Chapter 3

Ignoring Zane's orders, Carmen rushed me straight to St. Jude Medical Center.

To guarantee Elena's delivery went perfectly, Zane had pulled nearly all the top OB-GYNs and specialists into her VIP suite, leaving the general ward with only a handful of staff.

My body was wracked by alcohol, convulsing uncontrollably. Only a young intern was left to care for me.

"She's in critical condition," he stammered to a nurse passing by. "I can't handle this alone. I need a specialist, right now!"

"We can't find anyone," the nurse whispered apologetically, her face tense. "Mr. Blackwood moved all the doctors to the VIP suite. There's no one left."

My trembling hand clutched the intern's sleeve as I gasped for air. "Zane… Blackwood…"

He leaned down and said quietly, "Save your strength."

"He's… my husband," I choked out. "Call him."

The intern's eyes widened in shock. He immediately grabbed his phone, his hands shaking as he dialed.

"Mr. Blackwood? This is Dr. Evans from the ER. Your wife... Mrs. Blackwood is here. She's in critical condition, suffering from alcohol poisoning and preterm labor. We need you to…"

Zane's voice came through the phone, cold and furious. "You really need to come up with a better scam. My wife is at home. I get it now—she put you up to this, didn't she? She thinks this little stunt will pull me away from Elena? Tell her it's not going to work."

"Sir, this isn't a scam! She's dying!"

"I don't care what story you're spinning!" Zane barked. "Listen to me: Even if she's really in hospital, even if she's actually in labor, Elena is the only one who matters tonight. Period."

The line went dead.

He hadn't just hung up on the call—he'd cut off the last hope for me and my baby.

I shut my eyes as tears mixed with the blood on my face, the taste sharp and metallic in my mouth.

"I'm sorry," Dr. Evans whispered. "There's… there's nothing else I can do."

At that moment, the frantic beeping of the fetal monitor faded into a steady, flat hum.

The gentle fluttering inside me—the tiny kicks that once filled me with joy—were gone.

My baby was gone.

My body had become a cold, silent grave.

But fate wasn't finished with its cruelty.

Through the wall, I could hear the sounds of celebration—laughter, hurried footsteps, voices filled with joy.

Then, a baby's cry.

"It's a boy!" a doctor announced next door, his tone eager to please. "Congratulations, Mr. Blackwood!"

"He's perfect," I heard Zane say. His voice, trembling with emotion I'd never known from him, was gentle and full of a tenderness he'd never shown me. "Thank God."

Thank God?

My child was gone, and his father, less than fifteen feet away, was holding another woman's baby and praising God.

Any love I'd ever had for this man—any foolish hope I'd clung to—burned to ash along with my soul in that moment.

Darkness began to swallow me, the pain fading into a cold, empty numbness.

"Mrs. Blackwood?" Dr. Evans called out, panic in his voice as he shook my shoulder, desperate to keep me awake.

--

Zane stepped out of Elena's hospital room, feeling lighter than he had in months.

The baby was healthy. Elena was safe.

He thought of his wife, still locked in the wine cellar. She must have learned her lesson by now.

A rare flicker of pity crossed his mind.

He pulled out his phone and dialed.

"Carmen," Zane said, loosening his tie. "Go down to the cellar and let Chloe out. Tell her Elena gave birth to a healthy boy, so I'm willing to forgive her for her little tantrum today."

There was a suffocating silence on the other end.

"Carmen? Did you hear me?"

Finally, the housekeeper spoke, her voice trembling. "Mr. Blackwood, I'm at the hospital. Your wife... she's not coming back."

Zane's brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

Carmen choked back a sob. "I brought her here hours ago. But you… you refused to save her and the baby. Your wife, and your child—they're both gone, sir. They're both dead!"