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Chapter 11
Even as Daniela's panicked screams echoed through the phone, Michael didn't flinch.
He just looked at me, calm as ever, and smiled.
"Daniela," he said smoothly, "I already know you drugged me that night. This baby was never going to be born."
His voice was cold and steady. "And those fake rumors you paid to spread online—the ones saying the Hudson family's wife is infertile? I've had every last one erased."
He paused, his eyes sharp as ice. "Slandering my wife has consequences."
Then came the real blow.
"When they operate on you," he said, "they won't be using anesthesia. And after today, you'll never have children again."
There was a long, suffocating silence on the other end. Then came the sound of a choked sob.
"Mr. Hudson, please—I wasn't thinking straight! I didn't mean it! I'll do anything, just please, spare the baby! Please—no, no—AAAHHH—!"
Daniela's scream tore through the phone like a blade.
I blinked, startled, my brows involuntarily pulling together.
Noticing my reaction, Michael ended the call without a word.
Then, like nothing had happened, he gently lifted my hand and pressed it to his cheek. His face was pale, but his expression was tender.
"Ashlyn," he whispered, "I'll send you the surgery footage later."
"When you watch it for yourself… maybe you'll understand. Maybe you'll forgive me. Even just a little."
His voice softened to a murmur. "Even a little… would be enough."
I yanked my hand away like he'd burned me.
Staring at the pitiful man in front of me, I said flatly, "This hospital's psych ward has a pretty good reputation. You should check yourself in."
Michael gave a broken smile.
"Alright," he said quietly. "Whatever you say."
He had hurt me too many times, in too many ways. But none of that seemed to matter to him anymore. He was finally ready to repent—ready to spend the rest of his life making up for everything.
Or so he thought.
Three days later, I married Bryson in a grand, breathtaking ceremony.
By the time Michael heard the news and drove like a madman to the venue, it was already too late.
He burst through the doors just as the elderly priest finished the vows.
And he arrived just in time to hear me—dressed in white, radiant with joy—smile at Bryson and say two simple words:
"I do."
"No!! Ashlyn!" he shouted. "You can't marry him!"
His body lurched, and he dropped to his knees on the vibrant red carpet like a man struck by lightning.
The once cold and composed CEO Hudson now looked like a lost, rain-soaked stray—shaking, desperate, undone.
On his knees, voice raw and broken, he begged, "Baby, please—we're not divorced. I never signed anything. I never wanted a divorce!"
"Don't marry him. I'm begging you… don't leave me for someone else."
I looked down at him, expression blank and unbothered. There wasn't even a flicker of sympathy in my eyes—only cool contempt.
"Michael," I said calmly, "your grandfather sent me a red envelope of blessings, so I'll let this little scene slide."
"But let's be clear—this ceremony has nothing to do with you. So do us all a favor and go back to wherever the hell you came from."
My words hit him like a slap.
And that was it—he broke.
Tears poured down his face as he collapsed further, hands clenched into fists.
"Ashlyn… I know I messed up," he sobbed. "Please… just give me one more chance. I swear I'll change."
"I can't live without you. Since the day you left, I've thought about you every single day. You're in all my dreams. I still see the way you used to look at me, the way you loved me."
"Ashlyn, I love you. More than anyone ever could."
He poured his heart out—frantic, aching, unfiltered—as if saying it might make it true again.
His emotions surged until the veins in his forehead stood out like bolts of lightning.
In a final act of desperation, he ripped open his black shirt, exposing the still-bleeding tattoo on his chest—a sun, a moon, and a cluster of stars.
The same design I drew years ago, back when I believed we'd be a family.
Back when I was still naïve enough to love him.