Chapter 3

Just as I thought I was going to die right there on the floor, the sound of hurried footsteps approached.

"Sienna?!"

A deep, breathless voice rang out in shock. A second later, a heavy coat carrying the bitter chill of the winter night and a faint scent of pine draped over me, wrapping around my violently trembling, blood-drained body.

I fought with everything I had to force my heavy eyelids open, and finally made out his face. It was Rowan.

He was the youngest genius teaching assistant at the Royal College of Art, and my mentor. On campus, he was always dressed in an immaculate suit, restrained and impossibly strict, with an almost ruthless obsession for design.

"I saw the Flowers of the Abyss on the forum." Kneeling on the freezing floor, Rowan's voice had lost all its usual composure, laced with undisguised panic. "I'm your mentor; how could I not recognize your own blood, sweat, and tears? You weren't answering your phone, so I came straight here to demand an explanation from Blair... The door was open, so I just walked in. God, you're bleeding so much..."

"Rowan..." Clinging to him like the very last lifeline in a bottomless abyss, I gripped his sleeve so hard my knuckles turned white. "Please, save... save my baby..."

Rowan's gaze dropped to the horrifying pool of blood spreading across the rug, and his pupils dilated violently. He scooped me up in his arms and sprinted out of the apartment.

My memories of the drive were fragmented.

I only remember Rowan running three consecutive red lights. I remember him tightly gripping my ice-cold hand, repeating over and over, "Don't go to sleep, Sienna. Keep your eyes on me. We're almost there."

The blinding white lights of the emergency room pierced my retinas. Doctors and nurses rushed my gurney toward the operating room, and Rowan's tense, panic-stricken face was finally shut out as the heavy surgical doors closed between us.

As the anesthesia flooded my veins, I plunged into a boundless abyss of darkness.

When I finally woke up, it was already the next morning. The hospital room was dead silent, save for the rhythmic, mechanical beeping of the heart monitor.

Subconsciously, my hand drifted down to rest over my lower abdomen. It was terrifyingly flat. That miraculous, subtle heartbeat of a growing life... was completely gone.

"You're awake," Rowan said.

He was sitting in the chair beside my bed, looking through a thin medical chart. The cuffs of his dress shirt were stained with dried blood, and his eyes were heavily bloodshot. It was obvious he hadn't slept a wink.

I looked at him, but my throat felt like it was stuffed with shattered glass; I couldn't make a single sound.

"The doctor said the severe bleeding was the result of a violent blunt-force impact." Rowan softened his voice, yet every syllable still struck my spine like a sledgehammer. "They couldn't save the baby. I'm so sorry. I got here too late."

I closed my eyes, and tears slipped silently from the corners, vanishing into my pillow.

There was no hysterical wailing, no agonizing cries. There was only an ashen, bone-deep silence.

That tiny life, snuffed out before it ever even got the chance to glimpse this world, had been murdered by its own father.

"It wasn't your fault, Rowan. Thank you for saving my life." After what felt like an eternity, I finally turned my head to look at him. Even I was shocked by how cold and eerily calm my own voice sounded.

Rowan studied me, a flicker of complex emotion passing through his deep-set eyes. He stood up, poured a glass of warm water, and handed it to me. "You need absolute rest right now. As for those two... do you want me to call the police?"

"No. Calling the police won't do any good right now." I stared at the faint ripples trembling in the glass. "Even if we did, Tristan's family lawyers would swiftly spin this into an accidental fall. There were no cameras, and no fourth person in the room. Blair would gladly provide the perfect false testimony."

"So you're just going to let this go?" Rowan furrowed his brows, his tone edged with a strict, frustrated severity.

"Let it go?" I carved out a smile far more desolate than crying and met his gaze dead-on. "Rowan, I am going to ruin him. I'm going to make him lose absolutely everything he cares about—his reputation, his status, and that woman he cherishes so much."

My baby was gone. Now, they were going to pay back that blood debt a hundred times over.

"Where is my phone?" I took a sip of the water, soothing my parched throat.

Rowan hesitated for a moment before pulling my phone out of his coat pocket. Though the screen was shattered from my struggle the night before, it still worked.

As if perfectly timed, the exact second the phone was in my hands, the screen lit up aggressively.

It was Tristan.

With trembling fingertips, I tapped on the unread message. A long audio note popped up. Instantly, Tristan's arrogant, disgustingly patronizing voice echoed through the utterly silent hospital room:

"Sienna, you should be done with this little tantrum by now, right? Thank God Blair only suffered minor heart palpitations last night; she's fine now. I've sent the driver to pick you up. This afternoon, we'll go pick out a new engagement ring for you to make up for it. Stop throwing fits over a few stupid design sketches and just be a good girl. Blair's wish is fulfilled now, so we can finally go back to being engaged."