Chapter 8
Ruby trembled all over, her face drained of color.
Terrified, she let go of his leg.
She knew exactly what kind of man Alaric was.
Backing away in panic, she pleaded, “I’ll leave! I’ll go right now! Please, spare me.”
As the Maybach drove off without a second glance, Ruby collapsed onto the cold ground in utter defeat.
Lying in bed, Alaric stared at the ceiling.
It had been a long time since he last slept.
Flashes of the past raced through his mind. He had always thought he never cared about me. But ever since my disappearance at the seaside, the entire world had lost its color.
Once again, he dialed that familiar number, one he knew by heart. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the phone, even his breath stilled.
This time, the line connected.
He sat up with a jolt, heart pounding violently, his fingertips trembling.
“Hello?” A deep, magnetic male voice answered. Unfamiliar. Unwelcome.
All the blood drained from Alaric’s face.
“Who are you?” he asked, his voice shaking from the cold rage in his chest.
The man chuckled a low, mocking sound full of challenge.
“I’m her boyfriend.”
Alaric nearly crushed the phone in his hand. His jaw clenched as if he wanted to strangle the man through the signal. But in the end, he could only grit out, word by word, “Where is Eleanor? I’m her husband, Alaric.”
There was a brief rustling on the other end, then the man lazily asked, “Eleanor, some guy says he’s your husband. Wants to see you.”
The next second, the voice Alaric had yearned for day and night finally came through, soft but unmistakably cold.
“Never heard of him.”
Bernard chuckled.
“She says, she doesn’t know you.”
Click.
The line went dead.
Only an empty, mechanical dial tone remained.
Alaric clutched his phone tightly. His chest felt like it had been repeatedly slashed with a blunt knife.
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I was alive.
I was really alive.
But I didn’t want him anymore.
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His mind flooded with memories of my face, those gentle, affectionate eyes, those hands that made him soup and congee late into the night.
Even when he cruelly told me he “couldn’t do it,” I’d simply wrapped my arms around him and whispered softly, “It’s okay. I just want you.”
No blame. No judgment. Just unconditional, heart–wrenching tenderness.
And now, all I gave him was a single phrase.
“Never heard of him.”
He called back, frantic but the phone was turned off. As if I had severed their last remaining connection for good.
That’s when he realized, he loved me.
But he realized it far, far too late.
His fist slammed into the nightstand. Blood streamed from his knuckles, but he felt nothing.
Life in the Bernard household was peaceful.
No in laws to walk on eggshells around. Bernard’s parents lived abroad long–term. For the first time, I felt like I could finally breathe.
But one morning, the quiet was broken by a wave of sudden nausea.
“What’s wrong?” Bernard immediately set down his coffee. A strange look flashed in his
eyes.
In the VIP clinic, the doctor handed her the test results with a smile.
“Congratulations. You’re pregnant.”
Bernard’s hand tightened around hers, warm, steady and full of quiet strength.
As they stepped out of the exam room, a voice rang out behind them, sharp and achingly familiar.
“Eleanor!”
At the end of the hallway stood Alaric, his arm wrapped in stark white bandages, his eyes locked on her with unblinking intensity. His voice was hoarse as he stumbled forward, reaching out with trembling fingers to grab my wrist.
“You… Are you okay? These past few months, where have you been?”
I tore my hand from his grasp, my nails digging into my palm to steady myself.
My voice was icy.
“Alaric,” I said.
“Do we know each other?”
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He flinched.
“You’re my wife!”
“Wife?” She let out a cold laugh.
“Do you mean the woman who laid on a marriage certificate for three years without you ever touching her? The pathetic fool who watched you cling to Ruby day after day pretending to smile like it didn’t hurt?”
