Condemned to life by love

For three years of marriage, Ethan Foster had hated me. All because of a maritime disaster three years ago. He was convinced my father had gotten his parents killed, and he made me atone through endless torment. Then his mistress, Mia Collins, pretended I had pushed her down the stairs. The incident caused me to miscarry and suffer a massive hemorrhage, yet Ethan ordered a hysterectomy, leaving me unable to have children ever again. Lying on the operating table, I begged him to save our baby. Instead, he extinguished my last flicker of hope himself. At last, I gave up on him and booked a staged-death service for a month later. Ethan thought I would be trapped in his hatred forever. What he didn’t know was that I had already decided to disappear for good. Claire Bennett POV I sat alone on the bed in my VIP hospital room, my vacant gaze drifting past the pale sheets to the dead sycamore outside the window. The late-autumn wind stripped away its last yellow leaf, like the piece of flesh and blood that had just been forcibly torn from my body, falling into the mud with no life left in it. The anesthesia in my lower abdomen was wearing off, and a ripping pain was slowly rising in its place. But worse than the physical agony was the hollow feeling of having a vital organ carved out of my body. “Ms. Bennett, the surgery is over.” A few hours earlier, the attending physician had stood beside my bed, his face full of pity. “You suffered a massive hemorrhage. Your condition was critical… We had to remove your uterus.” In that instant, my whole world came crashing down. Until then, I hadn’t even known I was two months pregnant. For three years, Ethan had been almost brutal in bed. Every time felt like another knife to my heart. I thought my life had long since become worse than death—until three days ago, when Mia arranged to meet me, strutting in on her high heels. The woman stroked her flat stomach, her smile laced with poison. “Claire Bennett, I’m pregnant with Ethan Foster’s baby. What good does clinging to the title of Mrs. Foster do you? Ethan says just looking at your face makes him sick.” I had only given her a cold glare and turned to leave. But Mia suddenly lunged at me like a madwoman, grabbing and pulling at me. When we reached the edge of the stairs, a malicious smile curled her lips. Then she abruptly threw herself backward and tumbled down the staircase like a ball. Blood seeped from beneath Mia’s skirt. And at that exact moment, Ethan opened the door. He rushed straight to Mia’s side, anxiously asking where she was hurt. He didn’t so much as glance at me, standing at the top of the stairs, trembling all over, my face just as pale. “If anything happens to her baby, you’ll pay with your life!” Those were the last words Ethan said when he turned to look at me. After that, his bodyguards forcibly escorted me to this private hospital. When the shock and violent tugging left me with a dragging pain in my lower abdomen, followed by a warm rush between my legs, I finally realized something was wrong. I clutched the doctor’s sleeve and begged them to save the life inside me. But Ethan gave a direct order. “Don’t save it. Since she enjoys killing so much, take out her uterus, too. Make sure she can never have a child.” I never even saw my baby. I hadn’t had a chance to feel its heartbeat before it became a pool of blood. Along with it, Ethan had ripped away my chance to be a mother. The door to the hospital room opened, interrupting my memories. Ethan stood tall in a black designer suit. Mia was tucked in his arms, a piece of gauze taped to her forehead. “Claire Bennett, does it still hurt?” Mia nestled against Ethan, her voice taunting. “Ethan was just too angry. But you pushed me down the stairs and almost killed me and our baby… How could you be so cruel?” I didn’t look at Mia. I only turned my stiff neck and fixed my lifeless eyes on Ethan. This man had once been the husband I loved more than anyone, the one who had promised to protect me for the rest of his life. “Are you satisfied now?” My voice was hoarse. Ethan looked at my paper-white face and sneered. Releasing Mia, he walked slowly to the bed and gripped my chin. “Satisfied? Claire Bennett, you call this suffering?” His eyes were terrifyingly dark. “Three years ago, if your parents hadn’t insisted on dragging mine out to sea, would they have been caught in that storm and drowned? Four lives lost, and not even their bodies could be found! All you’ve lost is an undeveloped embryo and a useless organ. This is what you owe!” “My parents disappeared, too…” My eyes reddened. “Ethan Foster, they were my parents! Do you think you’re the only one who’s hurting?” “Shut up!” Ethan shoved me away. “The daughter of murderers has no right to speak of them. Stay here and rest. You’re nowhere near finished paying for your sins.” With that, he slipped an arm around Mia’s waist and left without a backward glance. The door slammed hard enough to shake the last withered leaf from the tree outside. Deathly silence settled over the room again. With difficulty, I laid a hand over my flat lower abdomen. The wound there throbbed, but it couldn’t drown out the sound of my heart shattering. I had endured three years of torment. I had always believed that if I stayed by his side, if I soothed his wounds with endless patience and forgiveness, the young man who used to warm my hands against his chest on winter nights would someday come back. But today, that innocent pool of blood