Chapter 3

It took a long time before I slowly opened my eyes. My mind was completely blank.

The hospital room was eerily quiet. There wasn’t even a nurse or anyone watching over me.

Two days passed before Marco finally showed up.

But the first thing out of his mouth was an accusation: “Isabella just said a few angry words, and you pushed her down the stairs. Do you even realize how wrong that was?”

I was wrong. I was wrong from the very beginning—when I threw everything away just to marry him.

I turned my face to the side, answering his blame with silence.

Maybe it was the bruises covering my body that stirred some pity in him. He sighed and sat down next to me.

“Isabella has a temper. She speaks rashly. That's her fault. But you still shouldn’t have pushed her. Let’s just leave it at that—no more digging into it.”

“Do I even have the right to refuse?”

I’d explained myself countless times before, but it never mattered. I was tired of wasting breath.

I held back a cold smile at the corner of my lips and dismissed him. “Enough. I need to rest.”

But Marco didn’t leave.

He hesitated, then took my hand, squeezing it gently, trying to soften his tone.

“Elara, there’s something I need your agreement on…”

“My mother… she wants Isabella to carry an heir for me.”

I froze, staring at him. My voice came out flat, emotionless. “Whatever you want to do has nothing to do with me.”

What good was my objection?

Marco rushed to explain, his voice low and coaxing.

“You don’t need to worry. I won’t touch Isabella. With modern medicine, they can implant our fertilized egg into her. The child would still be ours.”

The man before me seemed like a stranger.

“But I don’t want her to carry my child!” My voice broke as I snapped.

“Don’t forget—she’s the one who rigged my missions, sabotaged me over and over, and made me lose the ability to have children!”

“Just imagining her carrying my baby makes me sick!”

“No. I don’t agree!”

I fought back hard, but it was useless.

Marco calmly explained everything like it was reasonable. Then, without another word, he told the doctor to sedate me.

“Elara, just sleep. You’ll feel better when you wake up.”

But only I knew—I was already on the edge of breaking.

The egg retrieval was worse than a nightmare. A cold, long needle pierced deep into my abdomen through the most private place. Then it yanked brutally, like it was pulling out my organs.

I screamed in agony, blacked out multiple times, only to be slapped awake by a nurse.

“Don’t pass out! Miss Isabella said you have to feel every second of it. No exceptions!”

Marco didn’t walk in until much later, frowning. “What’s going on?”

He checked the meds, sighed. “Isabella is so impulsive—why would she swap out the sedatives for something that enhances pain?”

But he didn’t change the medication.

He just stroked my hair and whispered, “Just hang in there a little longer, Elara.”

That hell dragged on for two full hours.

By the end, blood tinged the corners of my mouth, my teeth nearly cracked from clenching, and my eyes were red as fire as I stared at Marco.

Then his right-hand man walked in with a report.

“Boss, Miss Isabella is scared of the surgery. She’s asking for you.”

“Alright, I’m coming.”

Marco didn’t spare me another glance. He stood and left.

For the next week, he stayed beside Isabella the entire time.

The first night, she was shaking with nerves before the operation. Marco held her in his arms all night to comfort her.

I threw every gift he’d given me over the past three years into the trash.

On the third day, the procedure was done. Marco sat by her bedside, eyes full of tenderness.

I took a heavy dose of recovery meds. The pain kept me up all night, but I finally removed the cast on my leg.

On the fifth day, Isabella announced her pregnancy online, gleefully posting the test results. Marco liked the post.

I blocked him. Deleted every message thread. Wiped all traces of my online presence.

In the days that followed, Marco stayed by Isabella’s side every day.

I checked myself out of the hospital and returned home. I packed up all my belongings.

Marco never noticed.

Then came the final day—our third wedding anniversary.

I received the official divorce papers. The irony hit me like a slap.

I placed his copy into an envelope and left it on the nightstand.

Just as I opened the door to leave, I ran into him.

“Elara? When did you get discharged? Isabella’s morning sickness is getting worse. She needs to move in… You can help take care of her.”

He was carrying two large bags—everything from prenatal vitamins to imported baby food.

He looked nothing like the man who once claimed he was only doing it because of his mother’s pressure.

I felt strangely calm, like still water. There was even a faint smile on my lips.

“Alright. I’ll go pick up a few things.”

I pushed open the heavy door of the DeLuca house—the cage that had trapped me for three years—and walked out one step at a time.

An hour later, I stood at the airport with a plane ticket in hand.

I mailed off a video, hundreds of injury reports, mission logs, and a copy of the DNA test.

Sent anonymously to the FBI and the DeLuca family’s biggest rivals.

The pain I had suffered—Marco and Isabella would feel it too.

A hundredfold. A thousandfold.