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Queena squinted at the tall figure walking toward them against the light. When her gaze met Jerome's, her face paled. Spencer lowered his eyes, his tone tinged with arrogance: “Mr. Powell, I never thought you'd take over the woman I slept with. What a coincidence.” Queena’s hands, hanging at her sides, curled unconsciously, a chill spreading from her heart to her fingertips. Jerome ignored Spencer’s provocation, walking straight to Queena’s side. He took her cold hand as he always did, slipping it naturally into his pocket. He looked at her quietly, his pupils as smooth as jade. “Queena, let’s talk.” Queena paused for two seconds, releasing her struggle. But unexpectedly, the wrist of her other hand was suddenly gripped tightly by someone else, with anger, almost crushing her wrist bones. Jerome gave Spencer a deep look, his tone indifferent: “Mr. Spencer, if you're so concerned about my wife, why not show more concern for Ms. Russell?” As he finished speaking, Spencer looked down at his vibrating phone. He clenched his teeth and actually let go of her wrist. Jerome took Queena’s hand and led her to the car. Before he could speak, Queena spoke first: “Wil… Mr. Powell, I only got into the car with you to clarify things. Since you have a family, I’ll step back voluntarily. Anyway, our marriage never counted in the first place.” Jerome turned to her, his eyes darkening: “I won’t let you go.” Queena's lips curved into a self-mocking arc: “Everyone has their limits. I can’t be a mistress, whether it was Spencer back then or you now.” A sudden sharp brake cut off Queena’s words. Her body leaned forward involuntarily, but the next moment, a pair of strong hands pressed her shoulders back into place. “I won’t put you in that position, Queena.” “I'll give up everything and go with you.” His hot breath brushed against her lips. “But I need to have a child with Sandra to leave an heir for the Powell Family.” Jerome studied her expression, then suddenly released his hands from her shoulders and sat back down. "Sandra needs a son to establish herself in the Powell Family, and she needs the title of Ms. Powell to support her. I promise, once she gives birth, we’ll leave immediately.” It turned out that his so-called “not putting her in the position of a mistress” meant giving everything to another woman, including the right for the child in her womb to call him father. Her heart still ached dully. “I once truly loved her; I can’t just let her fend for herself in that ruthless circle.” Jerome placed her hand over his heart, “But from now on, this place belongs to you alone. Could you be gracious and let her have her way?” The heartbeat beneath her palm still beat, but she could no longer feel any warmth. Queena slowly withdrew her hand and murmured, “Alright.” Perhaps he hadn’t expected her to agree so readily, Jerome, like a startled youth caught off guard by a surprise, suddenly embraced Queena in his arms. But he didn't notice her calm, unruffled expression. Clearly afraid that Queena would resort to her old tricks again, Jerome insisted on keeping her by his side. He wanted her to stay under his watchful eye at all times to feel at ease. So every time he finished taking care of Sandra, no matter how late it was, Jerome would return to the second floor and hold Queena in his arms as he fell asleep. Smelling the scent of Sandra’s perfume on the man’s body, Queena couldn’t stand it anymore. She pushed him away violently, rolled off the bed, and vomited. Jerome didn’t even bother to put on his clothes; he hurriedly brought her some hot water and kept rubbing her back. “What’s wrong, Queena? Where does it hurt? I’ll take you to the hospital.” He grabbed the clothes nearby and hurriedly put them on, but his movements were halted by the figure standing at the door. “What’s wrong, little Sheila?” Little Sheila, holding a rabbit doll, spoke softly, “Daddy, Mommy’s stomach hurts...” Jerome didn’t even finish listening to her words before rushing downstairs, completely forgetting that there was still someone standing in the bedroom. Soon, the sound of an engine could be heard downstairs. Queena couldn't help but smile wryly. “Auntie, can you take me back to my room?” Queena snapped back to reality at the sound. Little Sheila blinked her big eyes, studying her, but didn't approach to disturb her. Perhaps because no one else was in the villa, she had lost the sharpness she had shown upon first meeting, instead exuding a timid, obedient demeanor. Queena walked over and took her hand, but she suddenly placed her hand gently on Queena's stomach and asked innocently, “Auntie, your stomach is round, and you're also vomiting. Are you pregnant with a baby too?” Queena unconsciously touched her lower abdomen, lowered her head, and was about to say something when a sudden force collided with her lower back! She let out a scream, her body losing balance instantly. Her hands reached out desperately for the railing but only grasped at thin air. “Thud—” Intense pain spread from her spine to her abdomen. Queena curled up on the cold marble floor, her body convulsing uncontrollably. Warm liquid seeped out from beneath her, staining the light gray skirt hem red. She opened her mouth but couldn't speak, staring fixedly in the direction of the balcony. The little girl stood there, her face devoid of any trace of childhood innocence, replaced by a nearly cruel calmness. She blinked her eyes, staring at the blood-soaked Queena, and smiled eerily: “Auntie, I don't like this little baby.” “So, can you all just die?” As her consciousness faded, she heard the sound of frantic footsteps and the little girl's terrified screams. “Daddy, please save Auntie.”