Chapter 3
The entire night, the villa was blazing with lights.
Private doctors, nurses, and staff bustled in and out, all revolving around Willow.
Lyra lay in bed, listening to the commotion outside, remembering three years ago when she’d accidentally cut her finger while slicing fruit. Mason had panicked like she had a terminal illness, calling the private doctor in the middle of the night and insisting on bandaging her up himself.
“It’s just a tiny cut,” she’d said, torn between tears and laughter.
But Mason had lifted her hand and gently kissed the wound. “To me, you can’t lose even a single hair.”
Now that same care was being given to another woman.
Lyra rolled over, burying her face in the pillow. Tears soaked the fabric, but she bit her lips to keep from making a sound.
She cried all night like this, until dawn broke and she quietly told herself that once the tears dried up, it was time to let go completely.
The next morning, when Lyra came downstairs, she saw Mason sitting at the dining table, patiently coaxing Willow to eat breakfast.
“I really can’t eat this…” Willow whined.
“Just one more bite, okay?” Mason’s voice carried that familiar indulgence Lyra knew so well. “It’s good for the baby.”
Lyra walked past them expressionlessly.
Mason looked up and suddenly noticed the scabbed wound on her forehead, quickly standing up. “Lyra, what happened to your head?”
Lyra’s lips curved in a sarcastic smile. “Didn’t you push me yourself?”
Mason froze, finally remembering yesterday’s incident, guilt flashing across his face. “I’m sorry, I was too panicked yesterday… Let me get you some
ointment.”
Just as Lyra was about to refuse, Willow suddenly spoke up. “Mason, I don’t have an appetite for any of this breakfast. I heard… that Lyra makes really good yam porridge. Could she make some for me to try?”
Mason was clearly stunned, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“Lyra…” he finally spoke. “Would you mind?”
Lyra’s heart felt like it was being crushed by an invisible fist.
Yam porridge.
Those two words were like a dull knife, brutally cutting open her memories.
It was when Mason had just taken over the company and developed stomach problems from too much business entertaining. She’d been so heartbroken that she’d specifically learned the recipe from an old Chinese medicine doctor.
The first time she made it, the porridge burned at the bottom and was bitter with salt, but he ate every last drop and held her close, saying, “Promise me you’ll only make this for me, okay?”
Later she got better and better at it, but she really had only ever made it for him.
And now, he was asking her to make it for another woman.
Lyra suddenly laughed, the curve of her lips carrying an indescribable irony.
So this was how promises worked–no matter how sincere they sounded in the moment, they couldn’t withstand the erosion of time.
She walked into the kitchen without a word, her movements practiced as she rinsed the rice and chopped the yam.
The scalding steam stung her eyes, but she didn’t shed a single tear.
The porridge was ready quickly, its aroma filling the air. Lyra ladled a bowl and placed it in front of Willow, then turned to leave.
“Lyra…” Mason instinctively called out, his voice tinged with guilt.
But Willow immediately grabbed her sleeve. “Mason, this porridge is so hot…”
Mason’s attention was instantly diverted as he bent down to help blow on Willow’s porridge.
Whatever. He consoled himself internally. They’d remarry in a month anyway, and then he could make it all up to her.
Late that night, just as Lyra had fallen asleep, her bedroom door was suddenly kicked open.
Lyra opened her eyes to see Mason’s security guards standing in the doorway. “Ma’am, sorry about this, but Mr. Vale wants us to take you to the hospital.”
Before she could react, they were dragging her out of bed by her arms.
The hospital corridor was blindingly white. Mason stood outside the operating room, his face terrifyingly dark.
Seeing her arrive, his expression was complex. “Why did you poison the porridge?”
Lyra was confused for a moment. “What?”
“I’ve told you countless times–I don’t have feelings for Willow.” Mason’s voice was suppressing rage. “Once the baby’s born, we can go back to how things were. Why couldn’t you just wait a little longer?”
Only then did Lyra understand–Willow had been poisoned, and he suspected her.
“It wasn’t me.” Her voice trembled. “Why do you automatically assume it was me as something happens to her?”
“She only had your porridge today!” Mason’s voice shot up. “How am I supposed to believe you!”
Lyra’s chest ached sharply. Just as she was about to speak, the elevator doors opened and Mason’s parents rushed over.
“PA!”
A heavy blow struck Lyra’s face. She stumbled backward, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth.
“You vicious woman!” Mason’s mother shrieked. “It’s bad enough you can’t give us children, but now you’re trying to kill our grandson!”
Mason’s father was equally furious. “Using such evil methods–she must be punished according to family rules! Make her kneel in the family chapel!”
Mason frowned, about to speak.
“If you don’t punish her this time, next time she’ll strangle your child!” his mother snapped.
Mason fell silent.
He lit a cigarette and leaned against the wall, watching coldly as Lyra was dragged away.
In that moment, Lyra’s pain was soul–crushing.
