Chapter 3

Chloe Evans POV

A week later, Zachary came home unexpectedly.

I was somewhat surprised.

Shouldn't he be watching over Rachel Vance like a shadow?

"There's a Hayes family dinner tonight. Change your clothes and come with me," he dropped flatly, his tone brook no argument.

I didn't ask questions. I quietly changed into a proper evening gown and followed him out the door.

Pleasantries bounced across the dining table.

Gradually, the conversation steered toward Zachary and me.

"You've been married for five years now. Isn't it time to think about having a baby?"

"Exactly. Zachary is the CEO now; the Hayes family needs an heir."

"Chloe, you really need to step it up."

I lowered my eyes and listened in silence, my fingers absently turning my wine glass.

Zachary, who had remained quiet all along, suddenly spoke up.

"We're in no rush to have children."

A single sentence, delivered softly, yet it instantly silenced the entire table.

Everyone exchanged glances, but none dared to push further.

After all, Zachary was now the head of the Hayes family.

The atmosphere grew stiff to the extreme, and the dinner eventually ended in an awkward, eerie quiet.

As everyone was leaving, Zachary's mother, Eleanor Hayes, stood up, her sharp gaze sweeping over me. "Chloe, come to the study for a moment."

Anyone could tell she was pulling me aside to lecture me about having a child.

Zachary frowned. "If you have something to say, say it to me."

Just as Eleanor Hayes opened her mouth, Zachary's phone rang. "What's wrong?" he answered.

Eleanor Hayes scoffed, ignoring him entirely, and directed her words at me: "Follow me."

I pressed my lips together and silently followed behind.

The moment the study door clicked shut, Eleanor Hayes's face darkened completely.

"Kneel."

I slowly dropped to my knees on the freezing marble floor.

"Do you know what you did wrong?" Eleanor Hayes looked down at me from above.

I kept my eyelashes lowered and did not reply.

*Smack!* Eleanor Hayes slammed her palm onto the desk. "Your mistake was that when Zachary said there was no rush for children, you didn't even try to persuade him!"

She yanked open a drawer, pulled out several syringes and a stack of lab reports, slamming them hard onto the desk:

"These are fertility injections, along with test results from the private hospital's reproductive medicine department.

Starting today, you will take these injections on schedule, and you will sleep with Zachary. This only ends when you're pregnant."

In the past, I probably would have accepted them in silence.

This time, however, I lifted my face, my voice soft yet unwavering: "I won't take these injections."

Eleanor Hayes's pupils constricted. "What did you say?"

"I said I won't take them. If he doesn't want children, I support him."

Over these past five years, every time we were intimate, Zachary took precautions.

On the rare occasions things spiraled out of control, he made sure I took morning-after pills immediately under his watchful eye.

Besides, I had already decided to leave; there was no way I would carry his child now.

"Say that again?" Eleanor Hayes's voice spiked shrilly.

"I won't take them," I repeated.

"How dare you!"

Trembling with rage, Eleanor Hayes snapped toward the door: "Smash that porcelain tea set for me!"

The servant dared not refuse the order and smashed a porcelain tea set onto the floor. An ear‑piercing crash echoed through the room.

Eleanor Hayes pointed at the jagged shards: "Kneel on those! You stay there until you come to your senses!"

I didn't argue. I shifted over and knelt onto the broken porcelain.

The sharp shards dug into my knees bit by bit, acute agony shooting up my leg bones.

My wrist, bracing against the floor, was sliced open, beads of blood welling up.

I tried to shift my weight, but the moment my knees moved, the porcelain burrowed deeper into my flesh.

A sharp gasp escaped me from the pain, leaving me unable to utter a word.

The marble floor was bone-chillingly cold; the frigid air traveled from my knees straight up my spine. My teeth began to chatter, yet I bit my lower lip hard, refusing to let out a single whimper.

Cold sweat drenched my clothes in an instant. I gritted my teeth and endured in absolute silence.

Outside the study's floor-to-ceiling windows, Zachary was still on the phone in the garden.

His back was turned to the building, his posture relaxed, occasionally letting out a low chuckle. Clearly, he was having a delightful conversation with Rachel Vance.

While I knelt on jagged porcelain in excruciating agony, he remained completely oblivious.