Your Regret, My Revenge

I lay back on the icy hospital bed, eyes wide open in the boundless darkness and silence, staring at the stark white ceiling.

After a long while, I picked up my phone.

I found Hilary's number and sent an extremely brief, encrypted message.

"Auntie, initiate Plan B. I need to leave. Now. I can't stay another second."

Before dawn, her reply came.

"He is on his way. All proceeding per plan. Await his signal."

He?

Who was he?

No time to ponder. I deleted the messages, hid the phone again, closed my eyes, and waited.

At 9 A.M., Vincent walked into the room as usual, carrying the thermal lunchbox.

His face bore traces of tiredness from his night's activities, but his spirits were high, a smug satisfaction he couldn't quite hide dancing in his eyes.

"Brenna, an important client's daughter has her baptism party today. Can't stay with you at noon. I made you nutritional soup. Drink it while it's hot. I'll come back early tonight."

He ladled out the soup with practiced ease, the lie rolling off his tongue without a flicker of conscience.

I knew he wasn't going to any baptism party.

Dylan's latest intelligence had already reached my backup phone in the early morning. Vincent had scheduled a full prenatal checkup for Cathryn at the city's most exclusive private hospital at ten.

He was playing the doting father to his beloved son.

This provided the perfect window for my escape.

Looking at his nauseatingly hypocrite face, I nodded obediently.

"Alright... you go ahead. Don't worry about me."

Satisfied with my docility, he leaned down as usual and planted a perfunctory kiss on my bald head before leaving.

The moment the door closed, I poured his soup down the toilet.

Then, I gathered every single personal toiletry item in the bathroom bearing my trace and dumped it all in the trash.

I changed into a clean set of my own clothes.

Then, I sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for my extraction team.

10:30 AM, another message from Dylan confirmed Vincent's car had entered the private hospital's underground garage and he had accompanied Cathryn into the specialist's office. At least, it took two hours.

Almost at the same time, a knock came at my door.

It wasn't a nurse, nor was it Brice.

The man who walked in was tall and imposing. Behind him was a five-person team that looked supremely professional.

All wore immaculate white coats and masks, expressions serious.

The lead man wasn't masked. He wore well-tailored casual clothes, tall and straight. His features weren't stunning, but they were pleasant and composed.

"I'm Spencer Holland," he introduced himself simply, showing me a chat log with Hilary on his phone. "Hilary sent me to get you. From this moment, your safety is my responsibility."

So, he was Hilary's Plan B.

"Thank you," I said hoarsely.

Spencer wasted no time on pleasantries. He nodded to his team.

A female nurse swiftly hung a "Patient in Intensive Care, Do Not Disturb" sign on the door and skillfully disabled the door lock's sensor system.

Another nurse quickly removed the useless IV needle from the back of my hand, pressing a disinfectant cotton swab to the spot.

"Ms. Lewis, please relax. We will ensure your comfort and safety throughout."

I was smoothly transferred to a mobile gurney, covered with a sterile, temperature-controlled sheet.

Spencer himself wheeled the gurney. They didn't use the regular patient routes. Instead, they accessed a staff-only elevator requiring a special key card, taking it directly to the hospital's underground parking exit.

A black, privately-marked ambulance with special plates was already waiting.

The doors opened. I was quickly loaded inside.

The vehicle drove off smoothly and swiftly, without sirens, leaving the hospital that held all my nightmares behind.

The ambulance sped through the city, finally stopping at a highly secluded private helipad.

A small medical transport plane stood ready on the runway, engines humming low.

I was transferred from the ambulance onto the plane.

Lying on the comfortable bed in the cabin, I looked out the small window one last time, gazing down the city that held all my love, hate, and pain.

The skyscrapers, the traffic… everything grew smaller, fainter, disappearing behind the clouds.

Goodbye, Vincent.

Goodbye, my dead love.

Once the plane leveled off in the stratosphere, I struggled to sit up.

Spencer, who had been quietly working on documents opposite me, immediately stood, adjusted the bed, and placed a soft pillow behind my back.

"Thank you. There's one more thing I need to trouble you with."

Spencer didn't ask what, just nodded.

I took out the paper and pen I'd prepared.

I wrote out a divorce agreement. At the end, I signed my name without hesitation.

Then, on another sheet, I wrote just one line.

"Vincent, the game is over. I want none of what's yours. Not even your filthy life."

I placed both documents, along with copies of all the evidence I'd gathered, into a manila envelope.

I handed it to Spencer.

"Can you have this placed back on the nightstand in my hospital room?" I looked at him. "It's my final gift to him."

Spencer looked at me, silent for a few seconds, then accepted the envelope solemnly.

"Alright."

With that done, a sense of relief washed over me, unlike anything I'd ever felt.

I had made the most complete break with my past.

Now, I was flying toward my new life.

...

At 3 PM, Vincent had finished the full prenatal check-up with Cathryn.

When the doctor handed him the clear 3D ultrasound image, pointing to the blurry shape on the screen, smiling and saying, "All indicators are perfectly healthy. A very lively boy," Vincent felt his life had reached a state of fulfillment he had never known before.

He carefully tucked the ultrasound image inside his jacket, as if it were a priceless treasure.

After settling the tired Cathryn, he glanced at his Patek Philippe. Time to head back to the hospital.

He'd already prepared his excuse. The baptism party was too lively, he'd been forced to drink too much, and had passed out in a lounge.

Brenna always did whatever he said. She would believe anything after a few sweet words.

He carried a newly purchased container of hot soup back to her room.

He imagined pushing the door open to see her sickly face, still full of dependence and adoration for him.

Instead, pushing the door open, he was met with an empty room.

The room was scrubbed unnaturally clean, almost devoid of personal items, the air thick with disinfectant.

The familiar hospital bed was made with military precision, as if no one had ever occupied it long-term.

The smile froze on Vincent's face.

"Brenna? Brenna Lewis?"

Vincent called out her name in stunned disbelief, a trace of panic in his voice he didn't recognize.

He rushed into the bathroom. It was empty.

He yanked open the closet. Only a few hospital gowns remained.

Where was she?

His shock quickly turned to anger. He thought Brenna was throwing another tantrum.

Then, his eyes fell on the nightstand.

A manila folder lay there, silent and waiting.

Frowning, he strode over, snatched up the folder, and ripped it open.

Two items slipped out from inside.