Chapter 4

A rainstorm left me with a high fever, which escalated into severe pneumonia.

Lying alone in the upscale hospital room, I wanted someone to bring me a few changes of clothes, so I called Ethan. After a long series of beeps, it went to voicemail. I tried Chloe's number, but no answer there either.

With no other option, I hired a private caregiver to go home and grab some clothes for me.

An hour later, the caregiver returned, holding several shopping bags from the mall across the street.

She stood at the foot of my bed, looking uneasy. "Ma'am... I'm so sorry." Her voice trembled. "I didn't get your clothes. I opened the door with the code, but in the living room..."

"I saw... your husband and that young nanny on the sofa..." The caregiver took a deep breath, her eyes reddening. "He caught me and offered me some money to buy you new clothes and to keep quiet about what I saw. But... when I walked past the entrance, I saw the huge wedding photo of you two on the wall. Ma;am, my conscience wouldn't let me take that money."

"I understand." I listened to her without flinching, my voice steady. "Thank you for your honesty, Maria. Please close the door behind you."

As soon as she left, I yanked out the IV needle from my hand and stumbled into the bathroom, clutching the toilet as I violently vomited. It felt disgusting.

Ethan, how disgusting.

After what felt like ages, I finally pushed myself up, leaning against the sink.

I looked in the mirror at the haggard woman staring back at me, barely recognizing her as the carefree girl from the wealthy Long Island neighborhood.

Ethan and I grew up in adjoining townhouses.

He was a true Wall Street elite, always cold and proud. I had a crush on him for eight years, following in his footsteps all the way to Columbia University. Just when I thought I was close to him, my family went bankrupt.

To fill the financial gap and avoid federal charges, my father decided to "sell" me to a wealthy oil tycoon in Texas in his sixties under the guise of a marriage alliance. At that point, I felt like I was covered in mud and no longer worthy of shining Ethan, so I left a desperate farewell letter.

But just as the church doors were about to close, Ethan appeared in a tailored suit, like a god come to save me. He crashed the wedding in front of all the guests, tearing into the tycoon and even using his family's funds to pay off my father's debts. He stood at the altar and said, "Emma, you can only be my wife in this life."

I thought that was the perfect fairy tale ending.

But just a year later, my deepest love had turned into the most nauseating partnership.

The next morning, unable to endure this ridiculous marriage any longer, I forced the doctor to discharge me.

As I pushed open the door to our penthouse, I began tossing my belongings and documents inside one by one.

After packing my things, I walked over to the nightstand.

I opened the drawer to find a journal chronicling how I had carefully loved him for the past eight years, along with a document stamped by the hospital.

It was the miscarriage certificate issued after he ignored my calls to watch the meteor shower with Chloe that night.

The contrast was striking and painfully ironic.

I didn't want to look at it anymore, so I tossed it in the trash, grabbed the handle of my suitcase, and headed for the door.