1 At my birthday gala, Lucian suddenly ushered in a young woman, introducing her as an inexperienced intern. She "clumsily" spilled my cake, then "thoughtlessly" adorned herself with my necklace. Yet, Lucian’s only retort was always, “She’s still so young.” It wasn’t until she “naively” climbed into Lucian’s bed, then “innocently” knelt before me, heavily pregnant, saying, “Mrs. Thorne, Mr. Thorne said if you couldn’t give him a child, I would…” I finally gave Lucian two icy choices: “Either she ends the pregnancy, or we end our marriage.” Lucian, his face etched with guilt, explained, “Grandfather Thorne decreed that only a woman who bears an heir can be the Mrs. Thorne. But your uterus is damaged. Skylar’s child… will be formally adopted by you. Eleanor, I only love you too much!” Later, when Lucian joyfully brought their son home to the Thorne estate, he was still trying to reason with me: “Just be understanding, Grandfather Thorne only wants to see them. It won’t affect your standing.” I nodded, obliging, not a tear or protest. The moment he left, I dialed his rival’s number. “I accept your offer. Being a mother to someone else’s child, it’s all the same, isn’t it?” When Lucian walked in, cradling the infant, Skylar and Grandfather Thorne followed close behind. The baby was tiny, swaddled in a blanket embroidered with gold thread. Lucian looked down at the child in his arms, his gaze so tender it stung. “Eleanor.” He looked up, his tone flat, as if announcing something utterly inconsequential, “The baby will live here from now on.” My heart twisted with bitterness, but words failed me. Just three months prior, he had knelt before me, pleading with me not to divorce him, explicitly promising that once Skylar gave birth, she would be transferred to a branch office, never to interfere with our lives. Yet now, he had brazenly brought the mother and child into our marital home. A fragile belief, already teetering on the brink, finally shattered within me. Skylar stood behind Grandfather Thorne, watching me with feigned timidity. For a mother, she was still just as “naive,” unable to even offer a greeting. Finding it tiresome, I turned to go upstairs. She called out, her voice laced with a sob, “Sister, I know you hate me, but the baby is innocent… please, be kind to him in the future.” Lucian frowned, stepping in front of her, his tone tinged with reproach: “Eleanor, don’t frighten Skylar.” I scoffed. How was it that merely standing there made me the villain? Grandfather Thorne hobbled over, tapping the baby’s cheek, his smile indulgent: “This child looks just like Lucian did as a boy. Clearly a Thorne, through and through.” When he turned to me, his eyes turned cold: “You can’t bear a child. We can’t just let the Thorne line end, can we?” I lowered my gaze, my nails digging savagely into my palms, the pain a dull throb. Lucian finally looked at me, his voice softening slightly: “Eleanor, the baby needs breast milk. Once he’s weaned… I’ll arrange for Skylar to move out!” I suddenly felt like laughing. This was his own promise, yet now he delivered it with the tone of a patron? I was about to say it wasn’t necessary, when Skylar interrupted, “Mr. Thorne, quick, look! The baby seems hungry…” Lucian immediately turned, skillfully supporting the baby’s head as he murmured soothing words. I stood there, feeling utterly like an outsider. … Late that night, Lucian finally returned to our room. He carried the faint scent of baby milk and Skylar’s perfume. As the mattress dipped, I turned my back to him. His hand settled on my waist. “Eleanor, don’t be stubborn.” I didn’t move. He sighed, then spoke, seemingly to himself: “Grandfather is old; he just wants a great-grandson… we already agreed, didn’t we? Once the baby is a little older, he’ll be legally adopted by you. You’ll still be Mrs. Thorne!” I opened my eyes, staring at a point in the darkness, and asked softly, “Lucian, do you remember why I can’t have children?” His breath hitched. Three years ago, during that car crash, I lunged to shield him from a fatal blow. When the doctors said I might never conceive again, he swore, his eyes red-rimmed: “Eleanor, all I need is you.” Now, he had secretly gotten another woman pregnant, then used the pretense of adoption to ensure her smooth delivery, and finally… brought the child into our home. All under the guise of wanting to give me a child. … The next morning, Skylar was already seated in my designated chair at the dining table, holding the baby. Lucian sat beside her, gently coaxing the infant, his expression soft. Grandfather Thorne chuckled, saying, “This child is so well-behaved, truly blessed.” Skylar shyly lowered her gaze: “Grandfather, the baby