The mont she learned the truth, Janet found it almost impossible to accept.
Ten years ago, it was Anila who had caused her injury. It was Harold who had sent her to the hospital. And everything that followed—her care, her release, her so-called "recovery"—had all been manipulated by Anila.
Janet had been gravely wounded. Yet even then, Anila had refused to treat her properly. Had she received the surgery back then, the bleeding in her brain could have been stopped. Her future could have been spared.
But no.
Now, a decade later, the untreated trauma had returned like a curse. A growing mass of blood was pressing against her brain. The only solution: ergency craniotomy. But it ca with a cost—she would have to terminate the baby.
She couldn’t. She simply couldn’t.
Even if the surgery offered her a small chance to live... she couldn’t sacrifice her child for it.
So she ran.
Even if it ant going blind.
Even if it ant wasting away in pain, day after day.
She would carry this child to term. That was her decision.
"You can’t do this, Janet! I raised you for ten years!" Anila stepped forward, voice desperate, eyes flickering with sothing between guilt and madness.
Janet took a step back, easily evading her touch.
"I will never forgive you," she said, her voice like ice shattering on tile. "Never."
Her pupils shrank, sharp with hatred and grief. With the last bit of vision she still possessed, she turned away from the woman who had destroyed her life and fled the bathroom.
She had to rember: this—the pain, the blindness, the fear—was all Anila’s doing.
Out in the corridor, Janet didn’t stop running until she reached the main hall, where the presence of others gave her a small sense of safety. Her knees finally gave out beneath her, and she slid down the wall, breath trembling.
Tears ran freely down her cheeks.
She hated this.
Hated that she would never get to walk beside Charles for the rest of her life.
Hated that she’d never told him she loved him.
Not because she didn’t.
But because she thought there would be ti.
Now, there wouldn’t be.
"Why did it take you so long?" a deep voice pulled her back.
She looked up, only to fall into a familiar embrace.
Charles.
The mont she inhaled his familiar scent, her eyes blurred again—not with tears, but because she could no longer see clearly.
"Charles," she whispered, hands trembling as they wrapped around his neck, "I can’t walk anymore... hold , please?"
He didn’t hesitate. Without a word, he swept her into his arms. The guests watched in silence, stunned and envious, as the prince carried his princess away.
That night, Janet never let go of his hand—not from the mont they got out of the car, nor when they returned to their room. Her eyes remained closed the entire ti.
To Charles, it looked like she’d fallen asleep.
But to Janet... eyes open or shut, it no longer mattered.
The world had already gone dark.
The next morning, she opened her eyes—and to her surprise, she could still see. Barely.
She counted the minutes silently. The blind spells were lasting longer each day, coming more frequently. She was running out of ti. If she kept this secret much longer, Charles would figure it out.
She had to act fast.
Charles stirred awake just as he heard the soft splash of water from the bathroom. A faint, almost muffled moan followed.
He was about to rise when Janet stepped out. The mont he saw her face, sothing in him twisted.
She looked pale. Translucent, almost. The kind of fragile beauty that made his heart ache.
"Why are you up so early?" he asked quietly. His instincts were screaming. Sothing wasn’t right.
"I’m coming to the office with you today," Janet said, forcing a playful smile. "I’m fine now."
Charles narrowed his eyes.
She was using that soft, teasing tone—the one she knew he couldn’t resist. The one that usually worked.
But not today.
"Before we go to the office, we’re stopping by the hospital," he said, his voice firm.
Janet’s smile stiffened.
He knew. He was beginning to suspect.
"No—why? I’m not sick..."
The mont the word "hospital" left his mouth, the pain in her head returned like a hamr.
He was getting too close.
She had worked so hard to protect this secret.
She couldn’t let him find out now. Not yet.
"You’re going, whether you’re sick or not," Charles said coldly. "At least let have peace of mind."
He didn’t give her any room to object. Tossing back the covers, he stood and buttoned his shirt with chanical precision. Janet sat frozen on the edge of the bed, her expression blank—too blank—and that only deepened Charles’ unease.
If she was hiding sothing from him, sothing serious...
He’d make sure she paid for it.
"Charles, can’t we go to the company first?" Janet whispered once he ushered her into the car. Her voice was barely steady. "You’re so busy... Let’s go to the hospital after work, okay?"
"No," Charles replied without looking at her. His voice was hard as stone. "Nothing in the world is more important than this. We’re going to the hospital—now."
Janet’s heart started to race. Panic spread through her limbs like wildfire. She stared at the rigid set of his jaw, the way his knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. How could she change his mind? How could she stop him from discovering the truth?
She had no ti left.
When they arrived at the private hospital, Janet instantly recognized it. Philip had undergone surgery here. She didn’t need to guess—this was Charles’ territory. From the director to the nurses, every pair of eyes here answered to him.
She tried to slip away, but his grip on her wrist was unrelenting.
"Run a full-body scan," Charles said sharply as he handed her over to the hospital director. "I want a full diagnostic report. I want to know everything—every cell in her body."
Janet’s blood ran cold. She felt her world tilt, her breath catch.
He was serious.
"No—Charles, don’t," she cried, clutching his arm tightly. Desperation welled in her eyes. "I’m not sick... I’m just... I’m pregnant!"
She had to tell him sothing. If she could only say one thing before everything fell apart, let it be this.
Charles froze.
"You... what did you say?" he asked, stunned.
The director, tactful and understanding, gave a small nod and gestured for the doctors to leave them alone. The door clicked shut behind them.
Charles turned back to her, his hands shaking as they rested on her shoulders.
"Damn it, Janet. Say it again. Explain this to ."
"I’m pregnant," she whispered, her gaze falling to the floor. "Almost three months."
His fingers trembled. His breath caught in his throat.
But just as the flicker of awe began to form in his eyes, she continued—and it shattered everything.
"But I don’t want the baby."
Silence.
"I told you, I don’t love you," she said, forcing the words out like knives. "And I will not have your child. That’s why I want a divorce. I’m getting rid of it."
Her voice was calm. Too calm.
Her tone was so sincere, it pierced deeper than a lie ever could.
Charles staggered back half a step. It felt like sothing had reached into his chest and ripped out his heart, crushed it, and handed it back to him.
The woman in front of him—his Janet—was saying she didn’t want their child.
Not because she couldn’t.
But because she wouldn’t.
Because she didn’t love him.
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