C06
Tristan’s face turned ghostly pale, though he still clung to disbelief.
“Linda,” he said shakily, “stop messing around.”
I couldn’t move. Pain gripped every fiber of my being and my voice was lost. Two agonizing minutes passed. His patience snapped. Grabbing my arm roughly, he tugged at me.
“Linda!” he shouted angrily. “Enough with the theatrics! Do you really think this is going to stop me from
divorcing you?”
But the growing puddle of blood spoke louder than any words ever could.
“No matter how you look at it, you were the one being unreasonable tonight,” Tristan declared, his voice cold and firm. “Zara was just trying to be polite by offering you a toast.”
He folded his arms, his gaze sharp. “Marco already confirmed that your medication doesn’t even require any drinking restrictions. So who exactly are you putting on this act for?”
Before I could respond, a shareholder who had co–founded the company spoke up, unable to hold back his disapproval.
“Mr. Muller, I don’t think your wife is pretending. That’s real blood right there. You should probably get her to a hospital.”
Another colleague chimed in, shaking his head.
“Exactly. No one would fake something like that–it looks serious.”
“And honestly,” a third voice cut in, “if she said she couldn’t drink, why force it? All this just for a secretary? What
a mess.”
Tristan’s expression flickered with uncertainty, torn between disbelief and concern. He opened his mouth, seemingly ready to accuse me further, but Zara’s shrill voice cut through the room like a knife.
“Mr. Muller… I–I think my ankle’s hurt. I can’t walk… It hurts so much!”
Tristan hesitated briefly, his gaze darting between Zara and my pale, blood–drained face. Gritting his teeth, he finally made his decision.
“Fine,” he said tersely. “I’ll take you to the hospital now–both of you.”
Without waiting for her polite refusal, he motioned for a few male employees to help me to the car.
The evening, which had been planned as a grand celebration, ended in chaos, blood and bitter silence.
C
The drive to the hospital was tense. Zara, ever persistent, tried to maintain her usual charade, chattering away in an attempt to regain control of the situation. But I had no strength left to respond. Instead, I pulled out my phone and hastily sent a message to my lawyer: Send the finalized divorce papers to the hospital as soon as possible.
This marriage had run its course. I couldn’t endure it for another day. Sensing my unusual silence, Tristan glanced at me several times, concern creeping into his voice. “Linda… are you okay?”
I didn’t bother answering. By the time we arrived at the hospital, Zara eagerly opened the car door, extending her
arms expectantly.
8:55 AM &.
After Yours the forget Each Other
“Mr. Muller,” she said sweetly, “could you carry me in?”
To her shock, he didn’t even glance her way. Instead, his eyes locked on the crimson stain slowly spreading beneath me. Without a word, he scooped me up and rushed toward the emergency room, his expression grim and unreadable, Zara was left trembling with rage inside the car, helpless and humiliated.
The surgery was conducted by Marco himself. He glanced at my diagnostic report and froze in place, his brows furrowing,
After a tense pause, he handed the report to Tristan, whose face paled as he read the bold print at the top: Pregnant.
His pupils constricted. “Pregnant? How is that possible? Why didn’t I know?”
Turning to Marco, his voice grew sharper. “You’re her doctor. How could you hide something this important from
me?”
Marco’s expression darkened, his voice edged with restrained anger.
“I’ve known you for years, Tristan. I’ve handled all three of her previous miscarriages. And this pregnancy? She deliberately kept it from you. Care to guess why?”
His words hit like a slap.
“I warned you,” Marco continued coldly. “Lies have a way of catching up with you. Tonight, when you forced that alcohol down her throat, you sealed this child’s fate.”
He took a breath, his tone heavy with condemnation.
“Her body never recovered from the previous miscarriages. The intervals were too short. This surgery will ensure she can never conceive again.”
Marco’s voice hardened further. “You’re a fool, Tristan. Completely delusional.”
With that, he turned on his heel and walked into the operating room without a backward glance. Tristan stood frozen in the corridor, guilt and regret twisting his features.
The surgery lasted three excruciating hours. During that time, Zara bombarded him with messages, begging for attention.
[Mr. Muller, please help me clean my wounds.]
[Mr. Muller, it hurts so much.]
But he never replied. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was the image of me–pale and gasping for breath after he forced the wine down my throat. And that word–divorce. It echoed relentlessly in his mind, haunting him. He couldn’t wrap his head around it. How had the once–obedient woman who followed his every whim changed overnight? He didn’t understand. And yet, deep down, he knew the truth had been staring him in the face all along.
