Chapter 2

The second place I went was the sea.

For ten years I'd said I wanted a wedding by the ocean. It never happened.

I lay alone on the yacht's bed, aching from the lingering pain of surgery.

Monica called, her voice thick with satisfaction.

"Adrian's packing for Iceland today. Be a dear and do it for him, won't you? I'll swing by to collect his things soon."

She paused, then laughed lightly.

"But don't bother with underwear. I bought new ones-he loves both the size and style."

The cramping in my lower abdomen suddenly intensified.

I bit my lip hard, not letting myself make a sound.

In the past, every time Monica jabbed at me like this, I would lose control.

Like hysterically calling Adrian to interrogate him, or storming straight to HR to have them fire Monica.

Just like last week, when Monica had feigned concern.

"Emma, they say a woman's body changes after childbirth. Things get...looser down there. That's why Adrian doesn't want me to have a baby. So thank you for taking on this trouble for me."

I'd smashed up her office on the spot.

The commotion attracted swarms of media coverage.

After that, scandalous stories about Adrian and his secretary were everywhere.

Right at the critical stage before going public, this was a devastating blow to Adrian's company.

He ordered me to publicly clear Monica's name as soon as possible.

"If you keep making trouble, the moment that baby in your belly is born, I'll take it away. You'll never see it for the rest of your life."

On my bedside table sat a painting of sunflowers.

My mother had painted it. It was the only thing I'd taken from home.

Originally, my mother had left me many things, but later, to pay off debts, I'd sold everything except this one painting.

On countless sleepless nights, seeing that painting brought me some small measure of comfort.

I reached out to grab it.

The painting crashed to the floor.

Something fell out from behind it.

I forgot about the pain and froze completely. Inside were actually some photos of Adrian from when he was young.

When my mother first brought him to the city, he was only seventeen.

In the photo, the teenager wore a faded, well-washed old T-shirt, his back ramrod straight, his eyes naive but sharp.

Back then, his back didn't yet bear those hideous scars.

My mother had fully funded his college education.

After graduation, I naturally joined my father's company too, and our futures looked bright.

Until my philandering father died in a stripper's bed.

The illegitimate children who'd always been invisible suddenly showed their claws, fighting over my father's inheritance.

In the end, all I was left with was a shell of a company with only ten employees, and massive debts.

My mother had a heart attack and collapsed too.

But Adrian stayed with me through it all.

The debt collectors were relentless. We hid and ran, living in constant fear every day.

Once, we were cornered in an alley. He immediately pulled me into his arms:

"Don't be afraid! I'm here!"

The scars on his back were all left from that time.