Chapter 2

"Massive blood loss, prep for a transfusion! We need an immediate D&C!"

The frantic shouts of the doctors and nurses sounded muffled, as if I were hearing them through a thick layer of water—it all felt so surreal.

Cold metal instruments entered my body, forcibly scraping away the mass of flesh and blood that hadn't even had the chance to fully form.

When the procedure was over, I was told—unsurprisingly—that the baby was gone.

I lay there with my eyes open, staring at the ceiling as the past ten years flashed through my mind like a film reel.

When I was twenty-three, I went into sudden anaphylactic shock late at night. The ambulance was stuck in a torrential storm two miles away.

Vance ran the entire way with me on his back, collapsing to his knees at the ER entrance. His bare feet were torn to shreds by broken glass, but he just clutched my freezing hands. "Sloane, your life is mine. I won't allow you to die."

When I was twenty-five, I found flirtatious texts between him and Lorna on his phone.

I grabbed my car keys without a word, floored the gas pedal, and drove like a maniac into oncoming traffic. When I woke up in the ICU completely hooked up to tubes, he kissed me with bloodshot eyes. "Sloane, let's torture each other until we're dead."

At twenty-eight—which was today—for Lorna's sake, he murdered our child with his own hands.

The phone beside my pillow suddenly gave a sharp buzz. The screen lit up with a text from Vance.

[Lorna is still on oxygen because you terrified her. If you have even a shred of conscience left, drag yourself over here and apologize to her immediately.]

Before I could even think of replying, the door was pushed open without warning.

Lorna—who was supposedly "on oxygen"—walked in. There wasn't a trace of frailty on her face; instead, she wore a rosy flush that belonged exclusively to a victor.

"How pathetic, sister Sloane."

"You probably don't know this, but when Vance rushed me into the ER just now, he ran so fast he lost a shoe. He was so terrified that something might happen to me and the baby that he forced the head of obstetrics himself to examine me."

I didn't speak. I just stared at her with dead, lifeless eyes.

"Oh, right," she continued to taunt. "I just heard the doctors say you miscarried. So tragic, isn't it? But don't worry, I won't tell Vance. And he'll certainly never find out... that his own ruthless shove killed his flesh and blood."

A bitter, suffocating ache washed over my chest, yet I didn't even harbor the desire to raise my hand and slap her. I just felt like my heart had been completely hollowed out.

Suddenly, the frantic sound of rapid footsteps approached from the hallway outside.

Perhaps my stagnant, dead-water endurance bored Lorna, because her expression changed in an instant.

The girl who, a second ago, was smugly gloating, suddenly grabbed the arm attached to my IV. Using my hand, she violently swept the heavy glass water cup off my nightstand!

Amidst the deafening crash of shattering glass, Lorna threw herself onto the floor, right into the jagged shards. "Sloane, no! Don't hurt my baby! Please, let me go!"

Vance barged in. The sheer second his eyes registered the broken glass and Lorna crumpled on the floor, he erupted into a state of extreme, panic-stricken trauma response.

Our history of mutual slaughter, my past suicidal retaliations—these had clearly taken deep root in his subconscious.

So much so that at this moment, even though I was too weak to even sit up, he didn't stop to think. His muscle memory instantly condemned me as a homicidal maniac going in for the kill.

"SLOANE!!!"

He let out a rabid roar, lunging at the bed and violently shoving my frail, exhausted body away!

The IV needle embedded in the back of my hand was viciously ripped out by his brute force, tearing my flesh. Blood instantly welled up.

Vance's eyes were bloodshot. His entire body trembled violently out of sheer terror. "Didn't I tell you never to touch a single hair on Lorna's head?! Are you out of your damn mind?! Will you only be satisfied when you've driven her to her death?!"

The pain was so intense it literally stopped my breathing.

It turned out his madness, his extremism, his willingness to gamble his life to protect—none of it had disappeared.

Only now, he was using that fierce protectiveness to guard my stepsister.

"Vance... I'm so scared..." Lorna wept pitifully on the floor.

Vance turned and dropped to his knees amidst the glass shards, cautiously and tenderly gathering Lorna into his arms. "It's okay, Lorna, I'm here. No one is going to hurt you..."

In that moment, I found it incredibly laughable. Truly, it was utterly pointless.

All the paranoia, the resentment, the possessiveness... all of it dissolved into pure nothingness as I watched his back tremble while he held Lorna tight.

"Take her and get the hell out." My voice was incredibly light, as effortless as brushing dust off a coat.

Vance's spine stiffened severely. Those bloodshot eyes snapped back to look at me in absolute disbelief. Perhaps my eerie serenity had completely shattered his understanding of who I was.

"...Sloane?" He finally noticed the gruesome, heavily bleeding puncture wound on the back of my hand. A fleeting flash of shock and deep panic darted across his eyes.

But I didn't want to look at him anymore.

I closed my eyes and turned my head away. "Get out."

Perfectly on cue, Lorna let out a painful groan, instantly yanking Vance's mind back to reality. He gritted his teeth, gave me one last, intensely complicated look, then picked Lorna up and left the room without looking back.

It was finally quiet.

I opened my eyes, used my blood-stained hand to grab the phone on the nightstand, and dialed my private attorney, David.

"David, draft a divorce agreement for me. I don't want a single penny that belongs to him. I have zero demands."

"I just want to sever this marriage as fast as humanly possible."

Amidst the chaos just now, I had caught a glimpse of Vance's severely deformed ring finger on his right hand.

Staring at that twisted bone, I had actually felt a bit dazed.

Years ago, when I coldly threw away my wedding ring for the first time, Vance didn't say a word. He fetched a steel hammer and shattered his own finger bone right in front of my eyes, permanently embedding the retrieved ring into his flesh and blood. Back then, his love was entirely devoid of reason. He was far more deranged than I was.

Later, when he cheated on me with Lorna, I went hysterical and used every trick in the book, but he always managed to force my compromise through even more extreme methods of self-destruction.

We were once a pair of sick gamblers who used our own lives as chips, tearing each other to pieces. Deep down, we were exactly the same kind of monster.

But this time, in this endless, deadly stalemate... something between us had irreversibly changed.