Chapter 3

Derek dragged me out of the hospital and shoved me all the way back to our rental.

His face was thunderous, opening his mouth to lecture me, but my stomach violently heaved. I scrambled to the bathroom and vomited into the toilet bowl.

I threw up until my vision blurred. Days of running on empty, combined with pure exhaustion, made my limbs throb. My eyelids weighed a ton; I could barely push myself off the tile floor.

Eventually, Derek’s heavy footsteps approached.

He hauled me up by my collar and dumped me onto the mattress. When I opened my eyes, I saw dried, crusty stains on the sheets that weren't mine. My stomach twisted violently, and I coughed up a thread of blood.

Derek casually poured a mug of water. I turned my head away, but he clamped his hand over my jaw, prying my mouth open and dumping the liquid down my throat.

"Quit acting like a saint. Aren't you dying for me to treat you like a wife? What are you pretending for now?"

Derek had never taken care of anyone in his life. The mug was filled with boiling water straight from the kettle.

The scalding liquid tore through my esophagus. A strangled, agonizing shriek ripped from my throat as if a red-hot iron rod was churning my insides.

I curled into a fetal position, using every ounce of strength to shove him away, but it was like pushing a concrete wall.

After forcing the boiling water down, my face was ghost-white. The blistering burns rendered me completely mute.

Derek lowered the mug, scoffing as if he had just seen through a pathetic dramatic act.

"Drama queen."

He climbed onto the bed, wrapping an arm around me. After staring at my battered face for a second, he muttered coldly:

"Eleanor, the only thing you have going for you is this face. Keep your legs shut and stay away from other men. You hear me?"

I passed out from the excruciating pain.

The shrill ringing of my phone jolted me awake the next morning.

I had overslept. Panic seized me, and I sprinted toward the preschool for my shift.

The kitchen was as hectic as ever, but my thick rubber gloves were gone.

The head cook barked orders impatiently, so I had no choice but to plunge my bare, blistered hands straight into the greasy wash basin.

My mind was entirely on Ian in the hospital. By the time I felt the searing burn, the harsh industrial detergents had already corroded my skin down to the raw flesh.

Bloody water swirled in the sink. I turned pale, the delayed shock of pain hitting me in waves.

Suddenly, a small boy sprinted into the kitchen, clapping his hands and laughing:

"Bad lady who stole my daddy! You get what you deserve!"

A thunderbolt struck my skull. I nearly collapsed, my bloody hands instinctively grabbing the boy’s shoulders.

Frightened by the blood, the kid burst into deafening, theatrical wails.

Teachers poured into the kitchen. Seeing the boy in tears, they instantly turned on me with venom:

"Are you insane?! Do you have any idea who this is? This is the heir to the Sterling family! He's worth hundreds of millions! If you lay a hand on him, you’ll pay for it with your life!"

By the time I was dragged into the principal's office, my head was spinning.

A glamorous woman sat comfortably in the leather executive chair. Beside her, the usually pompous principal was bowing and scraping like a servant.

The woman smirked at me, tenderly pulling the spoiled boy onto her lap. He stuck his tongue out at me as she spoke in a smooth, dripping drawl:

"I’m a reasonable person. This trashy woman’s son goes to this school with my boy. Drag him here to get on his knees and apologize to my son."

The voice was unmistakable.

It was the exact voice I had heard coming from my bedroom yesterday.

My entire body went rigid. Blood dripped from my raw, chemical-burned fingers onto the floor.

"Ma'am... Ian is sick," I rasped through my scorched throat. "He can't leave the hospital. I can apologize in his place..."

She cut me off with an irritated flick of her wrist, barking at the muscular bodyguard behind her:

"Go. Drag that little bastard out of the hospital. My son is royalty; he won't swallow this disrespect."

My breath seized. Ian was hooked up to life support. Ripping him out would kill him.

Seeing the guard move, I lunged forward, throwing my body in his path.

The guard shoved me aside like a ragdoll. My ribs slammed into the sharp edge of the mahogany desk, knocking the wind out of me as blinding agony flared through my abdomen.

Desperate, I scrambled on my hands and knees toward the woman, tears spilling over.

I saw the cruel, undisguised malice in her eyes. But I didn't care. For Ian, I would swallow glass.

I grabbed the hem of her pristine designer dress. My bloody handprints stained the white silk.

