5

Sandra’s eyes flashed, and she gave Spencer a warning look. Spencer, however, didn't seem to care. He walked slowly to the bedside, leaned down, and examined Queena's face closely, his expression growing complex. “How did you end up in such a mess? He promised to go with you, yet he left you in this situation. If that's the case, you might as well come with me. At least there's one thing I'm better than him at—I have no children and no ties.” Old Mr. Powell and Mrs. Powell looked up in shock, their faces betraying their contempt for Queena. Jerome clenched his fists, about to step forward to pull Spencer away, but was blocked by Old Mr. Powell. “Good-for-nothing!” He glared at Jerome with wide eyes, raising his hand to slap him, but was stopped by Sandra. The heavy slap echoed through the ward, causing little Sheila to burst into tears. The scene descended into chaos. Old Mr. Powell could only give up for now, but before leaving, he couldn't resist pointing at Jerome's nose and shouting, "If you dare to elope with that slut, you'll be completely cut off from the Powell family! Your mother and I will consider you dead!" With that, Old Mr. Powell and Mrs. Powell left the ward angrily, holding Little Sheila in their arms. “Does it hurt?” Jerome embraced Sandra, who was crying with her head down, his voice filled with concern. “Why didn't you tell me about this sooner?” Sandra shook her head with tears in her eyes, “I wanted to give little Sheila a complete family, so I could tolerate her insults, but this time she went too far! She went as far as framing a child to drive a wedge between us!” "Jerome, I can't compete with her. She can do whatever she wants because of your love, but my daughter and I have no one to rely on. I'm really tired. Why don't we... Let’s get a divorce.” “You don’t need to compete with her, Sandra. You’re my legally wedded Mrs. Powell, and little Sheila is our daughter...” Jerome gently wiped the tears from her face. “She’s physically unable to have children, so rest assured—no one can take what belongs to you.” So he knew everything! But he could ruthlessly rip open her wounds just to make Sandra happy. Queena’s eyes welled up with tears. Her heart, which had long since ceased to beat, now ached deeply. Sandra suppressed the smugness in her eyes and choked out, “I believe you, Jerome. Will you come with me to see little Sheila? She must be terrified.” Jerome nodded in agreement. As they reached the door, Queena called out to him. Jerome looked impatient: “Enough, Queena! Besides an apology, I don't want to hear another word from you. The underhanded tactics you've been using behind my back—I don't have time to listen to your excuses now. Take these days to reflect on your actions. Until you admit your mistakes, I won't come to see you again.” Queena composed herself and gently tossed the car keys from the bedside table to him. Jerome looked at the car keys in his hand and her indifferent expression, and his heart sank. His expression changed slightly: “Queena, you're really disappointing me right now.” With that, he wrapped his arm around Sandra and walked out of the ward without looking back. Queena withdrew her gaze and calmly looked at Spencer, who was watching the scene with interest. “Mr. Spencer, the show is over. Can you leave now?” Spencer ignored her, bending down and gently touching the wound on her forehead with his fingers. “Have you seen the reality? Why don't you consider me, hmm?” Queena grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him forward forcefully, saying each word clearly, “No, consideration.” Spencer's gaze darkened, and he pressed his finger firmly against her wound, causing Queena to wince in pain. She struggled to push Spencer's hand away, but the next moment, he pinned her shoulders and forced her back onto the bed. “Queena, are you really that unwilling to let him go? Are you willing to be someone else's mistress?” Spencer leaned down, his knee pressing against her thighs, his dark eyes suddenly turning menacing. “If he can, then why can't I—”