Chapter 3

Alexander was stunned for a long time, but finally signed the retainer agreement.

This case offered a substantial fee. The firm took it seriously, my mentor took it seriously, and so did I.

My mentor shrewdly noticed the unusual connection between Alexander and me.

"Do you and Mr. Blackwood have a history?"

I answered without hesitation.

"I used to be his mistress."

My voice wasn't loud, but the atmosphere clearly went silent for a few seconds.

Facing my mentor, I offered a slight curve of my lips.

"It's not a bad thing. At least, my being able to stand here today is partly thanks to him."

The year I left Alexander, my account balance grew by over four million dollars.

As I boarded the flight abroad, my parents' calls nearly blew up my phone.

In those three years, relying on the money Alexander gave them, they clawed their way from poverty to a comfortable middle-class life.

My mother's illness wasn't just cured; nourished by money, she was radiant and full of vitality.

My brother not only attended a good school but also underwent a complete transformation, acquiring the latest Apple products and luxury brand sets he'd never dared dream of before.

Desire is insatiable.

Their calls for money grew more urgent, their tone increasingly entitled.

"The Blackwood family is rich anyway, so you should ask for more. Help your brother get ahead, and you'll have more support later."

Until the three-year term ended.

I excitedly told them I could finally leave Alexander.

What I got in return was a torrent of insults.

My parents asked me:

"What else can you do? What kind of job can a girl do to earn this much money?"

My brother asked me:

"Did Alexander dump you? Did you upset him? Anya, go back and beg him! Men are soft-hearted but hard-mouthed. If you really break up with him, how will I ever find a wife?"

I didn't know how to respond. Three years was so long; the scars Alexander left on me had already healed.

With time, I almost forgot how much it had hurt.

They all took it for granted that money could heal all wounds, believing I shouldn't let Alexander, this big catch, go.

But I was still glad I had been resolute back then, leaving the country alone.

When I first arrived here, it was unfamiliar territory, everything frighteningly strange.

I endured the most helpless days all by myself.

Back then, Alexander had contacted me too.

He transferred a sum of money and sent a particularly jarring message.

"Seraphina's return doesn't mean I'll kick you out. There's still a place for you by my side."

"She's too precious; I can't be rough with her. Anya, just stay with me. I need you, and I'll pay you well."

I didn't reply. A strong wave of nausea made me toss my phone straight into the trash.

Another five years passed. I completed my studies and returned home; everything had changed irrevocably.

I always congratulated myself for stopping just in time, until today, standing in court, I had the confidence to face Alexander and Seraphina directly.

The two were at loggerheads, no longer the picture of a match made in heaven, celebrated by all.

Alexander's face was grim, but his gaze kept darting uncomfortably in my direction.

Seraphina didn't recognize me, glaring coldly at Alexander.

"You gave all that to me yourself. How dare you want it back now? Alexander, are you really that heartless?"

Alexander's voice was hoarse.

"Yes, I once loved you, cherished you, wanted to give you everything best."

"But what about you? You used my money to support that struggling painter, and even... to have his child."

"You said you were child-free, afraid of pain. For years, I've touched you so carefully, but you..."

Alexander's words stopped here, and he inexplicably turned his gaze to me.

I understood the guilt in his eyes.

I once had a child with him too.

When I miscarried due to his torment, I was in agony, devastated. But he told me coldly:

"You're just a contract mistress; you were never meant to have my child."

He even said it made me more like the child-free Seraphina, and he was very pleased, paying me a large sum in compensation.

With that money, I hesitated for a long time, ultimately choosing to compromise.

But I never expected that a month later, I would see my child again with my own eyes.

It was at Seraphina's art exhibition.

Holding the microphone, she thanked, word for word:

"Here, I must thank my good friend, Alexander, who provided me with inspiration."

"He specifically prepared a painful recording of a mother losing her child, allowing me to fully grasp the model's anguish, which enabled me to create this painting."

On the canvas, I lay on a hospital bed, crying uncontrollably as I looked at the bloody remains.

Displayed right next to the painting were images of my lost child and my uterus, presented starkly for everyone to see.

I should have broken down, but back then, I just laughed blankly.

My phone rang—a call from home again. I numbly answered; it was my brother, hounding me for money as if I owed him:

"Anya, I heard Alexander gave you a lot of money again. Why haven't you transferred it to Mom? Her health hasn't been good lately; she needs supplements. I know you're busy, so just transfer the money, and I'll go buy them."