Chapter 4The Richest Husband in New York Was Drugged

Chloe lunged at me, her voice a piercing shriek. "Mrs. Hawthorne! If you want to kill someone, kill me! Don't hurt the baby!"

CRACK!

The force of his father's slap sent me reeling. My head snapped back, and I stumbled to the ground, a fiery sting spreading across my cheek, the coppery taste of blood flooding my mouth.

Damien instinctively reached out to steady me.

At that moment, the baby in his other arm let out a choked cry and vomited a mouthful of blood. The room erupted into chaos.

"Damien!" Chloe's hysterical scream sliced through the pandemonium as she threw herself between us. "The baby's dying! Please, save our child!"

Damien's hand, the one reaching for me, trembled in mid-air.

I watched the concern in his eyes for me fade, replaced by sheer terror for his child. He slowly retracted his hand and turned his full attention to the sputtering infant.

The hospital corridor was cold enough to seep into my bones. I stood there like a ghost, the divorce papers I’d brought slipping from my pocket and fluttering to the polished floor.

His mother's sharp eyes caught the movement. She snatched the papers and threw them back at me with disgust.

Her perfectly manicured face was twisted with contempt. "Have we ever mistreated you? Huh? Damien defied us for you, and we tolerated it! And now you try to harm a child?"

"Since you're so desperate for a divorce, then get it over with! Stop clinging to this family!"

I silently bent down and picked up the scattered pages.

Damien emerged from the ICU, his eyes red-rimmed. "The baby's stable."

He looked at me then, and his gaze was that of a complete stranger. "Elara, this time, you've gone too far."

My hand trembled as I held out the divorce papers. "Let's... end this."

His pupils contracted. "Are you sure?"

"I'm tired," I whispered, fighting back the tears. "I don't know what else I might do..."

"Fine! Just fine!" He snatched the papers, scrawled his name across the signature line with vicious force, and threw the pen to the floor. "As you wish!"

Returning to what was once our home, our housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, rushed to greet me. "Ma'am! What happened..." She trailed off, her eyes fixed on my swollen face and rain-soaked clothes.

I scanned the room. My grand piano was gone. Our wedding portrait was missing from the wall. Even the cherished trinkets I'd collected over the years had vanished.

Mrs. Gable wrung her hands, stammering, "Miss Chloe... she kept bumping into things during her pregnancy, so Mr. Hawthorne had them..."

The door opened.

Damien walked in, with Chloe on his arm.

Chloe feigned surprise. "Ma'am, what are you doing here?" She said it as if she were the mistress of the house.

"Where are my things?" My voice shook as I looked at Damien.

He let out a cold laugh, pulling Chloe closer. "You're the one who wanted a divorce. Why do you care?"

Chloe reached for my hand with a sickeningly sweet smile. "Ma'am, it was Damien. He was just worried I might hurt myself while I was pregnant..."

"Don't touch me!" I snarled, flinging her hand away.

She let out a little cry and stumbled backward.

Damien caught her instantly, his voice laced with concern. "Are you okay?"

I stared at the two of them, a perfect picture of intimacy, and turned on my heel.

I heard him call my name, but I didn't look back.

I couldn't let them see the tears streaming down my face.

Outside, the heavens had opened up, a torrential downpour soaking me to the skin.

I don't know how long I walked before a group of thugs cornered me in a dark, grimy alley.

"Well, well, if it isn't Mrs. Hawthorne," one of them, a man with a jagged scar across his face, sneered as he advanced. "Someone paid us good money to teach you a lesson. The tycoon's wife... sure is a looker. A little flat, maybe, but that face is porcelain."

My fingers fumbled for my phone. I dialed Damien's number. His voice came through, soft and soothing, not for me. "Chloe, your head hurts? Just try to sleep, darling."

"Damien! Help..."

"I don't want to talk to you right now." The line went dead. I tried again. His phone was off.

Icy rain mingled with the hot tears on my cheeks, the taste a bitter salt.

"No one's coming to save you here, sweetheart. Why don't you relax and have some fun with us?"

Their grimy hands reached for my collar, rough fingers scraping against my skin.

I squeezed my eyes shut, my nails digging into my palms.