Seeing her haggard, sweat-dampened face, her sickly pale lips, and how weak and desperately in need of support she looked, Simon Hawthorne felt a brief pang in his chest. His hands, hanging by his sides, twitched with an uncontrollable urge to reach out to her, but he forcefully held himself back.
He couldn’t deny that his anger over what Zoe Lancaster had done today was far from subsiding.
He had stayed up all night yesterday. After learning from the servants about Zoe’s misunderstanding, he had intended to find her as quickly as possible to explain everything. But who could have foreseen that the ensuing series of events would only prove one thing: she hated him. She hated him so much that she didn’t care if she destroyed everything in her wake.
"This is non-negotiable. Even if you pretend to be unwell, it won’t change a thing," he said, his brow furrowing as he walked over to her. He lifted her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye. "It hasn’t even been an hour and a half since the news broke. The stock market is in turmoil, and over a billion has evaporated. Zoe Lancaster, don’t push things too far."
Looking at his callous demeanor, Zoe’s pale face betrayed the desolate wasteland her heart had become. She didn’t answer him. Instead, she grabbed his wrist and bit down fiercely on his wrist bone. She bit down with all her might, her teeth sinking into his flesh until she tasted the metallic tang of blood.
A low, muffled groan escaped the man’s lips, but he didn’t throw her off. He merely stood there with a dark expression, letting her bite him.
Beads of blood dripped from his wrist onto her arm. The warmth of it made her tremble uncontrollably.
A servant who had witnessed the entire scene turned pale with shock. "Madam! Please let go! You’re drawing blood!"
Only then did Zoe release him. The light had completely vanished from her eyes. With his blood staining her lips, she looked almost bewitchingly tragic. "I don’t want to see you."
Simon looked down at his mangled wrist. When had things deteriorated to this point between them? It was as if there was absolutely no chance of salvation left for them.
He clenched that hand into a fist. The pain in his wrist seemed trivial compared to the ache inside him. "Don’t throw this tantrum for too long," he warned in a gloomy tone. "My patience isn’t limitless."
They parted on the worst of terms. As the door slammed shut with a heavy THUD, Zoe felt her heart shatter along with it.
She was still trembling. The pain in her stomach was agonizingly real, likely brought on by the intense surge of anger and distress, but she hadn’t dared let Simon notice anything was wrong. Biting him had been her only way to distract him.
Curling in on herself, she clutched her stomach. Panic and helplessness washed over her. She wondered in terror, "The baby... Will something happen to the baby?"
"Madam? What’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell? Let me call a doctor!" Mrs. Lewis, one of the servants, stepped forward with a worried expression.
"Don’t touch me." Zoe was panting heavily. "I don’t need a doctor. I want to go to the hospital myself."
Mrs. Lewis instantly looked conflicted. "Mr. Hawthorne ordered that you aren’t to take a single step out of this house..."
Her resentment for Simon’s domineering cruelty only deepened. Unable to spare the energy to argue, she covered her stomach, rushed into the bathroom, and locked the door behind her.
Sitting on the toilet, she checked her underwear. It was perfectly clean—there was no spotting. It shouldn’t be a sign of a miscarriage. Her heart pounded like a drum as she tried desperately to calm her erratic nerves. She gently stroked her stomach over and over, a suppressed sob catching in her throat.
"You have to be strong, baby," she murmured. "I’ll figure something out. We’re going to get out of here... Just hold on a little longer, okay?"
She tilted her head back, haphazardly wiping away her tears, but the more she wiped, the more they fell. She just couldn’t stop them.
Simon’s attitude made one thing glaringly clear: he didn’t even treat her like a human being! She vowed that, no matter what it took, she had to escape this predicament.
She stayed in the bathroom for a long time. It wasn’t until the pain gradually subsided that her anxious heart finally settled. "Thank goodness... Thank goodness the baby is fine," she thought. "Otherwise, I’ll never forgive him!"
After that day, Simon didn’t show his face again. Their relationship seemed to have hit an absolute freezing point, with neither willing to bow their head.
A week had now passed since she was brought to The Imperial Residence.
She could roughly guess why Simon hadn’t come. He had to clean up the mess she’d made. The Hawthorne Group was undoubtedly facing a PR crisis, and the fallout across various sectors had to be managed. He was definitely rushed off his feet right now.
But she had no way to contact Crystal Hayes. Crystal was probably going crazy with worry by now. Left with no other options, Zoe sought out Mrs. Lewis.
"Madam, why aren’t you resting? Are you hungry? Let me know what you’d like to eat, and I’ll prepare it for you," Mrs. Lewis offered thoughtfully.
Zoe cleared her parched throat and pleaded, "Mrs. Lewis, my friend must be terribly worried since she can’t find me. Simon is angry with me and refuses to give me my phone. Could I borrow yours just to send her a quick message? It’ll only take two minutes."
Mrs. Lewis’s face immediately fell into a troubled grimace. "Mr. Hawthorne ordered that you aren’t allowed to contact the outside world. I’m sorry, Madam, but my hands are tied."
Her eyes welling with tears, Zoe grasped Mrs. Lewis’s hands, forced to play the sympathy card. "He won’t know. I just want to let her know I’m safe. If she can’t find me and ends up calling the police, wouldn’t that cause even more trouble? Please, Mrs. Lewis... I’m begging you."
Mrs. Lewis was a mother herself. Seeing Zoe look so heartbroken, she couldn’t bear it. Finally relenting, she pulled out her phone. "Make it quick, Madam. Please don’t let Mr. Hawthorne find out, or it’ll be my head on the chopping block."
Her heart racing, Zoe took the phone and turned away. "I will. Thank you, Mrs. Lewis."
Before she could even dial, the distinct BEEP BEEP BEEP of a passcode being entered echoed from the front door. Her expression shifted slightly, and she spun back around.
Two figures appeared in the doorway—one tall, the other petite. Standing side by side, they looked exceptionally well-matched.
Zoe hadn’t expected Peyton Joyce to come here.
Seeing Zoe, the smile on Peyton’s lips stiffened and faded. She looked up at the man beside her, her voice laced with confusion. "Simon, why did you bring me here?"
There had been countless rumors circulating over the past few days. Although the trending topics on that day had been swiftly suppressed, many within their social circles had caught wind of the scandal. Moreover, the words Simon had spoken in front of such a massive audience had caused quite a ripple effect. Because of the divorce controversy, the partners for a multi-billion-dollar overseas project had already stated they wanted to adopt a wait-and-see approach before proceeding.
The consequences were far from minor.
With so much drama unfolding—especially after the divorce incident erupted right on the heels of their last encounter at the hospital—Peyton had firmly believed that whatever ties bound Zoe and Simon together were finally severed for good. Yet, as the days went by without any follow-up news, an unsettling anxiety had begun to gnaw at her.
Today, Simon had returned to the Hawthorne Residence to pick her up, saying he had something to discuss. At the time, she had wondered, "Has he resolved everything? For him to seek me out at a critical juncture like this, could it be... Could he be planning to talk about our future together?"
Filled with joy, a rosy flush had returned to her cheeks. But now, seeing Zoe standing right in front of her, she was utterly bewildered. A bizarre sense of panic washed over her.
Simon stared at Zoe. Dressed in a plain, oversized nightgown, the woman stood there looking at him with eyes full of defensiveness and resentment.
His thin lips pressed into a tight line. Keeping his gaze fixed squarely on Zoe, he addressed Peyton instead. "I’m not in the habit of being wrongfully accused. Some things are best cleared up face-to-face. For instance... whether I actually laid a finger on you that day."