Ch. After eight 9 After eight 9

Chapter 9 

Dundun barked loudly beside her, as if expressing its discontent with her disdain for its poop. The little dog circled her in agitation, yapping with displeasure, its tail raised in irritation. Samantha, now both nauseated and in shock, crawled on the grass in panic, reaching out blindly -desperately searching for Grant for help. 

Her hand brushed against the hem of his trousers. 

But the moment her fingers touched him, Grant stepped back abruptly, shaking her off with a look of disgust, as though he couldn’t stand even a second of her presence. Without sparing her another glance, he turned on his heel and walked directly toward me, his expression full of guilt 

and urgency. 

He stopped in front of me and, as if trying to reclaim something already lost, he said earnestly, “Lena, I know now. I know you never liked Samantha, and I promise-I won’t see her again. You’re still angry, but it’s okay. Come home with me. Let’s start over.” 

He reached out, pretending to gently pull me along as if his repentance made everything disappear. 

But before his hand could touch me, Quentin stepped forward and blocked him with a cold, unwavering gaze. 

“Step aside,” Quentin said firmly. 

The tension crackled between them. A single spark would’ve been enough to start a fight. 

But I raised my voice first. “Grant, do you remember that night two months ago-when you threw me out of the car?” 

His face froze mid-expression. 

‘I was already two months pregnant that night.” 

Silence fell. He looked at me as if he had just been struck, eyes wide, breath caught in his throat. His lips trembled as he tried to process my words. 

He had thought I was on my period that night. He had looked at me with disgust when he thought I had stained his precious car seat. 

He never imagined the truth-that it was our child, crying for help. 

didn’t wait for his response. Instead, I looked him straight in the eye and said, slowly and clearly, “It was pouring rain. I couldn’t find a taxi. Blood was soaking through my clothes, and it wouldn’t stop.” 

‘The doctor said if I’d arrived even a little earlier… the baby might have survived.” 

His knees buckled slightly, and he collapsed to the ground, numb. His gaze locked in my abdomen, his eyes vacant, lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. His hands trembled. 

“How… how could this be…” 

I looked down at him, my voice was cold and sharp like a blade. 

“Grant, it was you who killed our child with your own hands.” 

“You want forgiveness?” I sneered. “You’re not worthy of it.” 

That day was the last time I saw Grant in person. 

I moved on. 

Months passed, and one day, I received an ornate envelope-a wedding invitation from none other than Grant. 

The card was delicately embossed, clearly expensive, but the handwriting was stiff, almost resentful. 

“As you wished, I’m marrying Samantha. Will you attend our wedding?” 

I had long since buried everything that connected me to him emotionally. So I accepted the invitation. I was no longer angry-I was simply, curious. 

On the day of their wedding, I arrived calmly, dressed in elegance and indifference. 

I saw Samantha in her wedding gown. To my surprise, it wasn’t the dress I had ordered for myself-but a copy. A cheap imitation. 

Despite the thick makeup on her face, she couldn’t hide the pallor beneath. Her eyes were sunken, her smile forced. 

When she saw me, she forced a smirk and sneered, “Grant and I have been childhood sweethearts. We’re finally together, just like fate intended.” 

“Not like someone who clung to him for eight years and still walked away with nothing.” 

I folded my arms and looked her up and down with cool amusement. “Oh? If your love is so deep, why did the two of you spend so many years apart in the first place?” 

‘Funny, I came across some articles abroad recently. Rumors, mostly-but some pretty entertaining ones. There’s an American woman in those reports who really enjoys-” 

‘Shut up!” Samantha shrieked, her face twisting in fury. 

Her outburst drew the attention of others in the dressing room, who began whispering and glancing between us. 

Realizing she’d lost control, Samantha forced a smile and quickly changed the subject. “It’s a big day for me,” she said with exaggerated joy. “And the baby in my belly is happy too.” 

She rubbed her belly gently and cast a triumphant glance at me, as if expecting me to break 

down. 

Later, at the ceremony, Grant entered the venue with Samantha on his arm. The moment he spotted me in the audience, a flicker of life returned to his otherwise lifeless face. His eyes locked onto mine, pleading. But I remained composed, unreadable. 

Samantha, sensing the shift, gripped his hand tightly, her smile stiffening. 

She dragged him up to the stage as the wedding proceeded. 

Just as they were about to exchange rings, the lights dimmed and a video began to play on the massive screen behind them. 

In the video, Samantha was clinging to another man, her arms wrapped around his neck. 

“Baby,” she cooed, “Grant is so boring. Always working. You’re the only one who really knows 

how to treat me.” 

The man laughed and leaned closer, clearly eager to take things further. 

When his hand reached toward her, she swatted him away and gently patted her stomach. Smiling, she whispered, “Careful. We can’t be too rough. I have to keep the baby healthy.”