Seven Years of Bitter Juice

Moments after the message was sent, a reply came from Arthur's assistant. It was a single, terse question:

"Are you certain?"

My fingers paused for a moment before I typed two words:

"I'm certain."

Soon, Arthur replied again:

"Since you have decided, I respect your choice."

As I closed my laptop, I met Declan's questioning gaze. He frowned and asked:

"What are you doing?"

I just shook my head, without offering any explanation.

After all, in seven years, he’d never shown an ounce of interest in a single word I’d ever said.

When I didn't answer, he didn’t press, simply stating flatly:

"In two days, it's my father's sixtieth birthday. Be there on time."

I didn't respond, but I had already made my decision.

Arthur had always treated me well. Even though I had decided to leave, it was only right for me to attend his sixtieth birthday celebration.

I would treat it as my final way of repaying his kindness.

That afternoon, I went out to choose a birthday gift for Arthur.

I remembered Arthur’s passion for collecting architectural manuscripts. The few precious pieces hanging in his office were ones he had painstakingly acquired.

With this in mind, I drove to a private gallery in SoHo, where a rare architectural manuscript by Mies van der Rohe was for sale.

When the gallery owner learned of my purpose, he enthusiastically brought out the master's manuscript. It was the original design drawing for the Barcelona Pavilion, a work of immense historical value and a perfect birthday gift.

I examined it for a moment, feeling it would suit Arthur's taste, and was just about to pay when the gallery door was pushed open.

Two familiar figures walked in: Declan and Sienna.

Among Declan's many mistresses, Sienna wasn't the most stunning, but she was the most tenacious.

She was the only woman who'd had three abortions for Declan yet still clung to his side.

At this moment, she was nestled at Declan's side, her belly already showing a slight swell, pregnant once again.

Declan's gaze fell on the drawing tube in my hand. The gallery owner was about to introduce it when Declan spoke directly, his tone imperious:

"We'll take this manuscript."

With that, he took out his black card and handed it to the owner, then turned to me.

"You can pick something else, Eliza."

My expression hardened, but I held my tongue.

Sienna then spoke in a cloying voice:

"Eliza, just let me have it. Think of this manuscript as the first gift from my baby to his grandfather."

The owner had already processed the card, and Sienna moved forward to take the drawing tube from my hand.

I gripped the tube tightly, about to retort, but she lowered her voice, speaking in a tone only the two of us could hear:

"Eliza, aren't you curious why you couldn't get pregnant after seven years with Declan?"

My heart seized. Nausea coiled in my stomach.

Seeing my face turn pale, she smiled even more smugly.

"Because every morning, Declan puts birth control pills in your fresh juice!"

"For seven years, without a single break."

Her words detonated in my ears. I felt the blood turn to ice in my veins.

"He said only I am worthy of bearing his child. A woman like you, who sold herself for cash? You're worthless. Utterly unworthy."

The word "unworthy" was like a poisoned needle, twisting viciously in my heart.

Seven years of pent-up resentment and anger erupted in an instant.

I couldn't hold it back any longer. I raised my hand to slap her.

But before the slap could land, a hand shot out, gripping my wrist.

Declan stood in front of Sienna, his brow tightly furrowed.

I followed his arm with my gaze, and my eyes landed on the faint scar on his forearm. I froze.

That was from seven years ago, right after my mother got sick. I was desperate for money and got robbed. The mugger was about to stab me with a knife.

Declan suddenly appeared and, without hesitation, took the knife for me.

That scar was from that day.

A bitter ache squeezed my heart.

How could the man who had once fearlessly taken a knife for me have become this person?

He hadn't just destroyed my chance to be a mother; he'd used it to humiliate me, making me waste seven years of my youth and live as a joke.

Seeing the scene before me, a sudden, profound exhaustion washed over me.

What was the point of fighting over this manuscript?

It would only lead to more humiliation.

I slowly relaxed my hand and said calmly:

"Forget it. If you want this manuscript, take it."

With that, I didn't spare Declan or Sienna another glance and turned and walked out.