You Lost More Than a Wife

Our eyes met.

After a long silence, Oscar spoke. "Does it still hurt?"

I shook my head. "It won't hurt anymore."

He seemed to catch the double meaning in my words. His brow furrowed, and he gently stroked my bandaged arm.

"Don't worry. I'll hire the best burn specialist. It won't leave a scar."

With that, he got up, locked the door, and sat back down, picking up the spoon again.

I shoved his hand away. Hot soup splashed onto his custom Armani suit, leaving an ugly, spreading stain.

Oscar froze. The next second, he grabbed my wrist, his grip like steel, and pinned me against the headboard.

"Don't be like that, darling," he murmured, his voice a low growl.

His mouth crashed down on mine, a bruising, possessive kiss that tasted of rage. He was trying to devour me, to own me. I struggled, but the more I fought, the harder he pressed, crushing me against the headboard.

I don't know how much time passed before he finally pulled back, wiping a smear of blood from the corner of his mouth where I’d bitten him.

"Clara, I don't like being rejected. Don't let there be a next time."

I gasped for air, bile rising in my throat.

Just then, his phone rang. Oscar moved to decline the call, but I put a hand on his.

"Go ahead. I won't make a scene again."

Oscar paused, then answered his phone and walked out of the room. At the doorway, he glanced back.

"I'll have the doctor stay with you. Get some rest."

After the door closed, a shaky breath escaped me.

I pulled out my phone and looked at the flight information for tomorrow night. It was almost over.

Late that night, a text from Oscar lit up my screen.

[Sloane is having some complications. I have to stay with her tonight. You rest up. I'll come see you tomorrow.]

It was the longest message he had sent me in months. Scrolling up, our chat history was a monologue of my desperation.

[When are you coming home?]

[Are you coming back today?]

[Oscar, when on earth are you coming home?]

The girl who had once smiled so freely had twisted into this desperate creature. I didn't even recognize myself anymore.

I thought, maybe our downfall wasn't just Sloane's pregnancy, but also what this marriage had turned me into.

But it was almost over. I wouldn't cling to him anymore.

If I could just get through tonight and tomorrow, none of this would matter.

But Sloane clearly had other plans.

At midnight, she kicked my door open.

"You're actually pregnant, you bitch! I can't believe it. If I didn't have eyes and ears all over this hospital, Oscar would know by now."

In the dim light, her expression was a twisted mask of fury.

I immediately fumbled for the call bell and grabbed the fruit knife from the bedside table. But Sloane was faster.

She snatched the knife from my grasp, the tip pointing directly at my stomach.

Just as she lunged, the sound of Oscar's hurried footsteps echoed from the hallway.

Sloane's face contorted. I scrambled for the door.

But she stuck out a foot, tripping me.

When I looked back, a triumphant, vicious smile spread across her face. Then, she picked up a shard from a shattered water glass and dragged it deeply across her own arm.

When the lights flashed on, blood was already soaking her white nightgown.

Oscar burst through the door, froze for a heartbeat, and then lunged toward her.

He pressed down on her wound, his voice trembling with panic.

"Doctor! Get a doctor in here, now!"

The scene descended into chaos. I was stunned. I never thought Sloane would be so ruthless to herself just to frame me.

Sloane leaned weakly in Oscar's arms, tears streaming down her face.

"I was just worried about Clara... I just wanted to see her. Why would she do this to me?"

"Oscar, I'm so sorry," she wailed. "I... I think I'm losing our baby... I'm so, so sorry..."

After the medical team whisked Sloane away, before I could utter a single word, Oscar grabbed me by the collar and hauled me to my feet.

His eyes were bloodshot. I had rarely seen him this out of control.

The last time was when business rivals had kidnapped me. When he saw the bruises on my body, he had nearly beaten them to death with his bare hands.

"Clara!" he roared.

His strength was immense. My feet left the floor, air crushed from my lungs.

Just as my vision started to spot, he suddenly let me go. I crumpled to the floor.

Instantly, a vicious cramp tore through my abdomen. A warm gush of blood flowed from between my legs, mingling with the drying splashes of Sloane's on the pristine floor.

I grabbed the cuff of his trousers, my last ounce of strength going into the plea:

"Get a doctor... I'm really... pregnant..."

"Pregnant?" Oscar sneered, looking down at me as if I were something vile he’d stepped in. "Clara, you're so desperate you've lost your mind."

He kicked my hand away and gripped my chin. "You think this is the end?"

"Clara, if Sloane's baby is gone, I will make you watch as I have one child after another with other women, until one of them finally gives birth to a true Ashford heir."

He hurled the words at me, a punishment a hundred times crueler than any physical blow, and stormed out without a backward glance.

All the doctors were with Sloane. It wasn't until the news came that her condition was "stable" that a nurse finally came to help me up from the pool of blood.

I grabbed her sleeve, pointed at my stomach, my voice a ragged whisper:

"Is the baby... still alive?"