Chapter 2

2

Rose stood quietly behind me, and the moment Preston looked at her, he froze in awe.

Meanwhile, I was completely captivated by Preston.

My mother saw us staring and mistakenly assumed that Preston and I had fallen for each other at first sight.

A moment later, Rose slapped away a box of imported chocolates that Preston tried to offer her.

Furious on his behalf, I threw my porcelain teacup at her feet, shattering it into pieces.

My father dragged Rose into the study to discipline her, though he kept the lights bright and comfortable.

Preston looked at me with anxious, pleading eyes. "I will not give her treats anymore, Jasmine. Please let her out. She did not mean to do it."

I was baffled. I was angry because she rejected his gift, not because he gave it to her.

Just like in that memory, Preston was looking at me right now with that same cautious, guarded pleading. "Jasmine, she did not mean it."

I fell silent, watching the two men in front of me hold their breath in terrified defense of Rose.

A sudden wave of bone-deep exhaustion washed over me.

Rose shoved them aside, grabbed my wrist, and forced my hand against her throat.

"Choke me!" Rose hissed, glaring at me with raw hatred. "Kill me right now! You think you have won everything, Jasmine, but you are pathetic. You have nothing!"

Her words felt like ice in my veins, and I could barely breathe.

I shoved her away with all my strength.

Rose spun around, and the edge of the heavy banquet table struck her lower stomach.

A dark red stain quickly seeped through her white dress, dripping onto the floor.

Preston and my father turned pale and lunged forward to catch her.

I fell to my knees in sheer terror, reaching out toward Preston. "Preston..."

He scooped Rose into his arms, looking down at me with cold, unforgiving eyes. "Do you even have a shred of conscience left, Jasmine?"

"Preston! Put her down!" his father barked from across the room.

Preston hesitated for half a second before sprinting toward the exit with Rose in his arms.

My father turned to look at me, his eyes filled with endless disappointment.

My chest heaved as panic overtook me, and I grabbed a bowl and threw it against the wall near him.

"Why are you looking at me like that?!" I screamed, losing all control. "Did you ever care about me for a single second?!"

Without a word, my father turned and walked away.

I ripped my bridal veil from my hair and screamed at the frozen guests, "Get out! Every single one of you, get the hell out!"

Stumbling into the bridal suite, I dialed our family butler, Uncle Leo, before collapsing into complete darkness.

No one in the world knew that I had severe hemophobia.

No one knew that when my mother died in that horrific car accident, I sat in the wreckage beside her, watching her bleed out while completely helpless.

When I opened my eyes again, I was lying in my own bed at home.

Uncle Leo stood beside me, his eyes full of concern as he handed me a glass of warm water.

I stared at the ceiling and asked weakly, "How is she?"

"The doctors stabilized her," Uncle Leo said quietly, pausing for a moment. "But the pregnancy could not be saved."

I remained silent, staring blankly ahead.

Uncle Leo hesitated, then added softly, "Miss Jasmine, the doctor examined you while you were unconscious. You are four weeks pregnant."

My eyes widened in disbelief, and my hand instinctively moved to touch my flat stomach.

I turned to look at Uncle Leo as tears spilled over my cheeks.

Uncle Leo took off his glasses and wiped away his own tears, turning his face away.

An hour later, I arrived at the private hospital wing.

Standing outside the VIP room, I froze at the sight before me.

Preston was still wearing his tuxedo, the crisp white dress shirt stained with dark patches of dried blood.

He was gripping Rose's hand tightly, his eyes bloodshot as he watched her sleep.

His face held an agonizing tenderness and an unspoken, desperate love.

Preston had never held my hand with such devotion, let alone looked at me like that.

Even when we shared a bed, he always kept his eyes tightly shut.

The nurses whispered that he had fallen to his knees in the hallway last night, begging the surgeons to save Rose.

Back when his parents realized I had an interest in him, they sent him to our penthouse almost every afternoon.

Rose would always sit in the corner wearing a white dress, reading a novel with complete indifference.

"What are you staring at?" I had asked him back then.

The sixteen-year-old Preston had quickly looked away, masking his emotions. "Nothing."

Standing outside that hospital room, I realized how utterly pathetic I truly was.