in my womb had washed away the last trace of my love for Ethan. I owed him nothing now. My parents, my baby, half my life—I had paid it all back. I pulled my old phone from beneath the pillow, my fingers trembling with weakness. With practiced ease, I entered a complicated password and dialed a number hidden within an encrypted system. The call connected after three rings. A mechanical male voice, filtered through a voice changer, answered, “Who is this?” “It’s me.” I looked at the gray sky outside. My voice was so faint a breath of wind could have scattered it, yet beneath it lay a deathly, unyielding resolve. “The staged-death service. I want to leave in one month. I’ll let you know the location.” “Your deposit has been confirmed. In one month, you’ll have what you want.” I hung up and slipped the phone back beneath my pillow. Closing my eyes, I let the searing pain of my wound consume my senses. Yet a bleak smile slowly curved my lips. Ethan Foster, the life sentence you gave me ends here.Ethan Foster POV The black Maybach sped through the night, the atmosphere inside suffocating. Mia sat in the passenger seat, stealing glances at my profile. The way I had defended her in the hospital room must have thrilled her, making her think her place as Mrs. Foster was finally secure. She reached over, trying to lay her hand over mine on the steering wheel. “Ethan, I’ll stay at the villa with you tonight…” “Bam!” I slammed on the brakes, bringing the car to a halt on a deserted stretch of winding mountain road. The sudden stop threw Mia hard against the seat, and she cried out. Before she could react, I had turned and clamped a hand around her throat. “Get out.” My voice was flat, but ice-cold. “Ethan, what did I do wrong?” Mia’s face went white with fear as she clawed desperately at my iron grip. I shoved her away, reached across her, and pushed open the passenger door. “I said get the hell out! Consider it payment for all that bullshit you said in front of her—and for that baby that never existed. And don’t let me catch you within ten paces of Claire Bennett again, or I’ll chop you up and feed you to the dogs.” Mia stumbled out of the car in terror. Even when the heel of her shoe snapped, she didn’t dare cry out in pain. I had never brought her into my life because I liked her. She was nothing more than a knife I used to hurt Claire. Now that the blade had cut too deep, I was going to break it. The door slammed shut. I drove the Maybach into the darkness, leaving Mia trembling in despair in the cold wind. Half an hour later, I pulled into the underground parking garage beneath the Foster Group building. My assistant, Ryan Cole, had been waiting for some time. He watched me get out of the car, seething with hostility, a nearly spent cigarette between my fingers. After a long hesitation, he finally spoke. “Mr. Foster, you knew Mia Collins deliberately staged that confrontation. You also knew what condition Mrs. Foster was in… Since you ordered the hysterectomy to save her life, why won’t you tell her the truth?” Ryan had worked for me for five years. No one knew the full story better than he did. When Claire was brought to the hospital three days earlier, she was already hemorrhaging heavily. The doctor had issued a critical condition notice. Years of malnutrition and severe psychological trauma had left her in terrible health. The miscarriage caused by the violent impact had triggered uncontrollable uterine bleeding. I had stood outside the emergency room, shaking all over. When the doctor asked whether to save her uterus or her life, I had practically roared, “Take out her uterus! I want her alive!” But once the surgery was successful and Claire was out of danger, I ordered the doctors to keep quiet. I even deliberately brought Mia to her room to provoke her and said those utterly vicious things. My fingers froze around the cigarette, and ash drifted down onto the expensive carpet. I stared into nothing through the dim light of the parking garage, silent for a long, long time. Just when Ryan Cole thought I wasn't going to answer, my hoarse voice finally broke the silence of the cavernous garage. “Let her hate me.” I turned to him, my eyes bloodshot, like a madman teetering on the edge of a cliff. “She's lost her baby. If she finds out I gave that order to save her, she'll blame herself for everything. You know what she's like. If she thinks she failed to protect her baby, she'll kill herself. Ryan, she will.” “She has to hate me. She has to put all the blame on me, make me the villain. She has to hate me so much it eats her alive, so much she wants to kill me. That's the only way she'll stay alive.” In a daze, I remembered that rain-lashed night three years ago. That day, Claire Bennett and I had been planning a trip for our wedding anniversary when we suddenly received a call from the coast guard. My parents and Claire Bennett's parents had been aboard a yacht in international waters when it encountered a once-in-a-century superstorm. All contact had been lost. They were presumed dead after an unsuccessful search-and-rescue operation. Ryan Cole had watched me turn into an empty shell the instant the news came, as though my soul had been drained from my body. I locked myself in the room containing my parents' belongings for three days and three nights, without drinking a drop of water. When Ryan Cole broke down the door, my wrists were covered in bloody cuts. I had tried to follow my parents into death. The doctor diagnosed me with