I still remember that day.

I felt dizzy while working on the accounts in my office. My personal assistant suggested I see a doctor.

The ultrasound showed I was two months pregnant.

The baby already had a tiny, flickering heartbeat, like a precious gem.

That day, I was ecstatic.

When I got back from the clinic, I had the chef prepare a lavish dinner, ready to share the wonderful news with him.

He came back from a family meeting looking grave.

Before I could even speak, he placed Isabella’s latest medical report in front of me.

“Catherine, Isabella has relapsed. It’s critical. She needs a bone marrow transplant immediately. You’re coming with me to the clinic tomorrow.”

He said it so matter-of-factly.

In our year of marriage, he had never called me “darling.”

On the rare occasions he used my name, it was always my full name. But he called her “Isabella.”

Before, I had always done what he said.

When I donated my marrow to Isabella a year ago, he lied and told me she was a “crucially important ally to the family.”

I agreed.

This time, I wanted to fight for my child.

I refused him firmly. “I won’t do it again.”

“I’m pregnant! I’m going to have this baby. He’s the heir to the Moretti family.”

Leo fell silent.

He looked down, and I could have sworn I saw his eyes turn red.

After a long moment, he looked up, his voice like ice. “The family can have other heirs. But the Moretti family owes Isabella her life, and she only has one.”

Tears streamed down my face.

In his eyes, my child, the future heir to his family, was worth less than a symbol of honor?

Her life was a life, but my child’s wasn’t?

My maternal instincts made me stand my ground.

I slammed the door and went to our bedroom, pulling the covers over my head.

I thought he would back down for the sake of the child, that he would look for another donor.

I never imagined he would put drugs in my water.

I woke up thirsty in the middle of the night and drank from the glass on my bedside table. The world started spinning.

When I came to, I was lying in a hospital bed at the clinic.

An IV was stuck in my hand.

Sharp pains shot through my abdomen and lower back.

Oh, God, no!

I instinctively reached for my belly, ignoring the searing pain in my back.

A terrible feeling seized me.

My baby! Mommy couldn’t protect you!

He walked in, dressed in black, looking like an envoy from hell.

My marrow had been extracted. The baby was gone.

In that moment, a desperate wail tore from my throat, and my heart shattered into a million pieces.