From His Invisible Wife to the World's Icon novel Chapter 9

She didn't find a single ounce of remorse in Frederick's eyes.

His massive hand slid down from her shoulder, forcefully clamping over her bleeding wrist. The lust instantly vanished from his gaze, replaced by absolute, freezing detachment. "What are you fighting me for? I thought you wanted a baby."

The moment his freezing palm pressed against her skin, she violently ripped her arm away.

Blood trailed violently down her pale arm, the agonizing sting amplifying her fury. Her voice trembled with sheer rage. "Don't touch me! I don't want a baby."

The man's brow furrowed. He took a threatening step closer, his eyes screaming pure, dictatorial control. "Don't forget your absolute duty as my wife."

Duty?

She remembered the prenuptial agreement that dictated exactly how many heirs they needed to produce to secure the corporate merger.

It was a completely soulless business transaction, yet she had actually dreamed of building a real family with him.

But had he ever even tried?

He always used the company as his ultimate excuse, leaving her to endure two agonizing years of his parents' relentless pressure and the Sutton women's vicious mockery all by herself.

Whenever she wanted to try, he flatly refused.

Now, she would rather die.

She glared at his increasingly volatile expression, the searing pain in her wrist bringing fresh tears to her eyes. "That's not my problem anymore. Go knock up your—"

"Lydia."

Sierra suddenly burst into the walk-in closet, shoving herself right between them and cutting Lydia off. "I know I shouldn't have broken your portrait, but please don't hurt yourself to get attention! And don't take it out on Freddie! I'll go get the first aid kit."

Watching Sierra's absolutely pathetic performance, Lydia swallowed her tears and let out a vicious scoff. "Drop the act."

"I'm just trying to help," Sierra whimpered, looking utterly heartbroken.

Frederick merely glanced at Lydia's bleeding arm. "She did it to herself. Ignore her."

He spun on his heel and walked out. Staring at his completely ruthless, unfeeling back, she viciously forced back a wave of crushing despair.

When someone doesn't love you, you could be bleeding out in front of them and they wouldn't even blink.

She should have realized that a long time ago.

So what the hell was all the agonizing patience and warmth he gave her when he stayed by her hospital bed?

Victorious in securing Frederick's defense, Sierra leaned in close, whispering in her ear with sheer venom. "Tried throwing yourself at him and failed? Now you're playing the victim?"

"Lydia, wake the hell up."

"As long as I'm breathing, you're never getting near Freddie again."

There were only twenty-nine days left.

She absolutely refused to let them be alone together. She wasn't going to give Lydia a single chance to win him back.

She was the one who was supposed to marry Freddie in the first place. If Lydia hadn't shown up and stolen her spot, they would have been married years ago.

Having an heir wasn't something she got to negotiate.

"Sir, she looked awful. Her wrist was entirely wrapped in bandages, and she seemed incredibly heartbroken," Maria added with heavy concern. Between seeing Lydia flee the house in absolute misery and walking in to find Sierra practically glowing in the kitchen, she didn't need a genius to figure out what was going on.

The sweet, stunning Mrs. Foster was clearly being driven completely insane by Sierra.

Yet her boss continued to give Sierra absolute, unchecked access to ruin his marriage.

She desperately wanted to drag Sierra out by her hair, but she was just the help.

Frederick completely ignored Maria's warning. As Sierra sashayed out of the kitchen with his plate, he offered her a perfectly polite smile.

...

Lydia marched straight into The Foster Group and handed in her immediate resignation as chairwoman of the charity foundation.

The board of directors scheduled an emergency meeting for the fifteenth to elect her replacement.

Until then, she still had to execute her remaining scheduled events.

"Where are we on tomorrow's charity gala?"

Her assistant, Alice, immediately answered, "Mrs. Foster—"

"Call me Lydia from now on," she cut in flatly.

"Of course, Lydia." Alice was completely bewildered but didn't argue. "The venue and staff are completely locked in, and the RSVPs are almost full. But we are critically short on auction items."