cried all night. Mr. Thorne only managed to get him to sleep past midnight…” Lucian smiled, reaching out to ruffle her hair. So this was the picture of a happy, harmonious family of three. I turned to head upstairs, but Grandfather Thorne’s voice, brooking no argument, stopped me: “From today, Skylar and the baby will reside in the master suite.” I froze. No matter how many, or how spacious, the rooms in the mansion, there was only one master suite. Lucian abruptly stood up: “Grandfather!” But Grandfather Thorne sharply rapped his cane: “What? You’d inconvenience my great-grandson for a woman who can’t lay an egg?” Lucian fell silent. Skylar stood behind Grandfather Thorne, cradling the baby, a subtle smirk playing on her lips. Too weary to argue, I turned back to the room, mechanically packing my belongings. Lucian suddenly entered, grabbing my hand. “Eleanor! Don’t do this…” I looked up at him, my eyes utterly devoid of emotion. “Lucian,” I said softly, “If I don’t leave, are we four supposed to squeeze into one bed?” 2 His face faltered slightly. He said nothing, but his grip on my hand loosened. The answer was glaringly obvious. As I carried my suitcase downstairs, Skylar stood in the living room, holding the baby. With a facade of apology, she suggested, “Sister, the guest room is so spacious and comfortable. There’s no need to move out!” She clearly wanted to witness the drama of a wife being demoted to a concubine, but I had no intention of indulging her. “No need. I wish you,” I glanced at the baby in her arms, my voice laced with hidden meaning, “and the Thorne family’s flesh and blood, a long and prosperous life.” I deliberately emphasized “flesh and blood,” watching her feigned smile freeze for a fraction of a second. She was, of course, nowhere near as simple-minded as Lucian claimed. At least in front of me, adjusting her expression was a matter of milliseconds. “Sister, don’t say that. Mr. Thorne still cares about you most deeply…” Before she could finish, I was already at the door. It was a perfect storm; my marriage had ruptured, and the deluge arrived right on cue. I stood there, watching the pouring rain, for a long while. Lucian didn’t come after me. The water streaming down my cheeks—I couldn’t tell if it was rain or tears. My phone suddenly lit up. Lucian, from behind the closed door, sent me a message: [Eleanor, you’re not as understanding as you used to be. Go stay in the executive apartment provided by the company for now. Once you’ve calmed down, I’ll come get you.] I let out a hollow laugh. I calmly stepped into the rain, hailed a cab, and left. Perhaps because I had already made my plans, Lucian’s full immersion into fatherhood didn't stir much emotion in me anymore. After two days of silence, I returned to the mansion to retrieve the last of my belongings. Skylar sat in the living room, draped in my silk robe. “Sister, you’re back?” She gently patted the baby in her arms, parading him like a prized possession. I headed straight upstairs, unwilling to exchange another word with her. But the moment I pushed open the master bedroom door, my composure shattered. The sheets had been changed to her preferred taupe, and my vanity was laden with skincare products that weren't mine. The gowns I’d worn to countless meetings and events with him… were haphazardly stuffed into a corner of the closet. In their place hung Skylar’s dresses. Even the wedding photo above the bed had been replaced with their family portrait—Lucian cradling the baby, the woman nestled against his shoulder, her smile dazzling and sickeningly happy. I bit down hard on my lower lip, gasping for breath to keep the stinging tears at bay. It was then I realized that saying goodbye to a relationship didn’t always require a dramatic breakdown. Once calm, I entered the private vault and retrieved my mother’s urn. As I descended the stairs, I heard Skylar on the phone. “Mr. Thorne, the baby misses you…” Her voice was sickeningly sweet. “Yes, Eleanor came back for her things. The baby and I will get along just fine with her…” I scoffed. Three days living here, and she already acted more like the lady of the house than I, his wife of three years, ever did. No wonder she’d usurped me. As I walked out, Skylar suddenly called my name: “Sister!” She scurried over, pushing the baby in her arms towards me. Her smile was feigned innocence. “Do you want to hold the baby? Get a head start on feeling like a mother…” Though the infant was innocent, the stain on my marriage turned my stomach. “No, thanks.” I turned and walked away. Behind me, she inexplicably stumbled, shrieking as she fell backward— “Ah!” I instinctively spun around, reaching out to catch her. But she