"Bernard, let me out! It's too hot in here, the baby can't take it! Isn't this the child you've been desperate to have?!"
Bernard's gaze dropped to my belly. Something dark and unreadable shifted behind his eyes.
Watching his reaction, I felt the last warmth in my heart go cold, degree by degree.
My body was fragile. Before this pregnancy, I had been pregnant five times. Every single one ended in a miscarriage.
Each time, Bernard had been so devastated he looked ready to kill someone.
This time we had been more careful than ever, guarding every week, every day, and we had finally made it to eight months.
I remembered the night I'd been cooking him birthday noodles and the heat from the stove had set off frantic kicking in my belly. He'd been furious and terrified all at once, and he'd stayed up the entire night watching over me.
And now, because of Ivy's absurd claim of heatstroke, he had locked me inside a roasting chamber with his own hands.
The bitterness burned through me. I clenched my teeth and was about to speak when Ivy swayed against Bernard, clutching her head, her voice barely a whisper.