My Boyfriend's Pregnant Mistress

Chapter 4 Deteriorated

A searing, scorching pain erupted from Celeste's injured hand, so sharp and unrelenting that it stole her breath entirely, leaving her gasping for air.

She lowered her head shakily, her vision blurring as she spotted bright, fresh blood seeping through the white gauze, staining the fabric a deep, alarming crimson.

Black and white spots danced before her eyes, her strength draining away in an instant. Her knees buckled beneath her, and she collapsed heavily to the cold floor, her uninjured hand stretching out towards Felix in a desperate, futile plea for help.

"Felix, please... take me to the hospital," she whispered, her voice weak and trembling, every word laced with agonizing pain.

Miranda's face twisted with unbridled disdain. "A cut on the hand and you're rushing to the emergency room? You're being utterly dramatic."

She turned to the hovering house staff. "Help her up to the guest bedroom, just rub some antiseptic on it and bandage it again. That's more than enough."

The servants hesitated before gently unwrapping the soiled gauze, and every single one of them froze in shock at the sight beneath.

The wound was red, swollen, and badly infected, the flesh raw and mangled, barely recognizable as a simple cut anymore.

Panic rippled through the room, and the family physician was summoned.

By the time the doctor arrived and rushed to examine her, Celeste had already slipped into unconsciousness, overcome by the unbearable pain.

A low rumble of thunder rolled outside the window in her hazy, half-conscious state, the distant sound mixing with the deep, muffled voices of the men inside the room, drifting into her ears.

"Ms. Winter's wound has deteriorated severely—there's a foreign substance mixed into the ointment that was applied, which caused a severe infection and tissue irritation," the doctor said firmly, his tone grave with concern.

A thin, trembling whimper cut through the explanation, soft and full of fake remorse—Beatrice's quiet, tearful cries, carefully crafted to sound innocent and guilty. "It's all my fault, I'm so sorry. I touched a few of my cosmetics earlier, I must not have washed my hands well enough before applying her ointment... I didn't mean to hurt her, I swear."

The doctor's warning about her career flashed through Celeste's foggy mind, and a surge of white-hot rage jolted her awake, giving her a burst of strength she didn't know she had. She launched herself upright from the bed and lunged straight for Beatrice, her eyes wild with betrayal and fury.

Felix moved faster than she could react, stepping in abruptly and shoving Celeste backward hard, sending her stumbling away from Beatrice.

"Felix! She ruined my hand, she infected it on purpose—and you're still protecting her?" Celeste screamed, her voice raw and hoarse with despair, bordering on hysterical.

At the sound of her near-hysterical shriek, Felix immediately stepped in front of Beatrice. "Celeste, stop this unreasonable outburst. Beatrice accidentally cut you the other day; she never intended to harm you."

"And what about this time? She put something in my ointment to make it worse—is that an accident too?" Celeste shot back, her chest heaving with rage and heartbreak, pointing to her mangled hand.

Beatrice guiltily averted her gaze, unable to meet Celeste's eyes, but Felix remained stubborn, refusing to believe the truth staring him in the face.

"You must have misheard the doctor. He said it's your own body's poor healing ability that's causing the infection; this has nothing to do with Beatrice."

Celeste stared at him in utter disbelief, her heart shattering into a million pieces—the man she'd loved more than anything in the world was blatantly twisting the truth to defend another woman.

Felix seemed to loathe the pain and betrayal in her gaze, his throat bobbing awkwardly as he looked away, unable to meet her eyes. "You know your own body isn't meant for conceiving or healing well—it's the reason we never had children after all these years."

Those words crushed Celeste completely. She sank back onto the floor, her body going limp, and hot tears streamed down her cheeks unbidden, silent and unstoppable.

The worst wound of all wasn't the infected one on her hand—it was the one Felix had carved into her heart with his own words.

She remembered every promise he'd made once, clear as day: he said he didn't need anything else, not even children, that living a childfree life with her was more than enough, as long as she stayed by his side.

Time, she realized then, was the only thing that could expose the truth of a promise—and his had been nothing but empty words.

A thick, suffocating vine of heartache coiled tightly around her heart, squeezing the breath out of her, and a crushing, bone-deep exhaustion washed over her, leaving her empty and numb.

The doctor left shortly after treating her wound, and Felix didn't spare her a single glance before leading Beatrice upstairs to rest, leaving Celeste alone on the cold floor.

With empty, lifeless eyes, she dragged herself to the closet and pulled out a suitcase, mechanically tossing a few pieces of loungewear and undergarments inside.

But once the case was packed, she froze—she had nowhere to go.

Years ago, Felix had fought with his family and been cut off financially, left with nothing but a single small hotel to his name.

Celeste had owned a spacious penthouse and a cozy condo left to her by her late parents, and she'd sold both properties without a second thought, investing every penny to help Felix build that hotel into a thriving luxury resort.

Now, she had no home to return to, no safety net, no escape route left.

The mansion fell deathly quiet around her, and Miranda's cruel words from earlier echoed in her head, making her heart plummet with sudden terror.

She scrambled to her feet and raced up the staircase. "Felix! Where's my dog?" she shouted, her voice cracking with panic as she burst into the second-floor master bedroom.

Felix was sitting on the edge of the bed, carefully helping Beatrice sip warm water.

Beatrice lifted her head, her voice soft and timid, as if she was afraid to deliver the news. "Your dog was taken away by Felix's mother just now."

Celeste lunged forward and grabbed Felix's arm tightly, her fingers digging into his skin, her eyes wide with desperation. "How could you let her take him? He's mine, you can't do this!"

Beatrice flinched slightly, speaking in a careful, hesitant tone that made Celeste's blood run cold, "She said... she has a friend who enjoys eating dog meat..."

The words hung in the air, heavy and monstrous. Celeste's lips trembled violently, her breath catching in her throat, and she couldn't force out a single sound.

In a split second of unbridled rage and heartbreak, she raised her hand and slapped Beatrice hard across the face.

Beatrice let out a piercing, terrified scream, scrambling backward to hide behind Felix, clinging to his shirt as if her life depended on it.

Felix grabbed the distraught, collapsing Celeste roughly, pulling her upright.

The man who'd been silent until then suddenly snapped, his hand shooting up and slamming across Celeste's cheek with a sharp, stinging c***k.

"It's just a dog. Are you ever going to stop with this nonsense?" Felix roared, his voice thick with fury, the sound mixing with the heavy rain pounding against the windows, each syllable a whip striking her broken heart.

He hated it when Celeste dragged up the old memories and the life they'd built together, as if her nostalgia made him look ungrateful.