Chapter 3

"You're sick. Don't move around the house these next few days, so you don't pass the illness to Claire."

Tears rolled down my temples, soaking into the pillow.

I couldn't understand how a good person could rot like this.

He stood at the door, meticulously wiping his hands with disinfectant alcohol, afraid of missing a single detail.

Footsteps pattered outside the door. The next second, Claire threw herself into Dylan's arms.

The guest room door clicked shut and locked. No matter how much I knocked and shouted, there was no response.

I was imprisoned, simply for having a fever.

I slid down against the door and sat on the floor, my heart already too numb to ripple.

In the darkness, my phone vibrated. A message popped up.

[Match successful. One day remaining until marriage registration.]

I gave a self-mocking smile, avoiding looking at the matched partner's information like an escapist.

A whole day passed. It seemed everyone had forgotten about me.

My already weak stomach ached from not eating all day.

My throat was dry and scratchy, and even my breath felt hot.

The door opened a crack. Claire stood far away, holding a stale piece of bread.

Like feeding a dog, she tossed the bread in front of me.

Then she raised her phone and took a photo of me.

"Didn't you say you hated homewreckers the most?"

"Now I'm going to make you experience what it's like to be the other woman yourself."

She laughed loudly, then turned to edit a caption and post it online.

She portrayed herself as a pitiful pregnant woman, claiming I had taken advantage of her vulnerability to seduce her husband.

In the photo, I looked like a homeless dog—disheveled and pathetic.

My phone notifications dinged incessantly. Soon someone had dug up my information.

"She looks decent on the outside, but she's so shameless behind closed doors."

"The birth rate is already declining year by year, and she chooses this moment to upset a pregnant woman. Rotten to the core."

"Is it possible her mother gave birth to her the same way? Like mother, like daughter."

I shook my head, whimpering: "No... it's not..."

I wanted to say Claire was the homewrecker who stole someone else's man, that I was the victim.

But then I suddenly remembered that fake marriage certificate burned to ashes.

My hand slowly dropped.

After a long while, I finally spoke in a hoarse voice.

"Let me go. I won't interfere in your business anymore."

Claire let out a cold laugh.

"I refuse."

"I want you to watch the child being born with your own eyes. Watch as I take away everything you care about, piece by piece."

She leaned close to my ear, speaking at a volume only we could hear.

"Want to know when I got pregnant with this child?"

My heart clenched. I instinctively backed away several steps, but Claire grabbed my arm and held it in a death grip.

Her voice continued.

"On the anniversary of your mother's death."

My pupils contracted sharply, overwhelming hatred rising in my heart.

I remembered how Dylan, who had promised to be there that day, suddenly canceled.

"Something urgent came up at work. I can't get away."

"Renee, we'll visit your mother together next year, okay?"

Thinking back now, Dylan's voice had carried subtle breathlessness when he spoke.

I'd just been too grief-stricken that day to notice.

I clenched my fists, my fingertips turning white with pressure.

If I had a knife right now, I would gladly plunge it deep into Claire's belly.