Chapter 2

02

When Lucian kicked through the glass door and rushed in, I was using lipstick to write his name on a slab of frozen pork.

The crimson words meandered across the pale meat like a bleeding snake.

"Sutton!" He grabbed my collar and threw me onto the floor. Ice shards dug into my palms. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Beads of blood dripped onto the icy floor, instantly freezing into tiny red garnets.

I propped myself up on my frozen knees. The fetal movement suddenly became violent, as if a small hand was pounding against my internal organs.

Cold sweat trickled down my forehead, turning into ice droplets at the tip of my chin.

"Lucian." I pulled my collar open to reveal the scar on my collarbone. The crescent-shaped mark looked pale and sickly in the cold.

"Three years ago, you wanted that Southeast Asian contract for the Lockwood Group. You made me go drink with the CEO. I ended up in the ER with an allergic reaction. You only came to see me after the contract was signed, remember?"

His pupils constricted.

That scar was from the tube used for induced vomiting. It still itched on rainy days.

Back then, he held my hand and said, "Sutton, once this project is a success, I'll make it up to you."

"And this."

I lifted my nightgown. The stretch marks on my lower abdomen looked like an ugly centipede.

"To conceive this child, I took 178 hormone shots. When my ovarian cyst ruptured, you were with Vivienne taking engagement photos, weren't you?"

A burst of laughter erupted outside the freezer.

Vivienne strutted in on four-inch heels. Her fake lashes were covered in glitter, and the Patek Philippe watch on her wrist was blinding.

That was the anniversary gift Lucian gave me last year. He said a limited edition piece best suited the First Lady of the Lockwood Group.

"Sutton, Lucian was just in a tough spot." She giggled, covering her mouth as her fingernail brushed against the stretch marks on my belly.

"That day, a chandelier almost fell on me. He couldn't just let me die, could he? Besides, your body is just failing you. All those shots and you still might lose it. Maybe it's just fate…"

Before she could finish, I swung my hand and slapped her across the face.

The crisp sound echoed in the cold room. The glitter on her face flaked off like fallen stars.

"Strip her," Lucian suddenly spoke, his voice as cold as the freezer's compressor. "Teach her some manners."

As two bodyguards grabbed my arms, the fetal movement suddenly stopped.

I felt a warm, wet liquid trickling down my thigh, slithering through the folds of my nightgown like a cold snake.

The smell of blood mixed with the freezing air. I stared at the sapphire cufflink on Lucian's chest.

That was my father's favorite piece of jewelry. Years ago, he pinned it on Lucian's shirt himself. He said, "Treat my daughter well, and this cufflink will be your token."

"Lucian." My voice was shaking, but it was exceptionally clear. "Do you still remember how Silas Vance taught you to be a man?"

His movements came to a sudden halt.

My father's name acted like a curse, pinning him to the spot.

I watched his Adam's apple bob. I suddenly remembered ten years ago in the university library. He wore a washed-out shirt and held a book written by my father.

"Mr. Vance is my idol," he had told me. "I want to be exactly like him one day."