Chapter 2
1390words
In the days that followed, I received even more "meticulous" care.
They assigned a world-class nutritionist and a medical team available round the clock. Even the air I breathed was filtered hundreds of times.
They treated the fetus in my womb—and my uterus—as if they were priceless treasures.
Victoria banned my mother and brother from visiting again, dismissing them as "unpresentable and reeking of poverty."
They offered no objections. With their "deposit" from the Grant family in hand, they vanished without a trace.
Good riddance.
Out of sight, out of mind.
In the massive medical villa, only Ethan and I remained, surrounded by a staff of emotionless medical professionals.
Ethan was the only one permitted to remain at my side.
Victoria needed him to keep my emotions stable and ensure the "vessel" remained calm.
He visited daily—reading poetry, playing music, even awkwardly attempting to massage my swollen legs.
The guilt and pain in his eyes were so intense they seemed ready to spill over.
Several times he started to speak, then caught himself, words dying on his lips.
I simply watched him in silence, my face a mask, neither sad nor happy.
A dead heart feels nothing.
Any pretense of affection only turned my stomach.
I decided to exploit his guilt.
"I want books," I told him.
He immediately had an entire wall of books delivered—literature, history, economics, philosophy—everything imaginable.
"I want internet access."
After a moment's hesitation, he provided a tablet—no communication functions, but access to selected news sites and databases.
Victoria permitted all this without objection.
In her mind, a pregnant woman absorbed in knowledge was far easier to manage than a hysterical one.
She assumed I'd accepted my fate, using these distractions to pass my final, meaningless days.
She never realized these books and this internet access were whetstones for sharpening my claws.
Like a parched sponge, I frantically absorbed every drop of useful information.
Medicine, law, finance...
I devoured everything about uterine transplants—surgical risks, rejection factors, recovery protocols—burning every detail into my memory.
I dissected the Grant Group's equity structure, scrutinizing financial reports from all their subsidiaries.
I even taught myself lip-reading, gleaning fragments of information about the Grants from the silent conversations of medical staff on security monitors.
I discovered that Benjamin Grant, the true heir, had been bedridden for years—chronically ill and frail.
His mysterious fiancée, Angela Pierce, hailed from a medical dynasty but couldn't conceive due to congenital uterine malformation.
Hence this monstrous scheme: borrow a womb, then steal it.
Ethan's identity proved far more complex than I'd imagined.
He was the illegitimate son of William Grant, the family patriarch.
An embarrassment kept in the shadows.
He desperately craved the Grant family's recognition, and orchestrating my situation was his loyalty pledge to Victoria.
He betrayed me, and in doing so, betrayed himself.
We were both sacrifices on the altar—the only difference being he volunteered while I was dragged there.
That evening, Ethan returned.
He carried a bowl of bird's nest soup he'd prepared himself, carefully cooling it before offering it to my lips.
"Liv, please try some. It's good for you."
I looked at him and suddenly spoke, my voice rough as sandpaper.
"Ethan, did you ever truly love me?"
His hand froze mid-air, spilling soup onto the expensive silk sheets like drops of blood.
The color drained from his face as his lips trembled, struggling to form words.
"…I'm sorry."
"That's not what I asked. Did you ever love me?" I stared directly into his eyes, giving him nowhere to hide.
His eyes reddened, filled with anguish and despair—those same eyes that once made my heart race.
"I loved you." He finally confessed, his voice cracking. "From the moment I saw you in the university library. But Liv, I had no choice… I was born in the mud and desperate to climb out. I had to grab any lifeline I could…"
"So I was just a stepping stone for your ambitions. Is that it?" I replied coldly.
He closed his eyes in pain and nodded.
"How pathetic, Ethan." I laughed softly, my voice dripping with contempt. "You thought you'd found salvation, but you've only jumped into a deeper hell."
His eyes flew open, confusion written across his face.
"What do you mean?"
I ignored his question and changed the subject.
"The surgery is scheduled for next Wednesday, correct?"
His expression darkened as he nodded reluctantly.
"That's the same day as the Grant Group's annual shareholders' meeting." I stated calmly.
Ethan's pupils contracted sharply.
He stared at me as if seeing me for the first time.
"How could you possibly know that?"
"I know far more than you imagine." I met his shocked gaze, enunciating each word carefully. "I know Victoria embezzled three hundred million to cover her brother's debts. I know Benjamin Grant is too ill to run the company. And I know Angela Pierce has been secretly working with the Wilson Group—your biggest rivals—planning a hostile takeover during that shareholders' meeting."
I pieced this all together from obscure business news and snippets of staff conversations.
Ethan's face wasn't merely pale—it was ashen, like a corpse.
His entire body trembled as he stared at me with undisguised fear.
"What… what are you planning to do?"
I smiled.
My smile must have resembled a poppy blooming in darkness—hauntingly beautiful yet deadly.
"What do I want? I want to survive, Ethan."
I extended my hand to him, mimicking his gesture when he'd proposed.
"Work with me, Ethan. Don't you want the Grant empire? I can help you take it."
"You're insane!" he cried. "How could we possibly beat Victoria? She'll destroy us!"
"No, she won't," I said, shaking my head as a cold fire burned in my eyes. "What she fears most right now is chaos. With the shareholders' meeting approaching, she's focused entirely on saving the Grant Group. And we—we are the perfect chaos."
I leaned closer, my voice dropping to a whisper that could have been the devil's own.
"You're William Grant's illegitimate son—a legitimate heir to the Grant fortune. And I'm carrying the only Grant grandchild. Imagine what would happen if we appeared together before the shareholders and media during that meeting."
Ethan's breath caught in his throat.
He looked at me as though I'd transformed into something monstrous.
I watched the storm brewing behind his eyes.
Fear and hesitation swirled there, but beneath them burned something stronger—long-suppressed ambition suddenly ignited.
My words had hooked him.
Because I'd struck at his deepest, most hidden desire.
What he truly wanted wasn't Victoria's scraps but the entire Grant empire.
"What do you want?" he asked, his voice rough.
"I want my child. I want my freedom. I want Victoria and Angela utterly destroyed," I said, each word like a hammer blow. "And I want that divorce agreement in your possession."
"Impossible!" he shot back reflexively. "Victoria keeps that agreement locked away. I can't get to it."
"You can get it," I said with absolute certainty. "Victoria treats you like a dog, but she needs that dog to do her dirty work. Before the meeting, she'll have you handle her shadiest business. That's your chance."
I watched his wavering eyes and played my final card.
"This is our only chance, Ethan. Either we tear open the sky and escape this hell together, or you watch them wheel me into surgery—killing me and your child—while you remain Victoria's lapdog until she's drained every drop of use from you and discards you like garbage."
"Choose, my… ex-husband."
I lay back on the bed, closed my eyes, and turned away from him.
The hook was baited. Whether the fish would bite was up to him.
A deathly silence filled the room.
I heard only his heavy breathing and the thunder of my own heartbeat.
In this desperate gamble, I'd wagered everything.
I don't know how long we remained that way—long enough that I nearly drifted to sleep.
Something cold pressed into my palm.
A small surgical scalpel.
Ethan's voice came low in my ear—hoarse yet resolute, filled with desperate determination.
"Next Wednesday, 4 AM. The power will short out for thirty minutes. That's our window."
"Liv, take me with you."
I gripped the scalpel tightly. Though cold metal, it ignited a fire that surged through my veins.
Our unholy pact was sealed.
