Chapter 2

After sending the message, I used the last bit of money left in my pocket to purchase a double burial plot for me and Angel.

Without Angel, I had no reason to go on living.

When I stepped out of the morgue after finishing the paperwork, I ran into Abner in the corridor.

He was helping Tiffany out of the elevator. She'd twisted her ankle, and he was crouching down to massage her foot, his expression focused and tender.

I had just come from the morgue.

The smell of that place clung to me, mingled with the chemical stench that seeped from my pores after years of drug trials.

My hair was a tangled mess. I was gaunt beyond recognition.

I watched the scene in front of me in silence and found, miraculously, that it didn't hurt anymore.

Perhaps my heart had already died alongside Angel.

When Abner walked past carrying Tiffany, he brushed against me, frowned, and stepped aside. He didn't recognize me.

He even muttered something disgusted under his breath.

It was Tiffany who recognized me.

"Abner, I think the person you bumped into is Anna. You should apologize to your wife."

There was a subtle condescension laced through her tone.

"Put me down, quick—before Anna gets jealous and throws another tantrum at you."

Abner said nothing. He didn't put her down.

He glanced back at me, his brow furrowed tight.

"Anna, what happened to you? You look like—"

His frown deepened.

Tiffany finished his sentence for him:

"Anna, why do you look like some stray dog that's been thrown out? And what is that smell?"

"Abner is a man of status, you know. Walking around like this—are you trying to embarrass him on purpose?"

Tiffany's words made Abner's expression turn ice-cold.

"If you're doing this to disgust me, then congratulations. You've succeeded."

The revulsion on his face was unconcealed.

The smell on me was from holding Angel's body through the entire night.

But Angel's own father found it repulsive—sickening, even.

A nurse passing by glanced at me curiously, then caught sight of Abner and Tiffany and let out a small gasp.

"Isn't that Mr. Byron! I've always admired the love between you and Miss Tiffany!"

All these years, Abner had never once acknowledged my or Angel's existence in public.

He said the Byron family was in a critical period of expansion, that there were many enemies, and that we needed to pretend we had no connection to him—for our own protection.

Yet he openly doted on Tiffany, took her to parties, brought her to family dinners.

When people called Tiffany "Mrs. Byron," he never corrected them. Not once.

I looked into his eyes.

He hesitated for less than a second.

"Oh, thank you. I'm sure you'll find a love of your own someday."

So he had never been afraid of any enemies.

He was simply ashamed of me and Angel.

We were an embarrassment to him.

After the nurse left, he finally set Tiffany down and leaned in close, lowering his voice:

"Anna, I didn't mean it. But look at yourself—how could I possibly tell anyone you're my wife?"

"You know the company is expanding right now. This—this is humiliating."

Tiffany stood beside him with her hand over her mouth, laughing theatrically.

"Anna, look at you, dressed like a homeless person. If people found out you were Abner's wife, they'd probably pull out of their deals."

My gaze fell to the ruby bracelet on her wrist.

Eight hundred thousand dollars.

My blood. My life. My daughter's life—traded for that eight hundred thousand.

My eyes went red. I lunged toward her.

But before I even touched her, she shrieked, clutching her chest and stumbling backward.

"Abner! She's going to hit me! My heart can't take this—"

Slap.

Abner struck me across the face almost instantly, so hard that I slammed into the fire hydrant mounted on the wall.

The back of my skull cracked against it and blood began to trickle down.

He pulled Tiffany into his arms, then grabbed a fistful of my hair and dragged me into the corner.

"Have you lost your mind! You know Tiffany has a heart condition! Do you just have to bully her! Is that it!"

My phone slipped from my pocket.

The screen was lit—a confirmation text from the cemetery: Your daughter's double burial plot has been confirmed. Plot number C-0237.

Abner glanced at it. The color drained from his face.

He shoved me hard against the wall.

"Anna, what the hell are you up to now! To compete with Tiffany for my attention, you'd actually use your own daughter as a curse! Have you no shame at all!"