Chapter 3Silent Strings

After seeing Mr. Evans off, I could no longer suppress the retching in my throat. I rushed to the restroom and emptied my stomach, dry-heaving violently.

When I emerged from the restroom, Serena was already settled in the passenger seat of Art’s car. From outside, I could clearly see Serena leaning her head close to Art. They were sharing some delightful secret, and Serena was laughing, her body shaking with mirth. As I got into the car, they abruptly cut off their conversation.

Art deliberately took a detour to drop Serena off at her place. As she left, Serena shot me a dismissive, condescending smirk. I wondered where she found such confidence. Did she truly believe that because Art loved her, she could walk all over me?

Back home, Art tossed his suit jacket onto the sofa, clearly agitated.

“Giving the project to Serena was a company decision.”

“On one hand, it’s for our wedding.”

“On the other, Serena initiated this project. It’s just returning it to its rightful owner.”

What pompous nonsense. Since when was stealing someone else’s hard work spun as something so righteous?

“Serena started the project, yes, but she made zero progress for months, which is why it was handed to me.”

“Now that it’s on the verge of signing, you’re saying it’s hers again? Do you think that’s fair to me?”

“So, whose decision was this, really? The company’s, or yours?”

His expression grew sheepish. “Aren’t we getting married soon?”

“I was worried you’d be too busy with wedding preparations. Someone needs to follow up on the project, right?”

“Besides, aren’t you pregnant? You should focus on taking care of yourself.”

I scoffed inwardly. He didn’t think about my pregnancy when he was pushing me to drink. But now, when he needed an excuse for his outrageous behavior, he suddenly remembered. What was there to love about a man who didn’t even consider me?

If he wanted to be Serena’s desperate lapdog, let him. Better yet, let them chain themselves together and spare everyone else their toxicity.

Seeing my face still cold, he wrapped his arms around me from behind. “Still upset?”

“I’m sorry, alright?”

“My Abby is the most capable woman in the world, a true power player.”

“She doesn’t need my protection at all.”

Had he ever protected me? What a grand delusion. I’d thought the project transfer from Serena to me was a sign of his trust, but it was just a trap laid in advance.

I was about to push him away when his phone rang. He quickly released me to answer. I heard a woman’s faint, broken sobs from the receiver. I glanced at the caller ID; it read ‘Serena’.

I heard him whisper softly, “Don’t cry.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll be there soon.”

He hung up, hastily grabbed his jacket, and moved to leave. As he reached the door, he seemed to remember to tell me. “My sister was bullied by her friends at school. I’m going to check on her.”

“Get some rest tonight. Don’t wait up for me.”

Before I could even speak, the door slammed shut. I stood rigidly in the living room, unmoving for a long time. His lie was so transparent, so pathetic.

Art didn’t return all night.

The next day, I saw Serena’s post on social media.

[Heartbroken, but at least someone’s here for me…]

The accompanying photo showed two hands intertwined, a larger hand cradling a smaller one. I examined it closely; it was Art’s hand. Though he wore no rings or watch, I recognized it immediately. For at least a year, that was the hand I’d held as I drifted to sleep.

Serena truly moved on seamlessly. I wondered why Marcus Thorne had broken up with her.

The next day, I went to the hospital and had the embryo removed.

Before the procedure, I made a request to the doctor. “Doctor, can I have the embryo?”

She looked surprised. “It’s already terminated. What do you want it for?”

“It will breed bacteria!”

I smiled, a cold, empty smile. “To do a DNA test. To see who the father is.”

The doctor stared at me, dumbfounded, for a long moment, speechless. I guessed she was thinking, How chaotic must your private life be if you don’t even know who the father of your baby is?

I shrugged, uncaring. Afterwards, I dialed Marcus Thorne’s number.