Chapter 4

I struggled violently, but it was completely useless.

“You’re too agitated,” Byron said calmly. “I’ll have a sedative injected so you can calm down.”

He finished explaining everything at his leisure, then ignored my resistance and instructed the nurse to push the sedative into my vein.

“Be good,” he said gently. “Go to sleep. When you wake up, everything will be fine.”

But the truth was—I was in excruciating pain.

Arin operated personally.

She drove a thick, long needle into my arm and deliberately slowed down, forcing me to feel the icy medication seep into my body drop by drop.

I screamed in agony.

Only after a while did Byron walk in. He frowned.

“What’s going on? Why are you screaming so loudly?”

He checked the syringe and sighed.

“Arin was just too impatient. She didn’t follow the proper dosage.”

Yet he didn’t tell her to stop.

Instead, he stroked my hair and comforted me softly.

“Be good. Just endure it a little longer.”

The torment ended the moment I closed my eyes.

When I opened them again, Byron was gone—just as expected.

For the next month, he stayed by Arin’s side every single day.

On the first day, Arin went through her pre-pregnancy examinations. She was so nervous she couldn’t sleep, and Byron kept watch outside her hospital room all night.

At the same time, I was in my own ward, throwing every single thing Byron had given me over the past four years into the trash.

On the third day, after Arin completed the artificial insemination procedure, Byron stayed at her bedside, waiting for her to wake up.

As for me, I took special fast-healing drugs bought from the black market. After ten days of agony, I finally had the cast removed from my foot.

On the fifteenth day, Arin tested positive for pregnancy. Ecstatic, she posted a photo of the test strip on social media.

Byron liked the post.

I blocked every way of contacting Byron, wiped my account clean, and erased every trace of my existence.

On the twentieth day—and the twenty-fifth—Byron was still with Arin every day.

He didn’t even show up for my follow-up examination.

Taking advantage of this, I completed my discharge procedures, returned to the estate, and cleared out all my belongings.

Byron never noticed.

A month later, it happened to be the fourth anniversary of our bond.

I received the finalized divorce certificate from the lawyer.

The irony made me want to laugh.

I placed Byron’s copy into an envelope and left it on the bed in the bedroom.

As I opened the door to leave, I ran into Byron, who had just returned.

“Eunice? When were you discharged?” he asked, carrying several large bags—every one of them filled with maternity supplies.

“Perfect timing. Arin’s morning sickness has been bad. Come take care of her.”

He didn’t look the slightest bit like a man acting under pressure.

His eyes were full of concern—for Arin.

My heart was utterly still.

I even smiled and nodded.

“Alright. I’ll go buy some groceries.”

I opened the front gate and walked out—step by step—of the Eugene family that had tormented me for four years.

An hour later, ticket in hand, I waited at the airport for boarding.

I sent out an audio recording, hundreds of scanned medical records and examination reports, and a paternity test report.

All of it went to the inboxes of the Eugene family’s senior members—and anonymously to a local community forum.

“Arin, it’s time to repay what you owe me.”

“Byron… are you really sure the child Arin is carrying is yours?”