Iris was pregnant, and the father of her child was my legal husband, Julian Thorne. On our seventh wedding anniversary, Serena Hastings leaned into Julian’s embrace, triumphantly announcing the news to all our guests. I, Iris Thorne, the rightful Mrs. Thorne, became a colossal joke. Julian warned me to keep my schemes in check and to wholeheartedly serve Serena during her pregnancy. He showed no regard for my dignity. I stared at the tall man before me, a wave of desolation washing over my heart. It has to end, I thought. When I decided to leave, Julian casually made a bet with his friends: “If Iris isn’t back, begging to come home within 24 hours, how about that prime development property downtown? It’s yours.” “24 hours? No way, eight is plenty! Everyone knows Iris can’t live without Mr. Thorne,” someone scoffed. Laughter erupted. Outside, a Jaguar sat parked in the dark night. The man inside wore sunglasses, his expression unreadable. This time, I was truly leaving. My suitcase had been packed for ages, holding only a few changes of clothes. After marrying Julian, all the jewelry gifted by his family, those precious pieces, had been meticulously kept in the master bedroom’s jewelry box. I didn’t take a single one. As I dragged my suitcase, about to step out of the villa door, I heard Serena’s sickly sweet voice. “Iris, just walking out like that wouldn’t be very nice, would it?” I paused, wondering what game Serena was playing. “The Thornes are a powerful family, a massive empire. Who knows what precious valuables you’ve stuffed into that suitcase.” I calmly replied, “I haven’t taken anything from the Thorne family. This is just some of my clothes.” Serena clacked towards me in her high heels, stopped right in front of me, and looked down her nose, dramatically saying, “Clothes? Are clothes even yours? You’re a freeloader with no job, living off him!” Her cruel words flooded my ears. I bit down hard on my lip, quickly tasting the metallic tang of blood. Serena was right. I didn’t have a job. Seven years ago, when Julian and I got married, I had just graduated from college. But Julian had said he didn’t like high-powered career women who were never home. He preferred a devoted wife, someone who’d make a warm home for him. So, I decisively gave up the offer from an internationally renowned design firm, trapping myself within the four walls of the kitchen. “Fine.” I pushed my suitcase forward. Serena was still relentless. “What about what you’re wearing?” I froze. What I was wearing? “Julian, make her leave the clothes! She can’t take anything that isn’t hers.” Serena pulled Julian in front of me, waiting for him to speak and back her up. “Iris, strip.” Numbly, I took off my jacket and tossed it to the ground. Finally, I gave one last, heavy look at the husband I’d been married to for seven years, then turned and walked away without a backward glance. A familiar license plate came into view. I quickened my pace, when suddenly a large hand, like a vice, clamped onto my wrist. It was Julian. “Iris, even like this, you’re still dead set on leaving?” My wrist throbbed from his grip. I ignored Julian’s words and instead asked him, “Julian, do you still remember our child?” Julian’s grip on my wrist loosened.
In the second year of our marriage, I unexpectedly found out I was pregnant. When I had my check-up at the hospital, the doctor said I was exactly three months along. Overjoyed by the news, I couldn’t wait to share it with Julian immediately. At the time, Julian was on a business trip abroad. I planned to keep the news a surprise and tell him when he returned home. The day Julian came back, it was pouring rain. I warned him to be careful and to come home right after his plane landed. I’d given Maria, the housemaid, the day off. I curled up alone on the couch, stroking my belly, imagining how delighted Julian would be. But Julian never came home. Because Serena was afraid of thunder, Julian stayed with her all night. Meanwhile, I slipped on a spilled glass of water and fell heavily to the ground. A warm gush between my legs sent me into a panic. Fighting the sharp pains in my stomach, I dragged myself to reach for my phone on the table. Dots of blood stained the floor. I called Julian’s phone repeatedly, but it just rang unanswered. I prayed that my baby inside would be strong, just a little stronger, strong enough to hold on until I could get to the hospital. I gritted my teeth and, with my last ounce of strength, dialed 911. I woke up in the hospital. Julian told me the baby was gone. I furiously gripped his collar, asking why he didn’t come home? Why didn’t he answer his phone? Serena rushed over, tears in her eyes, begging for my forgiveness. She said she was scared of thunder, so she’d messaged Julian, pleading with him to come stay with her. My child, this baby who had only been in my womb for three months, died that thundering, rainy night.
