I was kidnapped by Lana Hill—the ex-wife Damian Thorne claimed to despise. With Damian forced to watch, she took a steel pipe and beat the three-month-old child out of my womb. "This is the price you pay for choosing her, Damian!" she screamed, her face a mask of pure hatred. He had once told me, "If you want revenge, Lana, you'll have to kill me in my own bed." After I was rescued, Damian drove a blade through her womb and had her stripped bare, then cast her into the Warrens, the city's most lawless slum. From that day on, everyone in the city of Crestfall knew: I, Ava Reed, was Damian Thorne's reason for living. But one week before our wedding, in the hushed quiet of a bridal boutique's fitting room, I saw him press her against the wall. He was kissing the scarred landscape of her back with a reverence that felt like a punch to my gut. Lana bit his Adam's apple, her voice a low growl. "You owe me for every one of these scars. How are you going to pay me back?" "How do you want to be paid?" "The same slum you threw me in? I want Ava to experience it, too." Damian was silent for a beat, then a slow, dark smile spread across his face. "Fine. As you wish." 1 Noticing his slight hesitation, Lana pushed, her voice sharp and demanding. "What? Feeling sorry for her now? Weren't you just saying you'd die for a chance to be inside me again?" Damian scoffed. "She's my wife. If I don't feel for her, am I supposed to feel for you?" He pulled on his shirt, ready to leave. A flicker of desperation crossed Lana's eyes. She wrapped her arms around his neck and crushed her mouth to his. He recoiled slightly. "What are you, a rabid dog?" "For you? I'd be anything." Damian took a deep, ragged breath, his voice laced with a dangerous edge. "Pregnant, and you still can't keep your hands to yourself. Christ, I ought to put you down." Lana’s laugh was triumphant. "You'd never." "Shut up." I couldn't listen to another word. Pregnant? So, her womb was fine. Damian had lied to me. I raised a trembling hand to my own stomach. Three months ago, the child she had beaten out of me felt like it had dissolved into a pool of warm blood that now clung to my skin, sticky and damning. The memory of Damian's face, contorted with rage, was seared into my mind. "You killed my son. You'll never have a child of your own again." Eight stabs. He’d left Lana with just a breath of life before having her stripped naked and thrown into the Warrens. I’d watched in the rearview mirror as countless grimy hands dragged her into a squalid hovel. It was all a show. A grand, grotesque performance just for me. I wiped away a tear, not of sorrow, but of pure, unadulterated rage, and a bitter smile touched my lips. He’d gotten so used to the good girl, so comfortable with my devotion. Damian had forgotten I was raised on wolf's blood. Stepping out of the fitting room, a sales associate noticed my pale face. "Miss Reed, are you alright? Can I help you with anything?" My eyes lifted to the centerpiece of the grand hall: the wedding gown Damian had commissioned for me, a one-of-a-kind creation. An hour ago, seeing it had filled me with visions of a lifetime of happiness. Now, it looked like a blade, sharp and cold, plunged into my heart and churning through flesh and bone. The pain was so intense I bit my lip until I tasted blood. I pointed at the dress. "Burn it." Without a glance at her stunned expression, I pushed open the heavy glass doors and walked out into the cold air. It was late when Damian came home. He wrapped his arms around me from behind just as I closed the files on my phone—five gigabytes of videos and photos sent from an anonymous source. "You didn't like the dress? Why did you have them burn it?" he murmured into my hair. "It was dirty." He stiffened, his senses instantly on alert. His grip tightened. "Alright. If you don't like it, we'll get rid of it. I'll have an even better one made for you, my love." He leaned in to kiss me. But as his face drew near, the images from the video—their bodies entwined, their passionate cries—flashed in my mind. I saw the faint lipstick smudge on his neck, caught the scent of lily of the valley clinging to his clothes—her scent. A wave of nausea crashed over me. I shoved him away and bolted for the bathroom, vomiting until my body convulsed. When I emerged, the entire household staff was lined up in the living room, trembling. Damian sat on the sofa, flicking a lighter open and closed. The dancing flame cast sinister shadows on his grim face. "I pay you a fortune to look after my wife, and this is the care she receives?" These people had been handpicked by Damian himself, their loyalty bought with a price that bound them to him, life and death. If something happened to me, they would pay for it. A young maid fell to her knees, terrified. "Mr. Thorne, we all know Miss Reed is your life. We would never be careless! We've been meticulous with everything, from her food to her safety." A bodyguard entered, ignoring her pleas. He dragged her out, her screams echoing down the hall. A moment later, a sickening thud silenced them. The room was frozen in terror. No one dared to breathe. "Still no one can figure it out?" Damian's voice was dangerously calm. "Then you'll all have your hands broken." My lips tightened. I stepped forward. "It has nothing to do with them. It was my own issue. Let them go." Damian pulled me into his arms, using his expensive sleeve to gently wipe the moisture from my face. "Since my wife has spoken, we'll let it go. For today." But the next morning, every single member of the staff had been replaced. 