He Chose Her. I Chose to Start Over.

At last, I got a chance to reunite with my biological parents—and my daughter would finally have a family who truly loved her.

The moment I ended the call, I quickly packed a few clothes and turned toward the nursery to grab some baby essentials.

Just as my hand gripped the doorknob, the front door of the villa swung open.

"Lilly, who gave you permission to come in?"

Harold stood there, frowning, clearly annoyed.

"I just came to grab some clothes for the baby," I said calmly.

"That room is for Rachel's child now. If you want clothes, go buy your own."

I carefully chose every item in that nursery for our daughter. He was giving it all to Rachel's baby, even though that child had no blood ties to him at all.

I swallowed the disappointment and did not argue. However, Mrs. Wagner suddenly stepped forward, her face cold as she grabbed my arm and started dragging me outside.

"Mr. Soulman wants us to take care of Ms. Underwood."

The pull on my stitches sent a sharp pain through me. I cried out, "I just gave birth too! I need rest!"

Harold did not even look back.

"Exactly. That means you have experience."

"Enough with the nonsense. You've been doing hard labor since you were a kid. You're strong; you don't need all that recovery stuff."

With that, he climbed into his Maybach, and I was shoved into a van headed to Rachel's place.

When we arrived, Rachel was lying in bed, surrounded by nearly a dozen caretakers.

She tried to sit up when she saw me, her voice sweet and gentle. "Lilly, you're here. Come, sit. Giving birth must've been hard on you…"

Harold helped her lie back down, his touch tender. He shot me a glance and sneered, "She could run ten kilometers with a broken leg. What's this to her?

"Lilly, take good care of Rachel, and I'll give you an extra million. Sounds like a good deal, right?"

An extra million. It was tempting.

I bit my lip. "I can't. There's no one at home to look after my baby."

He hesitated for a second. However, before he could speak, Rachel tugged on his sleeve.

"Harold, if she doesn't want to take care of me, then just let her go. I don't want to make things difficult for you."

He gently held her hand to comfort her, but when he turned to me, his gaze was full of disdain.

"Taking care of Rachel is more than you deserve. You're just a penniless orphan with no power, no influence. Marrying me, you couldn't even bring value to the family. And now you can't even put up a good front?

"If you can't be useful in other ways, then at least serve her well. That's the only value you have left."

He was so used to belittling me that he did not even notice how pale I looked. He waved at Mrs. Wagner to head home, but she had always hated me for 'marrying up'. There was no way she would take proper care of my child.

Harold ignored everything I said and ordered me to feed Rachel.

I looked back at the closed bedroom door. I realized—I was not getting out of here.

Exhausted and starving, I forced myself to carry the tray toward her.

Just as I brought a spoonful of soup to her lips, she suddenly leaned back with a sharp cry, "Ahh! It's burning hot!"

Before I could react, Harold grabbed the bowl and hurled it at me. The thick chicken soup splattered across my body.

"What the hell is wrong with you?! You burned Rachel! Forget about eating tonight!"

Rachel curled into him, big tears rolling down her cheeks. "Harold, don't be angry. I know she didn't mean to…"

"You don't have to be polite to her. I'm filing for divorce tomorrow."

I stood there, reeking of chicken soup, completely ignored. Not a single soul spared me a shred of concern.

The next day, Harold took me out to the courthouse. We filed our divorce.

He did not even wait for me outside.

"I'm going to buy the latest designer bag for Rachel. You can find your own way back."

His voice turned cold. "Lilly, if you're not back to take care of Rachel in half an hour, you know what happens."

His Maybach sped away, and I turned to hail a cab back to the villa.

As soon as I stepped through the gate, I heard the faint cries of a baby coming from the small building by the yard.

However, that was the security guard's quarters.

Panic surged through me, and I pushed the door open.

My daughter, Amy, was lying on a filthy single bed, surrounded by mess. Her diaper and formula were tossed nearby.

Her little face had gone pale, too weak to even cry.

She must not have had a drop of milk or a diaper change since yesterday.