“Julian, what does any of this matter? Even if there are mountains of knives and seas of fire, I’m still leaving,” I said with absolute resolve. “Fine.” Julian’s eyes held a dark shadow. I hadn’t walked two steps before a sharp pain flared in my neck, and I lost consciousness. Julian had me locked away. Someone delivered my meals every day. I didn’t understand what Julian was playing at. Two weeks into my confinement, I was taken to the hospital. I was strapped to a gurney and brought into an operating room. A second before the anesthesia took effect, I heard the doctor sigh, “Uterine cancer, needs a hysterectomy. Poor thing.” My uterus was removed. Julian sat by my hospital bed, holding a bowl of soup Maria had made, ready to feed me. I turned my head away. “Iris, you just had surgery. Don’t play around with your health,” Julian’s chilling voice rang out. Surgery? If it weren’t for you and Serena, I wouldn’t have needed this surgery. Serena’s pregnancy wasn’t going well. She’d heard about some supposedly powerful fortuneteller from somewhere and dragged Julian to see him. The fortuneteller told them that my future child would bring her bad luck, and if I had any chance of getting pregnant, not only would Serena’s baby not survive, but it would also harm the mother. Then, they gave Julian the birth details of this “woman,” which matched mine exactly. So, they fabricated a “uterine cancer” diagnosis for me. “Iris, after you’re discharged, you’ll still be Mrs. Thorne. Serena’s child will call you Mommy,” Julian said, as if to himself. As if that could somehow erase the harm they had inflicted upon me. “Iris, I’ll compensate you.” As he said this, Julian’s phone rang. It was Serena calling him. “Julian, I hurt my hand! Hurry and come here!” her anxious voice came through the receiver. I grabbed Julian’s hand and said, “The only compensation I want is for you to refuse Serena.” Serena kept urging him over the phone. Julian pried my hand open. He said, word for word, “Don’t be ungrateful. Know your place. What do you have that can compare to Serena?” Then he turned and left without a backward glance. The empty hospital room was left with just me. Compared to Serena’s injured hand – a matter Julian treated as monumental – my uterus being removed seemed utterly trivial. I, Iris, was completely insignificant to Julian. Serena posted sweet photos of herself and Julian on Ins. The caption read: “I jokingly said my hand was hurt, and someone rushed right over to see me. I’m so happy!” I coldly ‘liked’ her post, then shared it with the comment, “Wishing you both happiness.” After a period of observation in the hospital, I was again confined to Julian’s villa. Why do I say confined? Because on the day I was discharged, Julian sent two burly bodyguards. Seeing the strong men, whose wrists were as thick as my calves, I had no choice but to push down my thoughts and temporarily return home.
Back at the villa, I was assigned to the guest room. This villa was Julian’s and my marital home. Every corner had been decorated by my own hands. The plush ornaments on the sofa, the exquisite stone sculptures on the display cabinet, the fresh flowers in the floor vase… But now, they were all gone. Alfred, the butler, told me it was at Miss Hastings’ request. Serena had moved into Julian’s and my marital bedroom. “Iris, you’re finally home! This is wonderful!” Serena came down from the second floor, eagerly rushing to my side. “Finally, I’m not the only one in this house. You can keep me company now!” I wasn’t used to feigning civility with Serena. I pulled my hand from her grasp and said nothing. Julian followed her down from the second floor. He was displeased with my cold attitude and was about to scold me when Serena gently stopped him. She sweetly said, “Iris, please don’t be mad at me. I really didn’t want to do this, but I’m so uncomfortable with my pregnancy that I have to trouble you to take care of me for a while.” I was confused. Take care of her? Me, take care of Serena? I thought Julian had just said it offhand, but I hadn’t expected him to actually mean turning me into her personal attendant. “Where’s the housemaid?” I demanded of Julian. “Serena doesn’t like outsiders,” Julian said, knowing he was in the wrong, but not wanting to lose face. After all, in front of me, Julian always had to be superior. “Serena’s pregnancy is hard on her. As Mrs. Thorne, it’s only right that you take care of her,” Julian added. Mrs. Thorne. It seemed that as long as I had those three words, as long as I had that title, it could somehow compensate for all the hurt Julian had inflicted on me. I had no heart to argue with them anymore. I just wanted to go back to my room and get some sleep. Watching my back as I walked towards the guest room, Julian’s heart inexplicably trembled. Iris had lost more weight. After all, she’d had surgery. He instructed Alfred to make some of my favorite dishes for dinner. Seeing Julian staring blankly at Iris’s retreating figure, a venomous glint flashed in Serena’s eyes. Without a housemaid, and with bodyguards supervising me 24/7, I was trapped in the villa, becoming Serena’s personal servant. During this time, I had kept in touch with Liam Carter. Liam had repeatedly tried to find ways to help me escape Julian. But given that I was under strict surveillance, Liam’s plan had to be put on hold for now. Liam, despite the time difference, consistently stayed up to chat with me. He was incredibly thoughtful, always sensing my low moods and finding ways to cheer me up. “Iris, what are you looking at?” Julian stood at the doorway, his voice low and heavy. I jumped, instinctively turning off my phone. I had been so engrossed in my chat with Liam that I hadn’t even noticed Julian opening the door. “You should knock before entering someone’s room,” I frowned. “This is my home. Why would I knock?” Julian said imperiously. Using his height advantage, he snatched my phone, trying to unlock it. “What’s the password?” Julian asked. He was so arrogant and self-centered. I didn’t have the energy to fight him for my phone. “My birthday.” Julian repeatedly entered the password, but the phone kept rejecting it, until the security system issued a warning. He sheepishly tossed the phone onto the bed. Seven years of marriage, and Julian knew nothing about my birthday. Yet, every year, I prepared for his birthday in advance, sending blessings and gifts right on time. “Don’t chat with irrelevant people.” Julian threw out this remark, then stormed out, slamming the door so hard it shook the house.
