Chapter 8

Seeing Natalie silently accept it, Ethan Fletcher’s expression grew even colder. He gave the bodyguards a sharp order: “Lock her in the family chapel! She’s to sit in solitude and repent. No one lets her out without my permission!” “I’m not going!” Natalie took a hard step back, her eyes steely. “Your lousy ancestral hall is never going to hold me again!” She turned to run. “Grab her!” Ethan Fletcher commanded. The bodyguards rushed forward, blocking her path. Natalie fought them desperately, scrambling in panic for any way out—only to crash headlong into a server pushing a cart loaded with champagne glasses. “Crash!!” A loud, shattering noise echoed as glass exploded everywhere. Natalie lost her balance and fell hard. Instantly, sharp shards of glass dug into her skin. “Aaah—!” Pain shot through her, making her scream in agony. Blood instantly gushed from beneath her, dyeing the floor and the sparkling shards a vivid red. She looked at her body, covered in blood and shards of glass, then saw Ethan Fletcher’s face go pale. Her consciousness was gradually swallowed by darkness… When she woke again, she was in the hospital. Bandages were wrapped around her whole body, and even the smallest movement sent waves of pain slicing through her. Ethan Fletcher’s assistant stood at her bedside, his tone emotionless and official: “Mrs. Fletcher, Mr. Fletcher said, given you were also hurt and needed so many stitches, everything between you and Ms. Grant is considered settled. He hopes you can, in the future…” “Get out,” Natalie said, closing her eyes. Her voice was rough and exhausted, cutting him off. The assistant paused, then silently left the room. Natalie lay on her hospital bed, staring at the ceiling. Her heart felt dead and numb. Settled? Her battered, broken body was supposed to ‘settle’ whatever small injuries Vivian got? How… fair. She no longer cried or got angry. She simply endured all the pain by herself in silence, waiting for her body to heal, little by little. When she was finally discharged, it was time for the family banquet at the Fletcher estate. At the table, Margaret still showed her no warmth—her words kept coming back to the same thing: putting pressure on Natalie to have a baby. “It’s been three years. Still no sign of a pregnancy! Why did our family even bring you in?” Margaret shoved an ornate gift box toward Natalie. Inside was a pristine white marble figurine of the Madonna and Child—a centuries-old Fletcher heirloom. “Take it. Place it by your bedside. Perhaps a daily reminder of your duty will finally yield the results we’ve been waiting three years for. Don’t let the family down again.” Natalie looked at the statue, making no move to pick it up. She had no wish to have a child—especially not one for the Fletcher family. After dinner, she took the box, intending to leave it the family chapel, where she wouldn’t have to see it again. Just as she reached the door, Vivian jumped out from the side and blocked her way. “Well, if it isn’t our esteemed Mrs. Fletcher!” Vivian’s voice was full of mockery. “What’s this? Finally ready to beg God for a child? Listen to me, I’m not letting you give Mr. Fletcher a kid before I do! The first child in this family is going to be mine!” Natalie didn’t bother responding and tried to walk past her. Vivian grew even more annoyed when she was ignored. She snatched the gift box from Natalie’s hands and smashed it on the ground—hard. A sickening crack echoed through the hall as the delicate marble shattered into headless fragments. Natalie stared at the pieces, her heart calm—if anything, she felt relieved. She hadn’t wanted to keep it anyway. Vivian hadn’t expected such a flat reaction, and it only made her angrier, as if she’d punched into air. A toxic gleam flashed in her eyes. “Natalie, you already know my brother only loves me. Marrying you was just a way to draw fire from me. So tell me—if I burned the family chapel down and said you did it, who do you think my brother would believe? What do you think he’d do to you?”