Chapter 3
1142 Words
The next morning, just as the sky was beginning to lighten, a grayish-blue dawn filtered through the curtains, cold and desolate, spilling into the bedroom.
Dylan woke in a daze.
A hangover-like headache crashed over him. Instinctively, he reached for the space beside him, but his fingertips met only the bedsheet.
His throat was parched, and he called out to me out of habit.
"Jane, bring me a glass of water."
The words faded, and dead silence filled the room.
There was no response from me, no soft sound of slippers against the floor.
He froze on the empty large bed, his pupils contracting slightly. It took several seconds for him to slowly come to his senses.
Last night, he had a dream that felt so vividly real.
In the dream, I threw myself into his arms with a smile, gently looped my arm through his, and spoke in a soft, sweet voice.
Just then, the doorbell rang abruptly.
Dylan's body relaxed sharply in relief.
All that pent-up frustration and anxiety from the entire night melted instantly into the anger of something lost and found again.
Without a second thought, he raised his voice and shouted toward the door.
"Jane, you still remember to come home? Let me tell you this whole thing about you not answering your phone..."
He stepped quickly forward and yanked the door open.
Standing outside was Serena, holding a carefully prepared breakfast. Her makeup was flawless, and her voice soft and coquettish.
The moment he saw it wasn't me, a wave of disappointment washed over him, though even he himself didn't notice it.
Carrying the breakfast, Serena smoothly stepped into the house. Just like the mistress of the house, she looked over the entire home.
When she reached the bedroom, her gaze swept over the room, and the smile on her face slowly faded.
Draped over the sofa was my light grey blanket. In the drawer of the coffee table sat my throat lozenges. On the bedside table stood the bunny plushie I'd had for many years. Even the walk-in closet was hung full of my clothes, every single piece neatly arranged.
"Dylan, look at this house, it's full of Jane's things. It's so annoying having all these here, isn't it? I'll call someone over later to toss all of it and redo the whole place, okay?"
She spoke as if it were the most natural thing in the world, but all of these here had long since ceased to have anything to do with me.
But Dylan did not answer.
Looking at Serena, who chattered on endlessly, a vague, indescribable irritation roiled deep in his eyes.
Every single one of these things held traces of the years gone by. Her one flippant remark about throwing them away felt like someone was trying to forcibly rip out a part of his life.
Dylan's lips pressed tightly together, his face grim and terrifying.
When Serena saw he did not speak, she took his silence as consent. She feigned a pitying sigh and murmured, "Jane is really so heartless. She stayed out all night without a word. She knew you were worrying about her, but she deliberately hid outside. She's being so unreasonable."
The word "heartless" stabbed into Dylan's heart like a needle.
The next second, before Serena could react, he suddenly seized her wrist.
He slammed her hard down onto the bedroom bed.
Serena was startled, but she quickly put on a seductive expression. She thought Dylan was aroused, so she obediently raised her hands, began slipping off her clothes, and pressed herself against him.
The moment her fingertips touched Dylan's chest, his whole body suddenly went rigid.
A wave of intense revulsion exploded in his heart without warning.
It wasn't disgust at her touch—it was disgust at his own actions at that moment.
His movements came to an abrupt halt.
His hand, hanging over her body, froze in midair.
"Forget it. It's early morning."
Dylan turned his face away stiffly, throwing out the lamest excuse he could come up with off the top of his head.
He tried to cover up the sudden revulsion and stiffness that had just come over him.
But his abruptly halted movement had already turned the atmosphere in the room awkward and uncomfortable.
Serena stayed frozen in place, her clothes half off, the seductive look on her face freezing over into awkwardness.
I drifted right in the center of the room, watching coldly.
'What are you playing at now, Dylan? What are you pretending—restraint? Decency? Some late-blooming purity? When our child and I were lying on the cold operating table, covered in blood, you were having s*x with her on this very bed. Why didn't you think it was inappropriate early in the morning then? Why didn't you think about decency then? Why didn't you feel disgusted then?' I asked silently.
Suddenly, Dylan's phone rang.
The caller's name was mine.
Dylan's pupils shrank sharply. The moment he answered the call, all his rage came crashing down like a tidal wave.
"Jane, where the hell have you been? You think you're so clever staying out all night, don't you! Do you have any idea how long I've been looking for you? Get back here right now! Let me tell you something, I've already prepared the divorce agreement. Don't you dare think…"
His roaring voice cut off abruptly.
At the other end of the line, there was no tearful voice or apology from me.
There was only a low, tired, professionally solemn male voice.
"Excuse me, are you a family member of Ms. Lawson? This phone was left by the patient before her surgery. She told us when she was admitted that she had no family, so we've held onto it until now. We are formally notifying you that the surgery failed. Neither the mother nor the child could be saved. She has already been sent to the crematorium. Could you please come over as soon as possible to complete the procedures? Please accept my condolences."
The entire world seemed to go completely silent at this moment.
Dylan opened his mouth, but could not make a single sound.
Just yesterday, he had been cursing me for playing the victim.
Just last night, he had been wrapped in another woman's arms.
Just this morning, he had still blamed me for not answering the phone, throwing a tantrum, and staying out all night.
Just moments ago, he had still been planning to use the divorce agreement to buy me off with two hundred million, to get rid of my child.
But now, someone was telling him, "Jane is dead."
And his child, too, was dead.
I floated right in front of him, watching quietly as his face drained of all color in an instant.
Dylan, this time, did you hear that clearly?
- Writer