She shrieked in horror, kicking at me frantically.

The office exploded into chaos. Just then, the double doors burst open. Derek strode in, his face dark as a storm.

"Elle!"

Hearing that tender nickname after so many years, a desperate spark ignited in my chest.

In the next second, Derek’s face twisted in disgust. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and hurled me violently across the room.

My lower belly crashed heavily into a heavy porcelain planter. A sickening, visceral agony tore through my core. I collapsed, paralyzed, unable to rise.

Derek marched straight past me and pulled the glamorous woman into his arms.

Penelope Ward buried her face into Derek’s chest, sobbing like a fragile victim.

"Derek! It’s this psycho! She attacked Leo! And her son tried to force Leo to eat trash out of the dumpster!"

"I just wanted her brat to apologize..."

My eyes stung with hot tears. I remembered Ian looking up at me in our cramped apartment, his big eyes drowning in confusion:

*Mommy, I tried to share my lunch with the other kids... why do they all hate me?*

Derek stroked Penelope’s hair, his voice dripping with honeyed warmth.

"It's fine, baby. I'll handle it right now."

My chest seized. At Derek's gesture, a bodyguard presented an iPad. The live video feed displayed Ian.

My baby boy was covered in medical tubes, his eyes shut tight, his little face as pale as paper.

Derek stared at the screen without a shred of emotion, giving a chilling command to the men on the call:

"Wake him up."

"No! Stop it!"

I screamed, clawing forward, only for Derek’s guards to pin me ruthlessly to the carpet.

My eyes strained out of their sockets as I watched the screen. The guard callously ripped the intravenous needle out of Ian’s tiny arm.

A weak, agonizing whimper escaped Ian’s lips, though his eyes remained closed.

"Mr. Sterling, needle's out, but the kid's still unconscious."

Derek tapped the armrest rhythmically. Watching me writhe in sheer agony, a sick smile touched his lips.

"Figure it out. Pour water on him, slap him—just make sure he’s awake."

I couldn't endure it any longer. I dragged my battered body across the floor, sobbing hysterically at Derek’s feet.

"Derek... please... I'm begging you... We’re a family... He is your son! He will die if you do this!"

Derek kicked me back with a cruel laugh.

"Family? When I was drowning in ten million dollars of mob debt, where the hell were you? Whoring around in some rich bastard’s bed? You cheap slut!"

I stared at him, my mind spinning.

"That ten million..."

"I paid that ten million for Derek, of course," Penelope purred, leaning deeper into Derek’s chest, cutting me off with a haughty smirk.

"I begged my godbrother for days before he finally agreed to wire the money."

"My godbrother is a monster—cold, ruthless, feared by everyone in the underworld. He only cleared your debt because of me."

"The wire transfer memo literally said: *'For Elle.'* Everyone in high society knows my nickname is Elle. Eleanor, what pathetic lie do you have left to spin?"

Derek paused, his mouth curling into a sneer of absolute mockery.

"Don't tell me you're about to claim that 'Elle' was you?"

He clamped his hand around my jaw, squeezing until my teeth rattled.

"Keep dreaming. Do you even know who Sebastian King is? What makes you think a filthy stray like you could ever catch his eye? You really think every man in the world revolves around you?"

The man for whom I had sacrificed everything... was looking down at me with nothing but disgust and unadulterated contempt.

Suddenly, a brutal, tearing cramp exploded in my lower abdomen. The world turned black, and I collapsed against the carpet, my trembling fingers instinctively reaching toward him.

"Derek... my stomach... it hurts so much... please, save me..."

Derek slapped my hand away in irritation.

"Drop the act."

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Through the haze of slipping consciousness, a terrifyingly familiar baritone cut through the iPad speaker.

Penelope’s eyes lit up with wild delight.

"Sebastian!"

Hearing the name, Derek’s arrogant sneer vanished, instantly replaced by bootlicking deference.

He adjusted his cufflinks, nervously bowing toward the tablet camera.

The moment he looked at the screen, all color drained from his face as if he had been struck by lightning.

"...How is it you?!"

Before I could see the screen, warm, thick blood gushed between my thighs. A strangled gasp escaped my throat.

Just before darkness swallowed me whole, a voice roared through the room, trembling with raw panic and murderous fury:

*"ELEANOR!"*