He didn’t help me steady myself. Instead, he quickly locked his phone and glared at me with anger.

“I just went to the office for a bit. Was this little stakeout necessary?

“What? You don’t trust me now?” His voice climbed, a classic tactic.

“God, how pathetic can you get? Why not just implant a GPS tracker in my skull while you’re at it?”

What a joke.

It was always like this. He made the mistake, yet somehow he managed to shift the blame onto me every single time. And I, the fool, would end up questioning myself.

I didn’t bother to argue. “I have something to tell you. Let’s talk at home,” I said flatly.

I turned to leave, but pain shot through my wrist as Dario yanked me back with brutal force.

His grip was so strong and sudden that I fell to my knees, the impact knocking the breath from my lungs.

A sharp, blinding pain rippled through me, leaving me frozen in place.

Instinctively, I clutched my belly, my voice barely a whisper.

“Hospital… take me to the hospital.”

Dario looked down at me, irritation clouding his eyes.

“It’s just a fall. Is that really necessary? Get up. You’re not a child. Stop pretending to be so fragile.”

But the pain kept getting worse. I couldn’t even form words anymore.

Maybe it was the sweat pouring down my face, or the fact that I couldn’t raise my head, but for the first time, a flicker of panic flashed across Dario’s face.

He finally bent down and scooped me into his arms.

“Fine, I’m sorry. But if you hadn’t walked away mid-conversation, this wouldn’t have happened. There’s medicine at home. I’ll take you back.”

He laid me on the sofa after we got home, and then looked for the medicine box.

After a while, he returned and asked, “Where did you put the ointment?”

I looked at him weakly.

“You took it,” I said, my voice hoarse.

A few days ago, Fran had caught a mild cold.

Without a second thought, Dario had taken the entire medicine box I’d carefully prepared for myself and handed it over to her.

Perhaps he remembered because a flicker of guilt crossed his eyes as he looked at my pale face.

“I’ll take you to the hospital now,” he said.

But just as he grabbed his car keys and helped me toward the door, his phone lit up.

A WhatsApp message with the ID “Fran the Fairy” appeared.

[Thanks for the Birkin, Dario! I’m obsessed!

[You stayed so late with me… Will Clea be mad? I know she has a temper.

[My stomach hurts again without you here with me…]

Dario’s expression changed instantly.

Guilt flickered in his eyes as he glanced at me.

I clutched his hand. “I’m pregnant. Please, just take me to the hospital—”

But suddenly, he flung my hand off with a force that stunned me.

“You’ve really lost it,” he spat. “Faking a pregnancy to compete with a girl half your age?

“After all these years, suddenly you’re pregnant? Right when Fran needs me? Don’t insult my intelligence.”

His gaze raked over me as disappointment clouded his face.

“Look at yourself! Suspicious, jealous, and always imagining the worst.

“You’re nothing like the thoughtful woman you used to be. You grew up on the streets, Clea.

“You could never compare to someone like Fran, who has wealth and grace.

“If you have the energy to make up lies, you’re clearly not that sick.

“Stay home, reflect on yourself, and clean up the place before I get back. And don’t call me.”

The door slammed shut behind him as silence swallowed the room.

Then I felt a wet warmth between my legs.

The life inside me was slipping away.

With the last of my strength, I reached for my phone and called my best friend, Lina Lester.

By the time I was rushed to the hospital, it was already around four or five in the morning.

In the haze of my fading consciousness, I vaguely heard the doctor gravely explaining my condition to Lina.

I needed immediate emergency care. It was only then that there might still be a chance to save my baby.

Just as Lina stepped out to handle the admission paperwork, the door to the doctor's office swung open.

The man who entered was aggressive, his tone sharp and entitled.

When the doctor calmly informed him that he was a gynecologist and couldn't treat gastrointestinal issues, the man snapped.

"Aren't you a specialist? I’m sure you can damn well deal with stomach problems too. Otherwise, you’re just incompetent."

Then he added coldly, “I know your hospital director. If you don’t treat Fran right now, don’t expect to come to work tomorrow.”

The doctor, visibly troubled, explained that he had a pregnant patient waiting for emergency care.

Dario glanced in my direction but didn’t say a word. Instead, he shrugged and replied indifferently, “It's nearly morning. The other doctors will be on shift soon. Let her wait, it won’t kill her.

“If anything goes wrong, I’ll take responsibility. See Fran first.”

I wanted to scream at him, but the searing pain in my body swallowed my voice.

Trapped in helpless rage, I finally lost consciousness.

…

When I came to, Lina was sitting at my side, her eyes swollen and red.

I knew instantly what had happened.

I slowly reached for my now-flat stomach.

There was a pang of sorrow, yes, but also a strange sense of relief.

With a father like Dario, perhaps not being born was a mercy.

I asked Lina to hand me my phone.

When I turned it on, I saw that Fran had flooded her social media with updates.

One photo showed her reclining in a bathtub, back exposed, surrounded by rose petals and red wine, the city skyline glittering in the distance.

Her caption read: [As promised, my beloved has finally come to me.]

Lina stood next to me, fists clenched in fury. “Those disgusting pigs!”

But I remained calm as I messaged my lawyer, asking her to draw up the divorce papers immediately.

Some entanglements should have ended long ago.

…

On the day I was discharged, Lina left to handle the final paperwork.

Just as I stepped out of the elevator, I spotted Dario.

Both of us were visibly startled as our eyes met.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a petite figure clinging to his side.

I let out a quiet, bitter laugh.

For a brief moment, Dario looked visibly uncomfortable, but he quickly shoved Fran behind him and stared at me with guarded hostility.

“Are you following me again?” he snapped.

Before I could respond, Fran tugged on his arm.

“Dario, why are you being so harsh with Clea? That’s not very gentlemanly of you!” she cooed.

“She looks so pale. She must be here to see a doctor. Don’t judge too quickly, okay?”

Then, as if we were sharing some harmless little secret, she winked at me playfully.

“I’m so sorry, Clea. My stomach pain got really bad last night, and since Dario is such a good boss, he came over to check on me.

“Please don’t be mad at him. Getting angry makes you look older, you know?”

She sounded so innocent, yet every word was laced with passive-aggressive barbs, each one meant to provoke me.

I gave her a cool, dismissive smile.

“I’m not angry at all. I feel completely at ease with the heiress of the richest family taking time out of her busy schedule to care for Dario.”

I intentionally stressed the words “heiress of the richest family”.

A flicker of discomfort passed through Fran’s eyes, but she quickly shrank back behind Dario.

“Clea,” she said softly, “Even though I come from wealth, I never wanted to rely on my family’s name.

“I just want to prove myself through my own hard work. That’s why I’m really grateful to Dario. He’s taught me so much during my time working with him.”

Her words painted her as humble and hardworking, while simultaneously lavishing praise on Dario.

Sure enough, his gaze toward her softened further as it filled with affection.

“You truly are the most considerate and well-mannered woman I’ve ever met, Fran.”

Then he turned to me.

“You could really learn a thing or two from her, Clea.”

Then he stepped in closer and lowered his voice in warning.

“Even if Fran is too nice to fight back, she’s still the daughter of a billionaire. Watch your attitude around her. If her father hears anything, I won’t be able to protect you.”

I glanced at Fran’s smug expression, then chuckled as I pulled out my phone.

“What a coincidence,” I said.

“I happen to know you father personally. If his daughter is working at our company, I should probably give him a heads-up.”