Unveiled: The Survivor's Triumph

On the way back to Starlight City, I borrowed Ethan's phone to call Bella Gray. Since it was an unfamiliar number, Bella took a while to answer.Content © NôvelDrama.Org 2024.

While waiting, I tried to stay calm. Protecting my interests was my top priority.

"Bell, it's me," I said, trying to keep my emotions in check.

As soon as she heard my voice, Bella sounded worried. "Emmy, where are you? Are you okay? I went to your place, but you weren't home. I tried calling, but your phone was off. I'm so worried." Even though I was prepared, hearing her voice made me tear up. "I'm fine, just outside."

"Are you with Arthur?"

I didn't know how to answer.

"He's too much. He knows you're pregnant and still drags you around. I'll deal with him tomorrow. Don't worry; I'm here for you," Bella said.

Hearing her mention my child, I could barely hold back my sobs. I quickly hung up.

Ethan must've overheard because he glanced at my abdomen and my blood-stained legs, frowning deeply.

His look made me feel exposed, but he didn't ask anything. He just adjusted the car's air conditioning and said, "There's a blanket in the back seat. Want me to pull over and get it for you?" I handed his phone back, too exhausted to talk.

Ethan lit a cigarette, and the car fell silent.

I saw headlights from an oncoming car and instinctively adjusted my seat.

Ethan glanced at me. "Your husband?"

"A man who kills his own child doesn't deserve to be my husband," I snapped.

"You should've told me earlier. I would've stopped the car and helped you get revenge," Ethan said flatly. "As a man, I'm ashamed of such a bastard."

I had known for a while that Arthur wasn't a good person. A few months ago, I started noticing something was off.

Since I got pregnant, we hadn't had sex. I thought he was being considerate, showing love and professional ethics as a gynecologist.

But he always locked the study door, even though it was just us in the house. He was clearly hiding something.

Following my intuition, I secretly opened the study door one workday.

The desk was spotless, typical of his OCD.

Just as I was doubting myself, I found a strand of a woman's hair on the study bed that wasn't mine.