Chapter 2

Faint red marks were clearly visible along Chloe’s collarbone.

She reached into her bag, pulled out an ultrasound report, and casually flicked it into my face.

The paper grazed my forehead and fluttered down onto my cast.

Four weeks pregnant.

The date lined up perfectly with the night Julian supposedly flew back early from his medical conference just to spend my birthday with me.

That night, he had acted exhausted. He kissed my forehead and told me that as soon as Lucas’s condition stabilized, we’d go get our marriage license.

He wasn't exhausted.

He had simply spent all his lust and empty promises on someone else before coming home to me.

"Julian was on his knees last night, begging me to keep this baby," Chloe purred, stepping closer and tapping the report with her manicured nail.

"He said you’re uptight, dull, and cold. He only stayed with you because you were low-maintenance."

"You've taken up my spot for four years, Clara. It's time to pay it back."

I stared at her, my fingers tightening around my crutches.

"Move. I need to see Lucas."

"Lucas doesn't get his meds without Julian's signature." She blocked the doorway. "Call me Mrs. Vance first, and maybe I'll put in a good word for you."

A nurse rushed past, pushing a loaded stainless steel crash cart.

Unable to take it anymore, I grabbed the heavy metal tray off the top and hurled it straight at her face.

Chloe shrieked as she tumbled backward, just as the elevator doors chimed open.

Julian bolted out and shoved me hard.

My broken leg slammed into the concrete wall. White-hot pain flashed behind my eyes.

He dropped to his knees, gently cradling Chloe's face to check for scratches.

"Who the hell gave you permission to touch her?"

When he looked up at me, his eyes were colder than I had ever seen them.

"She used Lucas’s medication to threaten me," I rasped, leaning hard against the wall for support. "Julian, get her out of here. Now."

He didn't listen. Instead, he pulled out his phone and dialed the attending physician.

"Halt Lucas’s experimental trial regimen."

My breath hitched in my throat.

The voice on the other end seemed to hesitate. Julian held my gaze and added, coldly, "No one touches that protocol without my direct signature. Understood?"

Instantly, the sharp blare of medical alarms pierced through the room behind me.

I threw myself against the glass partition.

Lucas’s chest was heaving erratically. His face was turning a terrifying shade of bluish-purple as a team of nurses rushed in to adjust the monitors.

"Please! Put him back on the meds!" I grabbed Julian’s sleeve, desperate.

He glanced down at my hand, then calmly reached out to straighten my crooked crutch.

"Clara, you need to learn that your reckless outbursts have consequences."

"Apologize to Chloe, and this ends."

My voice shook uncontrollably. "I’ll apologize. Just restart the medication. Please."

He went quiet for two seconds. Two seconds long enough to spark a pathetic shred of hope in me.

Then Chloe let out a soft, tearful sniffle, clutching her forehead.

Julian yanked his arm out of my grip.

"On your knees. Three bows, forehead to the floor," he said flatly. "Skip one, and it doesn't count."

Patients and visitors gathered in the hallway, watching the spectacle.

I looked at Lucas convulsing behind the glass and slowly let my crutches fall.

The first time my forehead struck the hard marble, I heard someone in the crowd gasp.

The second time, blood ran down my brow, stinging into my eye.

By the third time, I could barely lift my head back up.

"Enough," Julian finally said, averting his eyes. He spoke into the phone, "Restart the protocol."

The machines stabilized, and Lucas’s oxygen levels slowly crept back up.

I used the wall to haul myself onto my good foot, refusing the tissue Julian held out to me.

His hand froze mid-air, his voice dropping slightly. "Once Lucas is stable, I'll give you a proper explanation."

I wiped the blood from my face with my sleeve.

"Doctor Vance, you’ve given me far too many explanations. I can't afford to take another one."

I hobbled back to the family lounge, opened my locker, and pulled four handwritten laboratory notebooks from the bottom shelf.

Julian’s eleven high-impact peer-reviewed papers—every single hypothesis, mathematical formula, and set of raw clinical data—had come straight from these four notebooks.

Four years ago, when I moved abroad for research, I should have used these findings to launch my own career.

Instead, because he told me, *“Once I get tenure, we’ll co-author everything,”* I spent endless nights rewriting his drafts and crunching his data while he took all the glory.

Eventually, his name covered the department's hall of fame, while I was reduced to a footnote: *“My supportive fiancée.”*

I locked myself in the restroom and dialed a number I hadn’t touched in years.

Harrison Cole.

He was Julian’s fiercest academic rival—and the one person Julian’s medical board had blacklisted from collaborating with.

The line rang twice before clicking open.

"Clara?"

I pressed a paper towel against the bleeding cut on my forehead.

"Get me and Lucas out of here."

"And I will hand you every single piece of raw evidence proving Julian Vance’s research is built on fraud."

A brief silence followed on the other end, followed by a low, quiet chuckle.

"Consider it done."