Chapter 3
When news broke that I married Lucas, it hit the elite circles of the city like a bomb.
Everyone thought I'd lost my mind, or maybe Lucas had.
A guy in a wheelchair marrying a woman Andrew had already thrown away.
Andrew caught it on TV.
Rumor had it, he smashed Freya's favorite antique vase on the spot.
He flew back from Rosenberg and stormed straight to Lucas's house.
That day, I was sitting in the garden, enjoying my coffee.
Andrew burst in like a raging lion, charging straight at me and grabbing my wrist.
"Tiffany, what the hell are you doing? You're coming with me," he snapped.
His grip was so tight that it hurt.
I didn't struggle. I just lifted my head and stared at him, cool and collected.
"Mr. Grant, please let go. I'm Mrs. Shaw now. You should watch how you talk to me," I said.
I made sure to stress that word "watch."
Andrew's face turned beet red.
"Say that again," he growled.
"I said, you should watch how you talk to me." I repeated.
Then a cold, clear voice rang out from behind us.
Lucas rolled over in his wheelchair slowly.
He stopped at my side, reached out, took my hand from Andrew's grasp, then held it gently in his cool hand.
"Mr. Grant, showing up at my place and putting your hands on my wife? Not exactly proper, is it?" Lucas said, his tone icy.
Andrew shot him a glare sharp enough to kill.
"Lucas, don't get ahead of yourself. You really think you can beat me by picking up my leftovers?" Andrew spat.
His words were downright nasty, almost unbearable.
My face went pale.
But Lucas just smiled.
He pulled me behind him, then looked up at Andrew, a trace of pity flickering in his eyes.
"Leftovers? Andrew, you'll soon find out just what kind of treasure you tossed aside with your own hands," Lucas said.
Andrew was about to retort when his phone suddenly rang.
He picked up, and his expression changed instantly.
"What? Freya passed out?" he shouted.
He didn't even spare me another glance before he turned and bolted.
Watching him rush off, I felt nothing at all.
Lucas squeezed my hand a little tighter.
"He's the father of your child?" he asked.
"He used to be," I replied, my tone cold.
I pulled away.
"Mr. Shaw, our deal doesn't cover personal business," I said.
Lucas caught the emptiness in my eyes and didn't ask anything else.
He just said, "The wind's picking up. Let's head back."
After that day, Andrew never came looking for me again.
I heard Freya's condition had gotten worse.
Freya had a rare blood disease.
She needed a bone marrow transplant, but finding a match was almost impossible.
Andrew threw all his money and connections into the search, scouring the globe for a match, but still came up empty.
Day by day, Freya grew weaker. She was like a rose—once beautiful, now withering fast.
Andrew stayed by her side every second, his face growing gaunt and exhausted, as if the ordeal had drained the life out of him.
Everyone in the city's high society was sighing over how deeply he loved her. How devoted he was.
But only I knew the truth. He once had a real chance to save her.
A chance he destroyed with his own hands.
*****
On Freya's birthday, Andrew threw a little birthday party for her right there in the hospital's VIP ward.
I got an invite.
Andrew brought it over himself.
He stood at the gate of the Shaw family's house, his eyes bloodshot. His chin was covered in dark stubble. Almost blue-black. He looked nothing like the confident man he used to be.
"Tiffany, come," he said, his voice rough and low.
"Freya wants to see you," he added.
I looked at him and found it ridiculous.
"What for? So I can watch you two act all lovey-dovey? Or should I just wish her a speedy recovery?" I shot back.
"Please," he pleaded.
He looked at me, and for the first time, I saw real vulnerability and pleading in his eyes.
"I'm begging you. If not for her, then do it for me," he pleaded.
In the end, I went.
Lucas came with me.
*****
When I walked in, arm in arm with Lucas, every eye in the room was on us.
Andrew's eyes shifted. A mix of emotions flickered across his face—anger, jealousy, and something else he tried to hide... regret.
Freya lay in the hospital bed, so thin that I barely recognized her, but she still managed a polite smile.
"Tiffany, you're here," she called out.
She beckoned me over.
I walked up to her bedside.
"Thanks for coming. I've been wanting to apologize to you," she said.
Her voice was so weak.
"I'm sorry. Because of me, you lost your baby," she said.
I just looked at her, not saying a word.
She thought I was still angry. She struggled to sit up.
"Honestly, I always knew... the baby you were carrying was the only thing that could save my life," she said.
Her words hit me like lightning. Everything went blank.
I whipped my head around to Andrew.
He stood there, his face ghostly pale, not daring to meet my eyes.
So he'd known all along.
From the very start, he knew my baby was the cure Freya needed.
He got close to me and got me pregnant. It was all a set-up. All of it.
He did that to save his precious Freya's life.
My baby was nothing but a pawn from start to finish. A living sacrifice—a cure they could take whenever they wanted.
The Truth About Being Just a Pawn.
My whole body started to shake. A chill ran up my spine.
I always thought he just didn't care about me or the baby.
I never imagined he was this cruel.
"Andrew!" I screamed.
I lunged at him, putting every ounce of strength I had into it, and slapped him hard across the face.
"You monster! You have no heart," I screamed.
The crisp slap rang out. It filled the whole room.
Everyone froze in shock.
Andrew's face snapped to the side, a vivid handprint blooming across his cheek.
He didn't fight back. He just slowly turned his head to face me, agony filling his eyes.
"Tiffany, I'm sorry." He choked out.
"Get out!" I lost it, screaming like a madwoman.
"I never want to see you again. Never, not in this lifetime," I shrieked.