Chapter 3

Clara was groggily asleep when a sudden loud bang jolted her awake. She barely opened her eyes before they locked with a pair of cold, piercing ones. "Eugene?" Clara's heart skipped a beat. She clutched the thin blanket and sat up, clearly rattled. The man stood tall at over six feet, his broad shoulders casting a shadow over her as he stared down, his tone soaked in mockery. "Clara, did you just decide my words aren't worth remembering?" "What are you talking about?" she asked weakly, trying to push through the discomfort aching through her body. She looked pale—too pale. Even her eyelids seemed too heavy to lift, and it took all she had not to collapse right there. But Eugene didn't so much as blink at her condition. His eyes stayed dark and burning with anger. "You went to Grandpa about the IVF?" His hands clenched into fists like he'd just bitten into something disgusting. This woman—could she be any more frustrating? Said yes to his face, and turned around to backstab him. Seriously? Clara instantly realized he got the wrong idea. Her fingers dug into the blanket as she forced herself to meet his gaze. "Eugene, I didn't say anything to your grandfather." "You expect me to believe that?" he sneered. "You really think that's gonna fly with me?" The way he towered over her, accusing without hesitation, made Clara's heart bleed. Her body trembled. "It really wasn't me. You've got it all wrong!" she insisted, desperate. Eugene's expression darkened further. Suddenly, his hand shot out, fingers like ice griping her chin with a painful pressure, as if he wanted to break bone. His voice felt like a knife. "Wrong? Clara, who else would go rat me out to Grandpa if not you?" That glare of his—it was pure frost, enough to freeze the air around them. She shuddered. "I swear I didn't. Can't you trust me, just once?" Her voice was thin, shaky, and filled with a crushing sense of helplessness. She didn't do it—why should she be the one to take the fall? "Cut it out, Clara! You think anyone else could've said something? Don't act innocent," Eugene snapped. His lip curled in disgust. "Anyway, it's out. Grandpa knows. So might as well tell you—he agreed. Once the baby's born, we're getting a divorce." Divorce? Just one word. But it landed in her chest like a bomb, then lit up into wildfire, turning her heart to ash. She bit down her tears, forcing her eyes to stay dry. She watched his face closely, hoping for a trace of doubt, of regret, of the tiniest soft spot. But she found none. Only anger. Only hate. She had hoped—really hoped—that maybe, just maybe, her sincere love would reach him. That he'd turn back, look at her differently one day. But now she knew. She could never melt his frozen heart. He would never love her. Not now, not ever. Tears started spilling over, silently hitting the top of his hand—hot, heavy drops of pain. Eugene flinched ever so slightly. His shoulders stiffened. He said nothing, just stared down at her tear—filled eyes where emotions crashed together—love, hurt, despair. Something sharp twisted in his chest, catching him off guard. "Crying won't change what you've done, Clara. Don't kid yourself," he snarled, voice clipped with rage and something else he couldn't name. Then he turned, slammed a foot into the doorframe, and stormed out, the door crashing behind him. Clara collapsed back onto the bed, biting her lip to stifle the sobs that still burst through, muffled in the blanket. The cries sounded broken, like something inside her was ripping apart. Some nights just aren't meant for sleep.