deliberately swung her shoulder, knocking the urn from my grasp. The ceramic urn shattered on the marble floor with a sickening crash, splitting into two halves, grey-white ashes scattering across the tiles. I froze, then heard a furious roar from behind me: “Eleanor! What are you doing?!” Lucian stormed in, roughly shoving me aside. He anxiously helped Skylar up. “Are you alright?” Skylar, her eyes red-rimmed, shook her head: “I’m fine… thankfully, I protected the baby. Mr. Thorne, it’s true I’m an intruder, so Sister Eleanor pushing me to vent her anger is understandable…” Lucian turned to me, his gaze complex: “An intruder? Eleanor, how many times have I told you, it was my idea to have Skylar move in…” I stared blankly at my mother’s ashes, spread across the floor. I knelt, my eyes burning red. “Momma…” But he, mistaking my grief for an excuse for pushing Skylar, irritably loosened his tie: “Every time we argue, you cry and call for your mother. Have you ever considered that your mother, in heaven, would want you to be a proper lady of the house?” Skylar, feigning concern, edged closer: “Sister, I’m so sorry. I broke the baby formula you bought for the baby. How much do I owe you…?” “No need!” Lucian cut her off, glaring coldly at me. “How dare she use anything she bought for the baby? As for you, Skylar, did she do anything to you while I was away?” Watching him dote so carefully on Skylar, I suddenly felt overwhelmingly weary. There was no longer any point in explaining. “Lucian,” I said softly, “Let’s get a divorce.” 3 His face instantly contorted. “What nonsense are you spouting now?!” I produced the divorce papers I’d already prepared and placed them on the coffee table. “Sign them,” I said. “You made your choice a long time ago.” He seized my wrist. “I told you! Skylar and I aren’t what you think! You’re the one I love!” His desperation was suddenly pathetic. “Then make her move out,” I said, enunciating each word. “Immediately. Now.” He froze. Skylar’s timely sob broke the silence: “Mr. Thorne, don’t argue with Sister Eleanor… the baby was just startled and spit up…” Lucian released my hand. “Eleanor! You can be angry with me, but you shouldn’t push a woman holding a baby!” His reprimand was a blunt blade, cruelly severing my last thread of hope. I watched him turn and hurry toward Skylar. I finally had to admit that in Lucian’s heart, I would always come second to that mother and child. Standing on the roadside, I suddenly remembered our wedding day, and Lucian’s vows before the minister: “To love only you, for the rest of my life.” Thinking about it now, his ‘rest of his life’ was remarkably brief. My phone vibrated. It was a message from Lucian: [Just stop being difficult, and you’ll always be Mrs. Thorne.] I smiled faintly and blocked all his contacts. Always? From the moment he secretly got Skylar pregnant, there was no 'always' for us. 4 Before leaving Bayview City, I went to the company to complete my resignation handover. As I looked at the company Lucian and I had built from the ground up, a tide of reluctance surged within me. But I knew, there was no place for me here anymore. The glass wall still displayed “Never Give Up,” a motto we’d written together. In the break room, the old coffee maker from our startup days still sat there. But now, his world held things far more important. That child, that woman, that so-called “family.” Ms. Davis, her eyes red-rimmed, helped me clear out my office. “Ms. Sterling, Mr. Thorne certainly wants you to enjoy a life of leisure at home, but if you’re truly leaving, I’ll miss you terribly… Does Mr. Thorne know about your resignation?” Her final question was a probe. She also knew that ever since Lucian had an intern assistant, the Thorne household had been in turmoil. “Of course, it’s all been made clear.” I tucked the last file into a box. The moment I stood up, my vision suddenly swam. I instinctively clutched the desk. Ms. Davis gasped, “Ms. Sterling, you look terrible!” … Hospital lights are always so unsettling. The moment I opened my eyes, Ms. Davis leaned in, her face alight with barely contained joy: “Ms. Sterling, you’re pregnant! Six weeks along!” I froze, my fingers unconsciously tracing my lower abdomen. A child… here? A child who arrived so suddenly, just as I decided to leave… Ms. Davis continued to chatter excitedly, but her words were a dull buzz in my ears. Did Lucian know? Would he, for this child… My phone suddenly vibrated, Lucian’s name flashing on the screen. I answered with a trembling hand, and before I could speak, his enraged roar ripped through the phone: “Eleanor! Why would you do something like this?!” I froze. “What?” “Skylar found a doll under the baby’s