Chapter 2 The Child Did Not Survive

Bethany's face drained of color. Instinctively shielding her stomach, she stumbled backward.

The thugs closed in fast.

Their leader, a bleach-blond man with a cigarette dangling from his lips, rhythmically tapped a baseball bat against his palm. "Well, you're not bad-looking. Too bad someone wants your baby dead. If you want to blame anyone, blame yourself for pissing off the wrong person."

Bethany fought to keep her voice steady. "You just want money, right? Let me go, and I'll pay you double!"

The leader hesitated for a moment.

They were hired muscle; naturally, they went where the money was. But every line of work had its rules.

He pulled out his phone and initiated a video call.

After hearing him out, the woman on the other end sneered. "Double? She's just a housewife. Where would she get that kind of cash? I've already given you the deposit. If you're that worried, I can transfer the balance right now."

A second later, a payment notification chimed on the leader's phone.

His face instantly lit up, and he tapped to accept the transfer. "Alright then. Consider it done!"

The next second, a vicious slap snapped Bethany's head to the side. "You bitch!" the leader spat. "You almost played me!"

Ignoring the stinging pain in her cheek, Bethany stared fixedly at the phone in the man's hand.

That voice was entirely too familiar.

It was Lana.

Why?

Why would Lana want to harm her baby?

"What are you idiots standing around for?" the leader barked. "Beat her!"

At his command, a rain of clubs and bats came crashing down on Bethany.

A massive clap of thunder drowned out her agonized screams for help.

A warm, heavy stream flowed down her inner thighs.

Crimson blood instantly washed into the pooling rainwater.

Bethany lay crumpled on the ground, barely clinging to life.

The leader stared down at her with cold indifference. He lowered his bat and glanced at his men. "That's enough. Any more and she'll die!"

The thugs knew when to call it. They quickly piled into their van and vanished into the pitch-black night.

Agony radiated through every inch of her body. Forcing herself to move, Bethany crawled agonizingly slowly and grabbed her phone, its screen now shattered on the wet pavement.

She couldn't die. She still had her baby.

Blood from a gash on her forehead seeped into her eyes, dyeing the world red, but her gaze held nothing but bottomless hatred.

Using her last ounce of strength, she tried to dial 911. However, her violently trembling fingers slipped, accidentally opening a five-person group chat named "The Fab Five."

Her eyelids were incredibly heavy. Operating on pure instinct, she struggled to type out two words.

"Help me."

The second the message sent, her consciousness completely faded, and the darkness took her.

Her phone vibrated relentlessly as the previously quiet group chat instantly exploded.

Nobody Actor asked, "What's going on? Tough Coder, where are you right now?"

CrapGameDev said, "I tried calling Tough Coder, but no one's answering."

Legal Beagle chimed in, "I've already called the cops. They can trace the location."

Busy Bee offered, "I just pulled her IP address. I'm on my way there."

Nobody Actor replied, "I'm out of town, but I'll cover whatever it costs. Nothing bad can happen to Tough Coder!"

...

Out in the pitch-black night, the torrential downpour showed no signs of stopping.

A black Maybach sat idling by the curb with several cars in its wake, its headlights piercing the heavy curtain of rain to illuminate the flooded street.

Collin Foster, the executive assistant, looked toward the back seat and spoke with deep respect. "Mr. Clarke, the final traced location is right in this area."

Half of the man in the back seat was swallowed by the shadows, his very presence exuding a freezing, oppressive aura.

His thin lips parted slightly, his voice cold and low. "Search!"

Several bodyguards in black immediately scattered into the storm.

Before long, an urgent shout cut through the rain. "Found someone! It's a pregnant woman, and she's barely holding on."

Wyatt Clarke shoved his car door open and sprinted forward, completely ignoring Collin, who scrambled after him with an umbrella.

He found a woman soaked in blood, collapsed in a puddle. Her breathing was dangerously shallow; she was already at death's door.

Crouching beside her, he picked up the phone from the wet ground.

The shattered screen was still lit. It was locked onto "The Fab Five" group chat.

Scrolling up, he saw logs of the members casually discussing code and fixing game bugs.

To his absolute shock, the dying pregnant woman in front of him was actually the group's resident tech genius, Tough Coder.

Wyatt's eyes turned instantly glacial. He scooped Bethany up and strode quickly back to the Maybach. "Get her to the hospital immediately. Mobilize their top medical team and do whatever it takes to save her. I want every piece of information on her within half an hour."

Collin hurried after him, making rapid-fire phone calls to arrange the emergency procedures.

The car tore away, slicing a slit through the darkness and soon reached the hospital.

"The patient is hemorrhaging heavily, and her life is failing. We must operate on her right now." The doctor threw the words over his shoulder as he spun around and rushed into the OR.

Wyatt stood outside the operating room, a chilling aura radiating from him.

He pulled out his phone and quickly updated everyone in the group chat on the situation.

Before long, hurried footsteps echoed down the hall. Collin jogged over, clutching a thick stack of documents. "Mr. Clarke, the background check you requested."

The file detailed a tragic spiral. Both of her parents had been literary heavyweights who co-founded Bethania Literary Press. Bethany herself had been a celebrated prodigy at Aulford University, destined for a bright, seamless future.

Then, a car crash three years ago took her father's life and left her mother severely injured, paralyzed in a vegetative state.

The successive blows had left Bethany with severe psychological trauma.

That was when Brandon stepped in. Previously supported financially by the Gordon family, he took the initiative to handle all of her family affairs when the family fell on hard times.

Shortly after the funeral, the two were engaged.

From then on, Bethany poured her heart and soul into the relationship. She exhausted all her resources and connections to pave Brandon's way, willingly acting as his nameless ghostwriter in the shadows. She had even handed him full control of her family's publishing house.

Little did she know, the husband she had sacrificed everything for was secretly having an affair with a female student.

As Wyatt finished reading, a complex glint flashed in his eyes.

Standing nearby, Collin added, "Her husband is currently accompanying his student, Lana Barrett. The thugs from tonight have been apprehended; our men found out they were hired by Lana."

Wyatt let out a dark sneer. "His wife is hemorrhaging at death's door, yet he is holding another woman in his arms. What a bastard!"

At noon the next day, Bethany slowly drifted awake.

The harsh, sterile scent of disinfectant assaulted her senses, and the sight of the stark white ceiling instantly made her realize she was in a hospital.

"You're awake?"

A cool, clear voice sounded right by her ear.

Only then did she notice the man sitting by her bed.

He was dressed in a crisp white tracksuit, his hair styled in a textured cut with slightly parted bangs. His features were striking, but it was his eyes that stood out—they held a deep, grounded steadiness that seemed far beyond his years.

Before she had time to ask who he was, he spoke again. "I'm sorry. The child did not survive."

Bethany's hand shot instinctively to her abdomen. Her palm met only flatness. The baby was really gone.

In a heartbeat, every ounce of color drained from her face, and hot tears spilled down her cheeks.

Her baby...

"Don't cry; it's bad for your eyes. According to the doctor, you need to rest and avoid major emotional fluctuations," Wyatt said gently.

Bethany drew in a shaky breath, suppressing the suffocating wave of grief, and asked in a raw, hoarse voice, "Who are you?"

"I'm the one who brought you to the hospital."

"Thank you for saving me. I won't forget this kindness."

Wyatt's lips curved into a faint, unreadable smile. "Why so formal with me? Am I a stranger to you?"

"What?" Bethany stared at him, her eyes clouded with utter confusion. She had absolutely no memory of this man's face. "Do we know each other?"