severe depression accompanied by severe post-traumatic stress disorder. But I refused all psychological treatment and medication. I was like a wild animal dying in a corner with no way out. To keep myself from going insane, I needed something to keep me alive. So I turned all my pain, despair, and rage into hatred for Claire Bennett. Because Mr. Bennett had been the one to suggest that trip out to sea. Ryan Cole once asked me, “Mrs. Foster is a victim too. She lost her parents too. Why do you have to hate her?” I had been sitting in my wrecked study, looking at a framed photograph of Claire Bennett and me. Tears struck the glass, but my voice was like a poisoned blade. “If I don't hate her, I don't know how to keep living. Ryan, I can't forgive myself for not stopping that trip. All I can do is blame her. Only when I torment her, when I watch her suffer, can I feel that I'm still breathing.” Three years. For three years, I had fed on Claire Bennett's pain to keep my shattered soul alive. I thought that as long as I kept her trapped beside me, bound her in a web of hatred, we could remain entangled in this hell forever. “Mr. Foster…” Ryan Cole looked at me, his voice strained. “But you're driving Mrs. Foster to her death. Hatred won't make someone stay.” I crushed the cigarette out hard against my palm. The searing pain cleared my head a little. Looking at the blister rising on my palm, I spoke with a terrifying, obsessive certainty. “She won't die. I won't let her. Even if I'm going to hell, she's coming with me.” With that, I turned and headed for the elevator.Claire Bennett POV Two weeks later, I was discharged from the hospital. The early winter wind was bitterly cold. Wrapped in a thin trench coat, I stood at the gates of the villa halfway up a hill on the outskirts of the city. This had once been the home Ethan Foster and I moved into as newlyweds. Every corner had held my hopes for our future. Now, the villa was nothing but a vast, magnificent tomb, steeped in decay and despair. The driver opened the door for me. I walked inside without expression, then paused just as I entered the living room. Mia Collins was lounging on the leather sofa. She was wearing my favorite silk nightgown, the one Ethan Foster had commissioned especially for me from a French couture atelier, and holding the coffee cup I always used. On the table lay the wooden comb Ethan Foster had sanded by hand, the one I treasured too much to use. When she saw me, Mia Collins set down the coffee cup. A blatantly taunting smile curled her lips as she rose like the true lady of the house and slowly walked toward me. “Claire Bennett, you're finally out of the hospital.” Mia Collins deliberately turned in front of me, showing off the obviously ill-fitting nightgown. “This is so comfortable. Ethan Foster said it looks much better on me than it does on you. Oh, and he had the mattress in the master bedroom upstairs replaced too. He said the old one was too firm and he didn't want me to be uncomfortable.” I watched her silently, as though she were a lifeless plastic mannequin. There was no anger, no jealousy, not even the faintest ripple of emotion. I was too tired. Even breathing exhausted me, let alone getting caught up in such petty games. Without a word, I looked away, stepped around Mia Collins, and headed straight for the stairs. All I wanted was to return to my cramped spare bedroom. Mia Collins hurried after me and grabbed my wrist. “Who do you think you're fooling?! You're nothing but a useless woman who can't even have children. Ethan Foster could never love you! Why are you still hanging around here?” I stopped and coldly pulled my hand free. “Let go.” Just then, the fingerprint lock on the front door beeped, followed by the steady sound of dress shoes against the marble floor. A calculating glint flashed in Mia Collins's eyes. The instant Ethan Foster pushed open the door, she let out a piercing scream, clawed wildly at the air, and toppled backward off the first two stairs, landing on the floor with a heavy thud. “Ah! My back!” Mia Collins curled up on the floor in pain, tears instantly spilling down her face. Sobbing pitifully, she pointed at me on the stairs. “Claire Bennett, I already said I'd give you back the nightgown. Why did you push me…?” Ethan Foster stood in the doorway, still holding a container of seafood chowder from my favorite restaurant on the west side of the city. His brows drew sharply together at the scene, and he strode toward us. I stood on the stairs, watching the pathetic performance with indifference. Three years ago, I would have scrambled to explain. Three days ago, I would have desperately defended myself. Now, I only found it laughable.Claire Bennett POV I actually laughed. It was a very brief, very hoarse laugh of contempt. Under Ethan Foster's stunned gaze, I didn't spare Mia Collins a glance on the floor. Nor did I wait for him to blame me. I turned, dragging my weak, still-healing body straight into the open-plan kitchen. “Claire Bennett, what are you doing?!” Ethan Foster demanded, watching my strange behavior. I walked up to the marble kitchen countertop and slowly drew a sharp table knife from the knife block. Its blade gleamed icily under the cool light. I turned to look at Ethan Foster, who had just reached the kitchen entrance. My eyes were as still as stagnant water. There was no resentment in them, only utter release. “Don't you like seeing blood?” I asked softly. Before the words had fully left my lips, I raised the