Vanished After the Crash, Kneel of the CEO

The moment I learned the truth, my world came to a complete stop.

When I opened my eyes again, I was in the hospital.

Samuel Harris—my husband, the man who valued business interests above life—had abandoned a multi-billion dollar deal to rush back overnight.

He'd been watching over me for two days and nights, his face pale, his eyes bloodshot.

Seeing me wake up, he gripped my hand tightly.

His voice trembled, "Victoria, you scared the hell out of me."

In the past, I would have been moved by this.

But now, looking into those affectionate eyes, I only felt a chill.

He picked up the chicken soup and carefully brought it to my lips.

"The doctor said you fell hard and injured your internal organs," he said with concern, "You can only eat light foods for now."

He had no idea what really happened.

He thought I had just accidentally fallen down the stairs.

He didn't know that at the bottom of those cold stairs, I had miscarried.

The child we'd been trying for three years had turned into a pool of blood.

Seven days ago, he said he was abroad on business.

In reality, he'd been in Harmony City the whole time, with Grace and those twin illegitimate children.

I'd even met Grace a year ago, when she was still Samuel's secretary. Later I heard she'd resigned because of pregnancy. I was stupid enough to congratulate her then, wishing her and her husband a happy family life.

I hadn't told Samuel about my pregnancy—I was planning to surprise him on our anniversary.

But while he was playing the good husband and good father to someone else, I looked at the DNA report Grace sent me, lost my balance in shock, and fell down the stairs, losing our baby all alone.

To everyone else, Samuel was perfect. Who would believe he'd actually been with another woman for two whole years and had twin children with her?

Tears started falling.

Samuel pulled me into his arms, his voice low and gentle.

"What's wrong? Does it hurt? Or did someone upset you? Tell me, I'll handle it."

He thought I was just physically uncomfortable. The worry in his eyes seemed genuine.

I caught a faint scent.

It was Grace's expensive perfume, mixed with the sweet smell of baby formula.

My stomach turned.

I pushed him away and leaned over the bed, retching violently.

Samuel had severe germaphobia—normally he couldn't stand even a speck of dust on his clothes.

But right now, he rushed over without hesitation.

He held my hair back with one hand to keep it clean, and wiped the corners of my mouth with tissue in the other.

He knelt on the cold floor, gently patting my back, saying softly, "It's okay, I'm here."

That tender moment almost broke me all over again.

Because in that instant, he was still the person I deeply loved.

The person who once promised to protect me forever.

I wavered for a moment.

I almost forgave him.

I almost convinced myself that if he'd just leave Grace, we could go back to how things were—I could tell him the truth about the miscarriage, let him mourn our unborn child with me, and pretend the world hadn't collapsed.

I opened my mouth, my voice shaking.

"Samuel, actually I—"

His phone rang.

He glanced at the screen, his expression shifting slightly.

"I'm going downstairs to pay the hospital bill," he kissed my forehead and left in a hurry, "I'll be right back."

An hour later, Grace sent me a message.

In the photo, Samuel was holding the twins, wearing the smile of a loving father.

The caption was just one line:

"Stop kidding yourself. We're the real family of four."

I closed my phone.

The last bit of hope in my heart died.

After leaving the hospital, I didn't go home. I went straight to Emily Taylor's place.

She was my only close friend.

"Help me," I told her, my voice steady, "I need you to help me fake a car accident off a cliff."

Emily looked at me in shock, but my face showed no emotion.

I knew Samuel too well. His possessiveness was extreme—he would never allow me to leave alive.

To really break free and protect my future, I had to die once.

That night, I went home to pack.

I didn't take the jewelry or the clothes.

I dug out that dusty wooden box from the bottom of the closet.

Inside were hundreds of love letters from when we were in a long-distance relationship.

I sat in front of the fireplace and threw them in one by one.

The paper curled and blackened, the old promises turning to ash.

Just like my love for him—completely gone.

Midnight, my phone vibrated.

Emily sent a message: [Everything's ready. In two days, you'll disappear.]