Chapter 2

The moment he heard those words, a muscle in Sterling’s jaw twitched.

He stared daggers at me, his chest heaving violently, as if he had just heard the most absurd thing in the world.

Suddenly, he grabbed the ceramic vase from the table and smashed it ruthlessly against the floor.

With a deafening crash, the vase shattered into pieces, sending sharp shards of porcelain flying right to my feet.

"You dared to sleep with another man?!" He roared, pointing a finger right in my face like a beast that had completely lost its mind. "You shameless bitch! Which trashy hotel did you go to last night to flaunt your cheap tricks?"

He hysterically spat out the vilest words, trying to humiliate me with the ugliest insults imaginable.

Listening to his tirade, I actually let out a laugh of pure exasperation.

He could go out and find countless women, using this so-called "open marriage" to sugarcoat his affairs.

Yet the moment he thought I had done the exact same thing, he couldn't handle it at all, flying into a rage like a lunatic whose pride had been dragged through the mud.

He could only accept one-sided exploitation; he couldn't stomach an equal betrayal.

This shameless double standard completely exhausted whatever last drop of patience I had left for him.

"Enough, Sterling," I interrupted him calmly, looking at his face, which was flushed red with fury. "Let's get a divorce."

At the word "divorce," Sterling visibly froze. His rage seemed to halt for a split second.

Then, he furrowed his brows deeply, looking me up and down with an expression of utter disbelief.

He was far too used to my weakness and concessions. He truly believed I didn't have the guts to leave him.

"Are you out of your mind? You're the one who messed up, and you have the nerve to ask for a divorce?"

He sneered, straightening his shirt collar.

He clearly viewed my demand for a divorce as nothing more than a bluff after being caught, his face screaming how unwilling he was to play along with my "farce."

He snatched his car keys off the sofa and violently kicked aside the ceramic shards near his feet.

"I don't have time to entertain your tantrums right now. We'll talk when your head is clear and you're done acting crazy." Without looking back, he walked toward the door. "Take a good look at yourself and think about what you did wrong."

With that, he slammed the front door and stormed off.

The house fell instantly silent.

I stood frozen, staring at the mess on the floor, feeling an overwhelming exhaustion toward this three-year marriage.

Just as I was about to turn and head to the bedroom, a sharp, violent cramp ripped through my lower abdomen.

The pain struck swiftly and mercilessly. My legs gave out, and I immediately collapsed onto the wool rug in the living room.

Cold sweat quickly beaded on my forehead. Clutching my stomach, I curled into a tight ball, gasping heavily for air.

My intuition told me something was terribly wrong.

Fighting through the agony, I fumbled for the phone in my pocket, called a cab, and rushed to the nearest hospital alone.

At the hospital, the ER doctor quickly ordered blood tests and an ultrasound.

Half an hour later, the doctor walked over to me with a medical report in hand, his expression grave.

"Ms. Diana, you are six weeks pregnant."

He handed me the test results, his tone growing more serious.

"However, based on the ultrasound, you are showing severe signs of a threatened miscarriage. Your extreme emotional fluctuations today have caused contractions. If you want to keep this baby, you must remain on strict bed rest."

I sat blankly on the blue plastic bench in the hospital corridor, clutching the ultrasound report.

Amidst the shadowy black-and-white image, there was a tiny, faint black dot.

My hand unconsciously drifted to my flat stomach, my fingertips trembling slightly.

Just an hour ago, I had asked Sterling for a divorce, fully prepared to cut him out of my life completely.

But in this exact moment, sensing the fragile life inside me, my maternal instincts completely overpowered all of my fury and resolve.

This was an innocent new life, a child connected to me by blood.

If I insisted on divorcing now, this child would be born into a shattered, broken family.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

For the sake of giving the baby in my womb a complete family, I decided to swallow all the grievances and humiliation of today.

At the very least, until the baby's condition stabilized, I couldn't put any more stress on my body.

The divorce would have to be put on hold.

I picked up the pregnancy-preserving medication the doctor prescribed and took a cab home.

On the way back, I constantly regulated my emotions, preparing to calmly share the news with Sterling once he returned and cooled down.

However, the moment I pushed the front door open, the sight before me nailed my feet to the entrance.

Sterling was back, but he hadn't returned alone.

He had brought Chloe home.

That twenty-two-year-old young woman was currently wearing my indoor slippers.

The two of them were pressed against each other without a shred of shame, sitting right on the living room sofa.

Hearing the door open, Sterling turned to look at me.

Not only did he not remove his hand from Chloe's waist, but he deliberately pulled her even tighter into his embrace.

He stared at me, his eyes gleaming with an obvious, vindictive desire for revenge.

He was still fixated on the fact that I hadn't come home last night, so he chose the most direct and cruel method—bringing his mistress into our home—to brutally punish my "betrayal."

"Since you proved to me last night that you're perfectly comfortable doing your own thing, it's about time we took our rule a step further."

Sterling leaned back arrogantly against the sofa, his tone sickeningly cold.

"Starting today, Chloe is moving in. She'll be staying in the guest room on the first floor."

Chloe nestled against Sterling's chest, not avoiding my gaze whatsoever.

She just stared straight at me, her eyes flashing with a blatant, uncontrollable arrogance.

Sterling's gaze locked onto my face. He seemed to be waiting for me to explode—waiting for me to break down, scream, or pathetically beg him with red eyes to throw this woman out, just like I used to.

I stood by the door, feeling the air around me turn freezing cold.

The words "I'm pregnant" rested right on the tip of my tongue. If I just said them, the scene playing out before me might come to a screeching halt.

But looking at the two of them, those words got forcefully lodged in my throat. I couldn't utter a single syllable.

I didn't shed a single tear.

Instead, I instinctively raised my hand, protectively covering my still-flat stomach.

Forcing myself to look away, I turned around without saying a word and walked up the stairs to the second floor.

Pushing open the door to the master bedroom, I stepped inside, pulled the door shut, and pressed the lock button.

Leaning against the door, I slowly slid down to the floor.