knife, pressed it against my slender, pale left wrist, and slashed down hard without hesitation. The sound of the blade cutting through flesh seemed impossibly loud in the deathly silent villa. Blood spurted out at once, splashing across the white kitchen countertop. It ran down my pale fingers and dripped onto the floor, each drop blooming into a horrifying crimson flower. “No!” Ethan Foster's pupils contracted sharply, and a raw, inhuman scream tore from his throat. The food container crashed to the floor, spilling seafood chowder everywhere. He lunged at me like a madman, wrenched the knife from my hand, and hurled it to the floor. His trembling hands clamped over my wrist as blood continued to pour out. But there was too much blood. It was too hot. No matter how hard he pressed, he couldn't stop it from gushing between his fingers. Ethan Foster's eyes went red, and his body shook even harder than mine. “A doctor! Get a doctor! Ryan!” Ethan Foster roared like a desperate animal, his tears falling onto the back of my hand. Mia Collins sat on the floor, clutching her bruised back. Her fake sobs had turned to genuine terror. At the sight of all that blood and Ethan Foster on the verge of losing his mind, she covered her mouth and shrank into a corner of the sofa, barely daring to breathe. Ethan Foster tore off his tie and bound it tightly around my forearm to stop the bleeding. He looked up at me with bloodshot eyes, his voice distorted by sheer terror. “Are you insane?! How dare you try to die? Claire Bennett, don't even think about it! You haven't paid back what you owe me. I won't let you die!” He threatened me viciously, forcing me to look at him. Maybe he wanted to see even the slightest trace of fear, hurt, or hatred in my eyes. But there was nothing. I let him keep his hands clamped around my wrist, my skin growing almost translucent from blood loss. I gazed quietly at Ethan Foster. My eyes, once filled with starlight and love, were now like two dried-up wells. No ripples, no light. Only an endless, lifeless stillness. It didn't hurt. Compared with the pain of having my uterus cut out, this little flesh wound was nothing. Looking at Ethan Foster's contorted face, I couldn't feel even a flicker of satisfaction at getting revenge. I was simply tired, too tired to say another word.Ethan Foster POV The master bedroom on the second floor of the villa reeked of blood and antiseptic. The family doctor had just finished treating Claire Bennett's wound, sweat covering his forehead. It had taken seven stitches. Throughout the procedure, Claire Bennett had received no anesthetic and hadn't made a single sound of pain. She lay on the bed like a rag doll, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, without so much as a flutter of her lashes. Now I stood outside the door, oblivious to the cigarette between my fingers burning all the way down to the filter. Dr. Morgan, a renowned authority in psychiatry, stepped out of the room with an exceptionally grave expression. He glanced at me and sighed. “Mr. Foster, your wife is in very poor condition. Judging by her self-harming behavior just now and her current mental state, she is showing signs of severe depression, accompanied by a profound stupor. In plain terms, her will to live has completely collapsed. She could hurt herself again—or even attempt suicide—at any moment.” The hand holding my cigarette jerked violently. The butt fell onto the carpet, burning a black hole in it. I stared hard at Dr. Morgan, my voice frighteningly hoarse. “Make her better. I’ll pay whatever it takes. You have to get her back to normal.” Dr. Morgan shook his head. “Mr. Foster, her current environment is full of triggers. Unless you can provide a place where she feels completely safe, loved, and accepted, medication will accomplish nothing. If this continues, it won’t just be her body that gives out. Her mind will die, too.” After Dr. Morgan left, the hallway fell deathly silent. At some point, Mia Collins had changed back into her own clothes. She approached cautiously. Perhaps sensing that I was on the verge of breaking down, she tried to soothe me with tenderness. “Ethan Foster, don’t be so upset. Claire Bennett might just be using these extreme measures to get your attention. Doctors always like to make things sound worse than they are…” “Get out.” I didn’t turn around. I forced the words out of my throat. Mia Collins froze. She bit her lip, unwilling to give up, and continued in a falsely gentle voice. “Ethan Foster, I know you’re upset right now. But she was really terrifying with that knife today. Do you think there’s actually something wrong with her mentally? What if she hurts someone with a knife next time…” I whipped my head around, my bloodshot eyes fixing on Mia Collins as though she were already dead. She sucked in a frightened breath, the rest of her words dying in her throat. “I told you to get out. Didn’t you hear me?” My voice was as cold as an ice-hardened blade. “The only reason I’ve kept you around this long is that you’re still of some use to me. In a month, you’ll take your money and get out of my sight. If you dare provoke her again before then, I’ll make sure you really do end up dead.” Mia Collins’s legs gave way, and she slumped against the wall, her eyes filled with terror. In my world, even if Claire Bennett was broken, even if she was insane, her life still had to remain in my hands. Mia Collins, on the other hand, was nothing but trash I could throw away whenever I pleased.