Chapter 4

Claire Bennett POV

I actually laughed.

It was a very brief, very hoarse laugh of contempt.

Under Ethan Foster's stunned gaze, I didn't spare Mia Collins a glance on the floor. Nor did I wait for him to blame me. I turned, dragging my weak, still-healing body straight into the open-plan kitchen.

“Claire Bennett, what are you doing?!” Ethan Foster demanded, watching my strange behavior.

I walked up to the marble kitchen countertop and slowly drew a sharp table knife from the knife block. Its blade gleamed icily under the cool light.

I turned to look at Ethan Foster, who had just reached the kitchen entrance. My eyes were as still as stagnant water. There was no resentment in them, only utter release.

“Don't you like seeing blood?” I asked softly.

Before the words had fully left my lips, I raised the knife, pressed it against my slender, pale left wrist, and slashed down hard without hesitation.

The sound of the blade cutting through flesh seemed impossibly loud in the deathly silent villa. Blood spurted out at once, splashing across the white kitchen countertop. It ran down my pale fingers and dripped onto the floor, each drop blooming into a horrifying crimson flower.

“No!”

Ethan Foster's pupils contracted sharply, and a raw, inhuman scream tore from his throat. The food container crashed to the floor, spilling seafood chowder everywhere.

He lunged at me like a madman, wrenched the knife from my hand, and hurled it to the floor. His trembling hands clamped over my wrist as blood continued to pour out.

But there was too much blood. It was too hot. No matter how hard he pressed, he couldn't stop it from gushing between his fingers. Ethan Foster's eyes went red, and his body shook even harder than mine.

“A doctor! Get a doctor! Ryan!” Ethan Foster roared like a desperate animal, his tears falling onto the back of my hand.

Mia Collins sat on the floor, clutching her bruised back. Her fake sobs had turned to genuine terror. At the sight of all that blood and Ethan Foster on the verge of losing his mind, she covered her mouth and shrank into a corner of the sofa, barely daring to breathe.

Ethan Foster tore off his tie and bound it tightly around my forearm to stop the bleeding. He looked up at me with bloodshot eyes, his voice distorted by sheer terror. “Are you insane?! How dare you try to die? Claire Bennett, don't even think about it! You haven't paid back what you owe me. I won't let you die!”

He threatened me viciously, forcing me to look at him. Maybe he wanted to see even the slightest trace of fear, hurt, or hatred in my eyes.

But there was nothing.

I let him keep his hands clamped around my wrist, my skin growing almost translucent from blood loss. I gazed quietly at Ethan Foster. My eyes, once filled with starlight and love, were now like two dried-up wells. No ripples, no light. Only an endless, lifeless stillness.

It didn't hurt. Compared with the pain of having my uterus cut out, this little flesh wound was nothing.

Looking at Ethan Foster's contorted face, I couldn't feel even a flicker of satisfaction at getting revenge. I was simply tired, too tired to say another word.