"So you think I can’t do anything to you, huh? You’ve already talked to the police, right? Told them that if you disappear for three days, I’m the prime suspect, is that it?" Zoe Ellsworth straightened up.

"Of course."

She slowly approached her. "But you forgot to tell them one thing. I’m not going to make you disappear. I’m not going to kill you. And I definitely won’t let you be out of contact for three days. I’m just going to beat you. Beat you so badly you’ll have to stay home and recover for a while. And if you come back, I’ll do it all over again."

Bianca Rhodes’s pupils constricted as she stared at her. "Zoe Ellsworth, do you think you own this city?"

"I don’t know about that, but what I do know is this: if you keep this up, your body won’t be found in one piece."

She clutched her purse tightly. "Zoe Ellsworth, thanks to you, I can’t have children anymore. But I’ll spend the rest of my life watching you. I’m going to watch Herman abandon you. I’ll be watching very, very closely."

With that, she turned and walked away.

Zoe Ellsworth watched her figure recede and sneered. ’A petty troublemaker with a rotten heart. What kind of real trouble could she possibly stir up?’

Just as she was about to turn away, a pair of hands landed on her shoulders. Zoe Ellsworth tensed and slowly turned around.

She looked up into his inky eyes.

"Honey."

He took her hand, cradling it in his palm. "Honey, I’m sorry."

Surprise filled Zoe Ellsworth’s eyes, quickly replaced by a knowing smile. "What do you have to be sorry for?"

He pulled her into an embrace, his lips brushing against her hair. The fresh scent of her shampoo filled his senses, more pleasant than any perfume.

She looked up, suddenly remembering Mrs. Hawthorne’s nagging. "Honey, your mom has been dropping by every few days to push the subject... When are we going to start trying for a baby?"

He froze for a moment, then nuzzled her hair. "You’re still so young. Let’s wait until you’re a little older."

She pouted, a hint of dissatisfaction in her voice. "Yeah, I’m so young. Young enough for you to marry, though."

A smile touched Herman Hawthorne’s lips. "Marriage and having kids aren’t the same thing, Zoe. One day, you’ll be the mother of my child. Just wait a little longer."

She wanted to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. She could only nod. "Okay."

*

Chloe Marshall never would have guessed that Silly would imprison her completely. She was trapped; she couldn’t get out the front door of the three-bedroom apartment.

All the windows, including the balcony doors, had been fitted with security bars. Every time he left, he locked the main door from the outside with a new, welded-on lock to keep her from getting out. He would buy and bring back all her food and necessities.

But for Chloe Marshall, it was like living in a prison. Her wings had been clipped. What little freedom she’d had was gone, and her life became even more constrained.

As the days trickled by, Chloe Marshall grew more and more depressed.

When he came home, she wouldn’t say a single word to him. And while this wasn’t the outcome he’d hoped for, Lillian Bancroft didn’t believe he had done anything wrong.

’Any method was a good method, as long as it kept her tethered to his side.’

A month passed quickly. The calendar turned to September 22nd.

That night, Chloe Marshall was woken in the middle of the night by a dull ache in her abdomen.

Her breathing grew ragged. Sharp, stabbing pains made her break out in a cold sweat. She knew the baby was coming.

She struggled out of bed and slowly shuffled out of her room to pound on Lillian Bancroft’s door.

After she pounded a few times, the door swung open.

"I’m going into labor—"

He bent down, unlocked the chain from her ankle with a key, then swept her up into his arms. He threw open the door and ran toward the nearby hospital.

Seeing her deathly pale face, Lillian Bancroft’s heart leaped into his throat.

"Hang on, we’re almost at the hospital."

Chloe Marshall, crazed with pain, grabbed a handful of his hair and shrieked, "Hurry up! It hurts like hell!"

Lillian Bancroft let her pull at his hair, running for the obstetrics department on the second floor.

The on-duty doctor and nurses rushed her into a delivery room.

He waited outside, leaning against the wall with an indescribably forlorn expression.

More than half an hour passed, but it felt like half a century.

The delivery room door slid open, and a nurse carrying a newborn infant walked over to Lillian Bancroft. "Congratulations, sir. You have a daughter."

He stared, stunned. He looked at the tiny face, no bigger than his palm, and a rare smile touched his lips. "Let me hold her."

The nurse handed him the baby. He held her as if she were a priceless piece of jade, terrified that one wrong move would send her shattering into a thousand pieces.

She felt so fragile in his arms, as if she might slip through his grasp at any moment.

"How is my wife?"

"She had a natural birth and is in good condition. Now comes the postpartum recovery period. You’ll need to make sure she gets plenty of nutrition so she can produce enough milk for the baby. Also, it’s crucial to help the new mother keep her spirits up. Family support is most important during this time. Because of hormonal changes, her emotions can be very unstable. In serious cases, this can lead to postpartum depression, so the family needs to be understanding and aware of the signs."

He nodded thoughtfully. "What are the major signs of postpartum depression?"

"The clearest signs are a persistent low mood and feelings of despair. She might lose the will to live and even consider suicide as a way to escape."

Hearing this, Lillian Bancroft’s expression grew grim. "I understand."

He had barely finished speaking when he saw Chloe Marshall standing in the doorway of the delivery room.

He immediately rushed over to support her.

Chloe Marshall shook his hand off. Lillian Bancroft saw this and grabbed her arm again, more tightly this time. "Chloe, let’s go home."

She turned and looked at the baby in his arms, her eyes glistening with tears.

The baby looked so much like her.

Her eyebrows, eyes, nose, lips, face shape—it was all her. There was almost no trace of him in the baby’s features.

This striking resemblance was not something she wanted to see.

"Give her to me."

"I’ll hold her."

"Give her to me!" she insisted, her voice sharp.

Lillian Bancroft sheepishly handed the baby to her. Chloe Marshall held the child and started down the hallway, and he hurried to catch up.

Back home, he had no intention of giving her freedom. He fastened the chain back onto her ankle.

The ankle chain originally didn’t have a key, but he had spent a great deal of effort to have one made.

She sat there, holding the baby, and let him refasten the chain without saying a single word.

"Chloe, are you hungry? I can go make you a late-night snack."

"Not hungry."

"Are you thirsty, then?"

"Not thirsty."

"Are you sleepy? I can hold the baby so you can get some sleep."

"Not sleepy."

For some reason, the baby in her arms started wailing. Chloe Marshall tried rocking her, but it had no effect. Finally, she lifted her shirt to breastfeed.

Seeing this, Lillian Bancroft’s face instantly flushed a deep red. Feeling extremely awkward, he mumbled, "I’ll... I’ll step out for a bit."

Chloe Marshall seemed to be in a daze. As she held the baby, her emotions suddenly spiraled out of control for reasons she couldn’t comprehend.

The more she lost control, the more insane her longing became. She gently caressed the baby’s little cheek, her gaze intense, as if trying to see the face of another person in her child’s.

The man who lived deep in her heart.