Chapter 1 Seven Years of Infertility Just for Her

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Fenwick, but it seems this round of artificial insemination has failed once more." Rosalie Ashford felt a chill seep through her fingers as she held the test results. She had long since lost track of how many times she had heard these words. After seven years of marriage, the Fenwick family continued to wait for her to bear an heir. But her womb remained stubbornly unresponsive, showing no sign of life. She had explored every possible option—intimacy, folk remedies, IVF, and even surgery. Just as Rosalie was about to knock on the doctor's door, she overheard a conversation that stopped her in her tracks. "… Mrs. Fenwick is truly unfortunate. Her uterine wall has thinned so much. At this point, isn't she just destroying her own body?" "What's there to feel sorry for? Haven't you heard? Her husband doesn't want children. No matter how hard she tries, it's all for nothing…" Rosalie felt as though she'd been struck by a bolt of lightning. Her hand froze, hovering just above the door. It all clicked. Lucian Fenwick didn't want her to have a child. … Lost in a fog, Rosalie made her way home and collapsed onto the bed. Sunlight flooded the room, yet an unexpected chill lingered, sending shivers down her spine. Without warning, the mattress dipped. The scent of alcohol and cedar lingered in the air. Lucian embraced her from behind, his warm hands slipping under the fabric of her silk nightgown. "Did you miss me?" he whispered. His touch sent a tremor through her, yet all it did was freeze her heart further. He knew she had gone to the hospital for her results, but he hadn't even bothered to ask. "I… didn't get pregnant again," Rosalie whispered, her voice thick with emotion. Lucian's hand stopped moving. After a heavy pause, he spoke up. "I see. This must have been hard for you." His voice was calm, lacking any trace of emotion. "I'll be away on business for two months. Take care of yourself. Ms. Gomez will make you some nourishing soup." Without warning, his lips met Rosalie's. The kiss was unyielding, heavy with the taste of alcohol. Rosalie didn't want to be intimate, yet she found herself unable to resist him. She had no choice but to surrender to his will. Still, he was always gentle afterward. After helping her shower, he carried her back to bed. Cradled in his arms, they drifted off to sleep together. Everything played out just as it had on countless nights before. The air between them was warm, intimate, and familiar. To anyone looking in, they would have seemed like the most affectionate couple in the world. But as Lucian's steady breathing filled the room, Rosalie lay wide awake. Her gaze drifted to the couch, where his briefcase lay carelessly tossed. In their seven years of marriage, she had never once gone through his things. It was an unspoken rule she followed as his wife. But as she gazed at Lucian's resting face, Rosalie found herself slipping out of bed. Minutes passed in silence. Hidden under a pile of urgent papers, her fingers touched a blister pack of white tablets. They were none other than birth control pills. Rosalie stared at them, her mind spinning in a haze. For the sake of conceiving, she had never used them. The only time she'd ever seen such pills was at a friend's house. Her friend had once joked that she'd probably never need them. After all, everyone saw how loving she and Lucian were. Nonetheless, reality hit Rosalie far too quickly. Even though she had steeled herself at the hospital, her heart still felt like a crumbling wall. What kind of man carried contraceptives while supposedly trying to have a child? Could Lucian be having an affair? Suddenly, Rosalie remembered how he often asked Penny Gomez, the maid, to make soup for her. In an instant, a chill ran through her entire body. As her hands quivered, a photo escaped the briefcase's inner pocket. The edges were worn, softened by countless touches. The photo showed a young Lucian beaming with affection, the woman beside him nestled against his side. "What are you doing?" Lucian said sharply, stepping toward her from the bed. He yanked the photo from her hands, his eyes piercing like a knife. "Why are you snooping on me? Rosalie, when did you start acting so unreasonable?" Rosalie let out a sharp, bitter laugh. It felt as though she'd just heard the world's cruelest joke. Tears streamed down her cheeks, a sharp ache twisting deep inside her. "How am I acting unreasonably? In fact, I've been far too reasonable for all these years—" Her laughter was cut short by a sudden, searing pain in her abdomen. The last thing she saw before darkness took her was Lucian's panicked face. … Rosalie woke with a start, the ache from moments before still shadowing her every breath. Before she could gather her thoughts, a sharp, acrid smoke tore into her lungs, sending her into a coughing frenzy. "There's a fire! Evacuate immediately!" "Help!" Amid the chaos of screaming voices, Rosalie struggled to sit up. Confused and dazed, she looked around her surroundings. The table was a mess, with wine bottles toppled and strewn about. Strobe lights flickered and warped through the thick haze of smoke. All of a sudden, her gaze settled on the couch just a few feet away. There, a familiar figure lay motionless, overcome by the effects of alcohol. It was Camelia Becker. Hadn't she perished in that fire seven years ago? Suddenly, a jolt of realization swept through Rosalie. She snatched up her phone from the table and glanced at the screen. It was 10:50 pm on the 18th of May, 2026. Rosalie's breath hitched in her chest. Somehow, time unraveled, pulling her back seven years to the night Camelia was taken by the flames. Could she really have come back to life? As the fire roared around her, Rosalie dragged herself toward the door. But with every movement, a sharp, searing pain pierced through her ankle. With a thunderous crash, the door to the private room was kicked open from the outside. Through the suffocating smoke, a tall, commanding figure surged into the room. His face was one she knew from a lifetime ago. After years of trust, Rosalie's hand moved instinctively toward him. "Lucian..." she called, clinging to the hope that he would save her. This was the Lucian she remembered from seven years ago. His eyes still held a flicker of youthful innocence, tempered already by the quiet confidence he would one day fully embody. "Don't be afraid. I'll get you out." The urgency in his voice was tinged with the untamed fervor of his younger years. Rosalie expected him to come to her without hesitation. Just as he had in her previous life, he'd hold her tight, his deep voice resonating in her ear. "Don't be scared, I'm here." But much to her shock, Lucian's eyes lingered on her for just a moment before turning away. Without hesitation, he strode past her and went straight to Camelia, lifting her into his arms. As he brushed past Rosalie, he didn't even spare her a glance, coldly throwing two words over his shoulder. "Keep up!" With that, he carried Camelia out, never once looking back. Rosalie's hand hung suspended in the air. Her heart felt like it had turned to ice. Her ankle throbbed, a painful reminder that she couldn't run. Lucian had left her behind. Was it because he wanted her to die in Camelia's place?