From Wife to Blood Bag

Chapter 7

The moment Xavier Thorpe found out where I was, he immediately canceled all his meetings.

Without a second thought, he ordered his driver to take him straight to the airport, bypassing his office entirely.

In the VIP lounge, Natalie Reynolds stormed in, her slight baby bump visible beneath her dress.

"Xavier, are you really just going to abandon us?" Her voice trembled, her eyes red-rimmed from crying.

Xavier glanced at her stomach, his expression unreadable.

"My assistant will arrange for you to move into a new apartment," he said flatly, showing no emotion.

Natalie's tears spilled over.

"I don't care where I live, but this child needs a father! If Sophia truly loved you, she would accept this baby. But instead, she—"

"Enough!" Xavier snapped, his voice cold and commanding.

"Who gave you the right to speak about my wife like that?"

He took the boarding pass from the flight attendant without another glance at Natalie, then looked down at her with icy detachment.

"Remember your place. No matter how many children I have, there will only ever be one Mrs. Thorpe—and that's Sophia."

He added, without hesitation, "Remove all your things from the villa. I don't want her coming back to anything unsightly."

Natalie suddenly laughed through her tears, the sound almost bitter.

"Xavier, you're so naive. Sophia is done with you this time!"

Without looking back, Xavier walked straight toward the boarding gate.

He knew Sophia too well. In all their nine years together, no matter how intense the arguments, a sincere apology and the right gesture had always brought them back together.

But this time... it felt different.

When his plane finally landed, he headed straight to the city's most renowned tattoo parlor.

"Tattoo this design. Right now," he instructed, handing the artist a sketch from his phone.

"No anesthesia," he added coldly.

Seven grueling hours later, Xavier walked out of the shop, his shirt stained with blood at the back, his face impossible to read.

He ordered nine hundred ninety-nine white roses and carefully chose a priceless piece of jewelry—both symbolic, but also desperate.

After two sleepless nights, he drove himself to the vineyard estate in the rolling countryside of London.

The entire drive, he rehearsed every word he'd say when he finally saw me again.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the estate, Xavier's heart raced. And then, he saw me.

But his hand faltered, and the bouquet of white roses slipped from his grasp.

There I was, in the arms of another man, his fingers glinting with the wedding ring that was supposed to belong to Xavier.