2 Even with incense burning, the faint, coppery smell of blood lingered in the living room. Damian acted as if nothing had happened, patiently feeding me spoonfuls of nourishing porridge. I swallowed mechanically, a chilling coldness seeping into my bones. Before, I might have convinced myself this was a twisted display of his all-consuming love for me. Now, it was just a pathetic, third-rate farce. He was a masterful actor, and his performance made me sick. "You look beautiful today, baby," he said, his eyes crinkling. "Any special plans?" I managed a smile. "There's an auction. I have a surprise for you." As we were about to leave, his phone rang. A unique ringtone—two long tones, one short. A signal. Before he could answer, I snatched the phone and ended the call. "I want your full attention today. Unless that was a call you couldn't miss?" My gaze seemed to scorch him. He rubbed his nose, a nervous tic. "Just work. Of course, my wife is more important." On the way, the phone rang several more times, the same coded ringtone growing more frantic with each call. I could see the irritation building on his face, his composure fraying at the edges. Just as he looked ready to snap, we arrived. I handed the phone back to him. "Go on. Answer it." He snatched it eagerly, completely missing the icy glint in my eyes. But before he could dial, the doors to the auction hall swung open before us. On the massive wrap-around screen, the image of a man and a woman locked in a passionate embrace assaulted his senses. The man's face was blurred, but the woman... her face was in perfect, high-definition focus. The familiar, decadent sounds filled the room, and the color drained from Damian’s face. I walked past him and took a seat in the front row. "Some kind soul sent this to me," I said, my voice carrying in the suddenly quiet hall. Ignoring his ashen face, I added mockingly, "Damian, darling, did you know your ex-wife was so... adventurous? She doesn't seem to be very picky." A murmur went through the crowd. "That man's build... looks a bit like Mr. Thorne, doesn't it?" someone whispered. "Don't be ridiculous," another shot back. "Everyone knows Ava Reed is the love of his life. His ex-wife is the monster who killed their baby. He hates her guts. He'd never touch a woman like that." Reassured, the crowd grew bolder. A man hoping to curry favor with us snickered loudly, "I gotta say, though, the woman's got a hell of a body. Getting my blood pressure up just looking at her." "I'd pay good money for a night with that," another voice boomed. As the vulgar comments filled the air, Damian's face grew darker with every passing second. His fists were clenched so tight his knuckles were white, yet his voice was deceptively soft when he spoke to me. "Ava, please. Lana was with me once. This is humiliating for me, too. Take the video down. Whatever you're angry about, I'll deal with her later for you." Deal with her? Like he did in the fitting room? I smiled coldly. "Alright." The screen went black. Damian had barely breathed a sigh of relief when his pupils dilated in horror. From the ceiling, a giant golden cage was slowly lowered onto the stage. Inside, bound hand and foot with tape across her mouth, was Lana Hill. She was huddled in a corner, trembling. Her revealing clothes showed off the scars on her body, which had been artfully covered by an intricate tattoo of a mountain landscape, the ink twisting over her skin. It was a sight that ignited a primal lust in every man in the room. The hall erupted. "A million! I'll pay a million for her, Miss Reed!" "Five million! She's mine tonight!" "Get in line! I'll pay whatever it takes!" Amidst the roaring bids, I turned to Damian, my smile as sweet as poison. "Darling, the money from selling Lana can pay for my new wedding dress." "Enough." Damian's facade finally shattered. His eyes were bloodshot as he stared at me, his voice a raw, desperate roar. "Ava, stop this! Let her down right now! The man in that video… it was me!" 3 His confession fell into a dead silent room. I slowly looked up at him. In that silent, charged space, he saw the dead, empty coldness in my eyes, and his heart gave a violent lurch. His voice softened, turning pleading. "Ava, it's my fault. I can explain everything. Punish me however you want, but Lana is innocent in this. She's… she's pregnant with my child!" Lana. Not the monster he claimed to hate, but Lana. I stared into his eyes. "And what about our child? Did our baby die for nothing?" He answered as if he'd rehearsed the lines, his tone sickeningly reasonable. "Lana has already agreed. She'll give you this child. We'll raise it as our own. Boy or girl, all our assets will go to them. The three of us will be a happy family." His shamelessness left me stunned for a solid two seconds before I burst out laughing, a harsh, grating sound. "You lied to me, you got the woman who murdered my child pregnant, and now you want me to raise your bastard? And you think that's some kind of gift to me?" My voice dropped to a venomous whisper. "Damian, aren't you afraid the ghost of my child will come for you in the middle of the night?" His face instantly turned cold. "What do you mean, 'bastard'? This is our child too. When did you become so bitter and cruel, Ava? You can't even tolerate a