Chapter 2

Damian didn't come home that night.

I tossed and turned in bed, burning with a fever.

In my haze, I kept expecting the front door to open.

Three years ago, I had a high fever just like this.

Back then, we lived in a rundown, drafty walk-up apartment on the west side with peeling wallpaper and cracked windowpanes.

Damian's first startup had just collapsed, leaving him buried in debt.

When my fever hit a hundred and three, he carried me down six flights of stairs. When no cab would stop in the rain, he carried me on his back all the way to the nearest clinic.

While the nurse put in my IV, he crouched beside my chair, his eyes rimmed with raw, terrifying red.

I teased him weakly:

"Damian, anyone looking at you would think I was dying."

He gripped my trembling hand, his voice thick with tears.

"Chloe, don't scare me like that."

"I can lose everything in this world, but I can't lose you."

Later, when he rebuilt his empire and became the man everyone bowed to, women threw themselves at him constantly. I never once worried.

I truly believed what we had was different.

Turns out, it was just my own stupid fantasy.

The next morning, I woke up with my whole body throbbing. On the nightstand, my phone showed over a dozen missed calls.

All from his chauffeur.

And a single text from Damian:

[The driver is waiting downstairs. Go to the hospital and apologize to Victoria.]

I stared at the screen for a long time. Then I got dressed and went to the hospital.

Not to apologize.

To the emergency room.

The doctor took one look at the bruises on my neck and arms. "How did this happen?"

"I fell," I said hoarsely.

She looked up, seeing right through the lie, but stayed silent.

After a round of tests and ultrasounds, the doctor handed me the chart.

"You're eight weeks pregnant."

The world fell dead silent. A ringing noise filled my ears.

The doctor continued, her tone grave:

"The situation isn't good. Severe cold exposure, acute emotional shock, and physical trauma have triggered signs of a threatened miscarriage."

She looked at me sternly.

"I strongly recommend you be admitted to the hospital immediately to save the pregnancy."

My fingers tightened around the flimsy sheet of paper.

Eight weeks.

Which meant when Damian held my head under that ice bath, our child was already fighting for its life inside me.

I suddenly remembered a month ago.

I had lost my appetite and felt nauseous in the middle of the night.

Damian had actually come home early that evening. Seeing me hunched over the sink, his brow had knotted with disgust.

I had hoped for a gentle word, or maybe a glass of warm water.

Instead, he had said coldly, "Next time, go throw up in the guest bathroom down the hall. Watching you makes me sick."

Sitting in the clinic, tears welled in my eyes.

"Where is your partner?" the doctor asked softly.

I lowered my gaze.

"He's busy."

She sighed.

"Go register at the front desk for admission first."

I nodded.

The moment I walked out of the room, my phone buzzed.

Damian.

I answered.

"Chloe, where the hell are you?"

His voice was laced with fury.

"The driver said you weren't home. Victoria has been waiting for you all morning."

I opened my mouth, desperate to tell him: *Damian, I'm pregnant. The doctor says we might lose the baby. Can you please come here and stay with me?*

Before the words could leave my lips, Victoria's fragile whisper floated through the receiver.

"Damian, let it go..."

"It's okay if Chloe doesn't want to come."

"She probably still hates me."

Damian’s breath hitched, and when he spoke again, his voice was pure ice.

"Did you hear that, Chloe?"

"Even after what you did, Victoria is defending you."

"How long are you going to keep throwing these pathetic tantrums?"

Clutching the ultrasound report, every word dried up in my throat.

In the end, all I whispered was:

"Damian, I'm at the hospital too."

He scoffed. "What's wrong with you this time?"

*This time.*

The words were light, but they sank into my heart like poison needles.

Suddenly, I didn't want to explain anymore.

"Nothing," I said.

He sneered.

"If it's nothing, get your ass over here and apologize."

"Don't make me drag you."

He hung up.

I stood in the crowded corridor, cold from the inside out.

A nurse called my name, telling me to finalize the paperwork.

I folded the ultrasound report and tucked it deep into my pocket.

Then I told the nurse, "I'm not being admitted."

The nurse was stunned.

"Ma'am, in your condition, staying under observation is your only chance to keep this baby."

I gave her a faint, hollow smile, turned, and walked away.

It wasn't that I didn't want my baby.

It was that I finally woke up.

I couldn't stay with Damian Hayes anymore.

Even if this baby survived, it deserved a real father—not a monster who would brutalize its mother for another woman's tears.