During my boring confinement in the villa, I used drawing to pass the time. Honestly, I’d always had a regret: not pursuing my passion for design further. So, during my seven years at home, whenever my hands itched, I’d sketch out design drafts. Liam sent me a set of photos. They were the winning designs from an emerging talent competition three years ago, and my work was clearly among them. A designer’s work is their heart and soul. I’d recognize a design that came from my hands even if it was reduced to ashes. Yet, the design that was clearly mine was credited to Serena Hastings. My mind instantly went blank, and a terrifying thought emerged. The information I asked Liam to check quickly arrived. It confirmed my suspicions. Serena had stolen my work to enter the competition. Three years ago, I had mysteriously lost a portfolio of my sketches. I searched high and low for half a month but found nothing and eventually gave up. And Serena was the new designer who had suddenly risen to prominence three years ago. Looking through her work from these past few years, almost all of it bore the shadow of my sketches; some were even direct copies. The thought of Serena using my hard work, wearing the crown of praise, and proudly flaunting her career success to me, made me tremble with rage. I found Serena and confronted her. Serena didn’t flinch. She placed a hand on her slightly bulging belly and said indifferently, “So what if I stole it? What if I didn’t? You were never going to use it anyway. Isn’t it a good deed to help someone else succeed?” I didn’t know how low this woman’s shamelessness could go. Serena kept shattering my perception of her. Watching me so enraged I could barely stand, Serena studied me with interest, then slowly delivered another blow: “And I didn’t steal this sketch, Julian gave it to me.” Julian gave it to Serena? The memory of Julian’s feigned concern when I was looking for my sketches made my stomach churn. Suddenly, Serena leaned close to my ear and whispered, “You should have gone to hell with your damn mother.” My mother was my raw nerve. Especially with Serena involved; if it weren’t for her back then, I wouldn’t have missed seeing my mother one last time. Burning with fury, I slapped Serena across the face. To my surprise, Serena stumbled and fell to the ground with my slap. I stared in shock at Serena, clutching her stomach on the floor, and then incredulously at my own hand. I could swear that slap was not hard enough to make Serena fall like that. Hearing the commotion, the bodyguards outside quickly rushed in to check. Julian was also alarmed and hurried upstairs. Julian pushed open the door and saw Serena, her cheek slightly swollen, lying pale on the floor, while I stood perfectly fine beside her. Without a word, he slapped me. It was a powerful slap. I guessed Julian put all his strength into it. My face snapped to the side, and my lower back hit the wooden sofa armrest hard. Sharp pain spread across my face and down my back. Julian hadn’t expected to lose control of his strength. Seeing the blood-tinged corner of my mouth, his eyes flickered. Serena noticed Julian’s hesitation and immediately began to whimper, crying out that Iris shouldn’t hit her, even if it was just for the baby’s sake. Julian stopped bothering with me, scooped Serena up, and rushed downstairs. Within moments, the room, which had just been full of people, was empty again, leaving only me. Looking at my high, swollen face in the mirror, I thought of the year my mother died. Counting today’s slap, Julian had hit me twice. The first time was that year. Back then, Serena was often unwell, running to the hospital every few days. Julian was frantic with worry. Serena told Julian she had a dream: if Iris went to a temple to pray for her, it would help her ward off a supposed curse for the year. She badgered Julian into sending me to that temple. The ritual required 49 days of continuous prayer. Normally, I might not have refused, but at the time, my mother was gravely ill—a situation where every visit counted. I pleaded with Julian to wait until my mother’s condition stabilized before sending me to pray, but he refused. Julian only said he would take care of my mother, completely disregarding a daughter’s wish to be by her dying parent’s side. Disheartened, I left for the temple. When the 49 days of prayer ended, I never got to see my mother one last time. At the funeral, Serena feigned an apology to me. My patience finally snapped. I grabbed the cup of hot water by my hand and violently threw it at her. The moment the water splashed on Serena, Julian’s hand was already raised high. He chastised me, saying I was mad with grief, treating Serena’s genuine kindness like trash. The memory overlapped with the present. I looked at the haggard woman in the mirror, my eyes filled with cold determination. The bodyguards guarding the villa were all called to the hospital to watch over a supposedly traumatized Serena. I left the house that held so much of my pain, without any resistance. As the plane soared through the clear blue sky, I quietly said goodbye to everything there. Goodbye. Never again. Julian had soothed Serena, and now he sat wearily on a bench in the hospital corridor. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw my face, red and swollen where I’d clutched it.
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