child? You disappoint me." He sighed, as if burdened by my pettiness. "Just let her go, Ava. I'll make sure Lana only sees the child a few times a week. Hasn't she been punished enough?" I was so furious I could only laugh. Then, I slapped him. Hard. The words were squeezed from between my clenched teeth. "Let her go? In your dreams." I pointed to the man who had offered the highest price. "Mr. Russo, she's all yours. Enjoy." Russo hesitated for a moment, glancing nervously at Damian. I added, "If you don't take her, I'm not refunding the auction price." That settled it. He clenched his jaw, stormed the stage, and started dragging Lana toward a back room. Damian moved to follow, but I spoke from behind him, my voice a blade of ice. "Damian Thorne, if you take one step into that room, we are finished." His body went rigid, his eyes looking as though they were about to bleed. Suddenly, a woman's piercing shriek tore through the room. "Damian, save me—Ah!" All rationality abandoned him. He charged into the room like a madman. A gunshot rang out, and his bodyguards swarmed in, dragging out a blood-soaked Mr. Russo. Damian completely lost control, kicking and stomping at the man's groin like a wild animal. It was Lana's sobbing that finally broke through his rage. He lifted her into his arms and strode past me, bumping my shoulder without a second glance. Just then, Lana, nestled safely in his embrace, lifted her head and shot me a look of pure, triumphant malice. "You pathetic bitch, did you really think you meant anything to him? Damian has always loved me! And here's something you don't know: after I beat that little bastard out of you, Damian himself ordered the doctors to have your uterus transplanted into me!" "Shut up!" Damian's face went white. He shot a panicked look at me. But Lana just laughed, emboldened. "You're useless now, Ava. A broken, barren hen that will never lay an egg." The world went silent. I felt like I'd been struck by lightning. A roar filled my ears, and my mind went blank. No wonder my body had felt so alien after the D&C. The man I had loved for six years. He had personally destroyed my chance of ever being a mother. All for the woman who had murdered our child. A vicious, churning pain erupted in my chest, a pain so dense it felt like it was going to tear me apart from the inside out. I doubled over, each breath a fresh slice of agony, like death by a thousand cuts. A flicker of guilt and pity crossed Damian's face. He started to step toward me, but Lana went limp in his arms. "Damian," she whimpered, "my stomach hurts… the baby… is something wrong with the baby?" At the mention of the child, that fleeting trace of concern for me vanished. He looked at her, his priorities clear. Without another thought, he swept her up and rushed away. As I watched his retreating back, the last ember of warmth in my heart died, leaving behind nothing but cold, hard ash. I leaned against the wall, my gaze empty, staring at nothing. It took a long time before I could raise my phone and dial a number that had lain dormant for years. "I've made my decision. I'm coming back. The marriage alliance with the Hawthornes of the North… I'll accept." 4 Damian returned that night. He knelt in the center of the living room and, in front of me, had his bodyguards lash him ninety-nine times with a whip. Blood seeped into the grout between the marble tiles, the metallic stench making me sick. I turned away, picked up the divorce papers from the table, and held them out to him. "Sign them. We were legally married but never had the wedding. Not many people know. It will be a clean break." He looked as if he’d been struck by lightning, the color draining from his face. He shook his head frantically, reaching for my hand. "No, Ava, I won't divorce you. I love you, Ava, I love—" I stepped back, and he stumbled forward, falling to the floor. His eyes darted to the fruit knife on the side table. In a crazed motion, he snatched it and plunged it into his own abdomen. Damian had made his start in the city's underworld; he was ruthless with others, and even more so with himself. He forbade the staff from calling a doctor and waved away his bodyguards. His eyes were locked on me as he gave a weak, pained smile. "Is that enough to make you feel better? If not, I can do it again." I stared at the blood pouring from his wound, then finally lowered my gaze. "The divorce, or the baby in Lana Hill's womb. Choose one." The smile froze on his face. Damian disappeared for three days. When he returned, he looked like a hollowed-out shell of a man. He threw a medical report on the table in front of me. An abortion report. His face was a mask of agony. "Lana's baby is gone. Are you satisfied now?" I didn't even glance at it. He sighed, a sound heavy with exhaustion, and knelt before me, taking my hands in his. "Ava, I've sent Lana away. Can we please go back to how things were?" He orchestrated the murder of my child, ensured I could never be a mother again, and now he thought a simple, dismissive "sent her away" could erase the soul-crushing pain I endured. Damian was always so arrogantly certain that if he just bowed his head a little, I would forgive him for anything. He didn't know. We could never go back. Seeing my silence, he tried a different tactic. "Some friends are throwing a 'finally-off-the-market' party for us tonight. Let's go together."
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