Chapter 5

Scarlett POV

I don't remember how I left the mansion.

I only remember the sunlight outside was blinding, falling on my skin with no warmth at all.

I took a cab to the downtown hospital.

The obstetrics corridor was always filled with two completely different sounds.

On one side, the robust cries of newborns and families unable to contain their joy; on the other, heart-wrenching sobs and deathly silence.

I sat in the cold chair in the examination room, clutching my registration slip.

"Scarlett?"

The doctor was an older woman who pushed up her glasses, her gaze landing on my test results as her brow furrowed tight.

"Your condition is dangerous. Incomplete miscarriage with retained tissue in the uterus, and signs of infection. We need to schedule surgery immediately to clear it out."

Surgery.

I knew what that meant.

Cold instruments probing into my body, scraping out that unformed blood clot bit by bit, along with all my hopes for the past.

"I'm not having surgery."

I heard my own calm voice. "Just prescribe me strong painkillers and antibiotics."

The doctor's head snapped up, staring at me like I was insane.

"Do you have a death wish? The infection could spread and cause sepsis. You could go into shock at any time. And your current clotting function..."

She paused, pointing at the abnormally low value on the lab report. "Have you been getting nosebleeds frequently, or unexplained bruising?"

I instinctively tugged at my sleeve, covering the purple bruise on my wrist.

Jackson had left that yesterday.

"I know what I'm doing."

I stood up, and without waiting for the doctor to say more, walked out of the examination room.

Only I knew this body was already broken.

Beyond repair.

Even if I fixed this, something else would be waiting.

Rather than lying on an operating table kept alive by cold tubes, I'd rather walk through these final days with dignity.

When I picked up my prescription, the TV mounted in the lobby was broadcasting entertainment news.

"Billionaire Jackson Sterling attended a charity gala with a mysterious female companion, spending millions on a pink diamond necklace..."

On screen, Jackson wore an impeccably tailored bespoke suit, his posture straight.

Phoebe held his arm, wearing that dazzling pink diamond necklace around her neck, her smile radiantly happy.

Reporters' microphones were practically shoved in their faces.

"Mr. Sterling, is this lady your newly wedded wife?"

Jackson didn't deny it. He just looked down at Phoebe, his gaze so tender it could melt.

"She's the most important person in my life."

Many people in the lobby were watching-some envious, some skeptical.

I stood at the back of the crowd, holding a bag of painkillers, the bitter taste of bile rising in my mouth.

The most important person.

Then what was I?

Five years of marriage. I'd been with him from nobody to corporate power player.

To help him secure investments, I'd drunk myself to a bleeding ulcer and hospitalization. To care for his sick mother, I'd kept vigil at her bedside for three solid months, not even seeing my own mother one last time.

In the end, I was just an invisible person who didn't even deserve to have her name mentioned.

I lowered my head, popped a pill in my mouth, and dry-swallowed it without water.

The rough tablet scraped down my throat, bringing a burning pain.

But the pain was good.

At least it reminded me I was still alive.