crib!” His voice was glacial. “It had pins stuck in it and the baby’s birth date written on it!” I let out a humorless laugh. So that was it. He hadn’t called to check on me after I collapsed; he had called to accuse me. “Lucian,” I said calmly, “Do you remember what today is?” Silence hung on the other end for a beat. “Three years ago today, you were in that car crash. I lunged to shield you.” My voice was barely a whisper. “The doctors said I might never be able to conceive again. But now, I’m…” The sound of something shattering on the other end drowned out the word “pregnant” that left my lips. On his end, Lucian rushed to comfort someone nearby. “There, there, don’t cry. I’ll make this right for you and the baby.” Only then did he ask, “What did you just say? I didn’t hear you!” I suddenly felt there was no point in saying anything more. I hung up. “Ms. Davis,” I said softly, “Don’t tell anyone about my pregnancy yet.” She looked at me, stunned. “But Mr. Thorne…” “Especially not Lucian.” I stroked my flat stomach, and finally, tears fell. “This child… has nothing to do with him anymore.” … The sunset outside the window bled red, like spilled blood. It was like Lucian, three years ago, holding my blood-soaked body, crying out, “Eleanor, it’s okay if we don’t have children. But I can’t lose you!” Now, he had pushed both the child and me away. 5 The moment I managed to push myself up into a sitting position, the hospital room door burst open. Grandfather Thorne hobbled in, leaning on his ebony cane, two bodyguards flanking him. “Eleanor Sterling!” The cane slammed heavily against my bed rail. “You viper! Now the baby is in the ICU, are you satisfied?” I couldn’t stop a bitter laugh from escaping. When Lucian and I had struggled to build the company, he used to affectionately call me “Granddaughter-in-law.” Now that someone else had borne him a great-grandson, I was a viper. My voice was hoarse. “If the baby is in the ICU, perhaps you should be waiting by the operating room door.” Enraged, the old man swung his cane, striking hard against the back of my hand where the IV drip was inserted. The needle was ripped out. Beads of blood welled up and rolled down the back of my hand. “Still feigning innocence!” he raged. “I consulted a spiritual master! It was that cursed doll of yours! Now the baby’s lungs are filled with blood, you—” He choked on his words, nearly collapsing. The bodyguards immediately steadied him. I looked at the raving old man and felt only sorrow. He didn’t know that the child in my womb was his only great-grandchild. I looked at him, incredulous: “You think I would curse an infant?” Lucian stood just behind Grandfather Thorne, but he made no move to speak. “Stop making excuses!” Grandfather Thorne gasped, straightening up. “The master said this is a ‘matriarchal curse.’ To break it, the matriarch who cast it must have her head shaved clean.” He didn’t give me time to process the absurd demand, instead gesturing to the bodyguards, “Hold her down.” I was so weak; did they even need to hold me? Yet I still looked at the figure behind him, suddenly desperate to know: who would Lucian choose this time? As the bodyguard produced the scissors, Lucian finally moved— He took a step back. That single step brought tears of laughter to my eyes. He averted his gaze, his voice trembling: “Eleanor, just for the sake of the baby…” My heart turned to ice. As the razor touched my scalp, I smiled. “Do you remember three years ago, when I had to shave my head after my injury?” The blade already sliced through the first strand of hair. Black strands floated silently onto the stark white sheets. “Back then, I thought I was ugly, hiding in my room for three months, refusing to see you. You stood outside my door for three months, speaking through it every day—” Lucian’s body suddenly convulsed. “—saying that once my hair grew back, you’d comb it for me every day, buy me the best hair oil, and promise I’d never grow a single grey strand.” Memories flooded back like a tide—how could we not have been in love? Back then, he’d bring me different hair growth recipes every day, nurturing my hair with endless care. And now… for a baseless accusation, they were simply shaving it all away… Lucian suddenly lunged forward, grabbing the bodyguard’s hand, his voice raw: “Stop!” But it was too late. Amidst the grief, warm liquid began to stream down my thighs. I looked down and saw beads of blood hitting the floor, one by agonizing one. Lucian’s gaze followed mine, and his face instantly turned ashen: “Eleanor?!” He trembled as he pulled back the blanket, his whole body swaying the moment he saw the blood. “This is…”
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