Chapter 4

Isabel didn't hesitate for a second. She stormed toward me, raised her arm, and struck me across the face with all her strength.

Before I could even react to the burning pain on my cheek, Zane charged at me like a wild animal.

I lost my balance and fell to the ground.

Piercing pain twisted through my belly, my face going ghostly pale, and I instinctively cried out for help.

However, Lucas was in a full-blown panic, fussing over Eliza like his life depended on it.

He said, "Did you get burnt? I'll take you to the hospital."

When Lucas heard me groaning, he whipped around, his stare ice-cold and savage—like he might kill me. "Stay here and think about what you've done."

However, the moment he said that, his eyes went wide.

I looked where he was staring and saw, to my horror, a pool of blood spreading out beneath me.

My breath hitched—I just couldn't hold on anymore, and I passed out cold.

When I slowly woke up, I found myself lying in a hospital bed.

Before I could even wrap my head around what was happening, my phone blasted out an obnoxious ringtone. It was someone from the hospital telling me the DNA test results were in.

Feeling completely drained, I forced myself to get up and grab the report as soon as I could.

Back in my ward, my hands were shaking uncontrollably as I opened it.

I had guessed what it might say, but seeing it for real still left me frozen.

A shiver ran through me, cold down to my bones.

Zane really was Eliza and Lucas's child.

The truth hit so hard, like a blade slicing straight through my soul.

I was still in a daze when I heard Zane's voice from the doorway.

He said, "What? Dad, you said she couldn't have kids. You lied to me."

What?

A stabbing pain shot through my belly, and I frantically clutched at it.

Was I pregnant?

I'd always longed for a child, but that first miscarriage had left a wound that might never heal.

Back then, I was pregnant, yet still had to take care of Zane, who was just a few months old.

Maybe it was just my natural motherly instinct, but I couldn't help treating him like he really was my own son.

Then Zane got hit with pneumonia.

I kept blaming myself, freaking out that I had somehow screwed up, and rushed him to the hospital.

Lucas was stuck on a business trip and couldn't come back, while Isabel just hurled curses at me, never lifting a finger to help.

I was completely on my own, drowning in guilt, but I still had to force myself to care for Zane every day, barely holding myself together.

Then, all that stress and exhaustion pushed me into premature labor.

Zane made it through, but my own baby didn't.

Back then, Zane was just this tiny little thing. He crawled into my arms while I was sobbing my heart out, and with his small hands, he clumsily wiped away my tears.

However, now, his innocent tone froze my blood. "I don't want a little brother. Tell her to get rid of it."

Lucas said, "Alright, you're the only kid I'll ever have. I'll figure it out—for now, let's not tell her just yet.

"Zane, promise me. Once Eliza gets married, we'll start fresh and make it up to Mom, okay?"

I could hear Lucas's voice clear as day—every word cutting through me.

I gripped the DNA test report tightly, forcing out a bitter smile.

The last bit of warmth I felt was crushed by their coldness.

The door swung open. Lucas had clearly pulled himself together before stepping in, looking as cool and collected as ever.

He said, "Millie, the doctor said it's a case of acute gastritis. You just need some IV fluids, and you'll be alright."

I noticed how he couldn't quite meet my eyes. Honestly, I almost wanted to laugh out loud.

With a gentle tap from Lucas, Zane shuffled over, clearly not happy about it. "Sorry, Mom. When we get home, I'll make you something really tasty."

Lucas and Zane tried to whisk me out of the hospital in a hurry, probably worried I would start asking questions and uncover the truth.

As they busied themselves with discharge paperwork, I walked right past them to the doctor and booked the abortion procedure.

When we got home, I didn't hesitate—I handed Lucas the divorce papers.

I said, "There's a form from the wedding planning team. Just sign your name here."

He grabbed the papers and scribbled his signature, clearly itching to get it over with—maybe out of guilt.

He said, "Money isn't a problem. Just pick whatever makes you happy."

I smiled, saying nothing.

Then I handed every last one of those wedding photos—Lucas and Eliza dressed up somewhere overseas, the ones he had tried to hide—straight to the wedding planner.

From now on, the wedding had nothing to do with me.

A few days later, I would watch it from my departing flight—and quietly wish them well.