My Daughter's Death, His Cruelest Regret

An earsplitting wail came from the heart monitor as its trace flattened into a straight line.

"We did all we could." Looking at the three-year-old girl lying on the hospital bed, the doctor shook his head with quiet regret.

For fifteen agonizing hours, Rylee Olson waited outside the operating room while her daughter underwent surgery. Though the doctors had done everything possible, they failed to bring her back.

"Your daughter was desperate to see her father before the operation. Please get your husband to the hospital so he can see his daughter one final time," the doctor said, sighing heavily.

With her eyes swollen and red, Rylee took out her phone and called her husband, Evan Marshall.

Three days had passed since their daughter, Aria Marshall, had been admitted to the hospital with a high fever, yet she couldn't get hold of Evan.

Rylee had just resigned herself to another unanswered call when someone finally picked up the phone.

Rylee spoke hoarsely, her voice breaking as she sobbed. "Evan, you need to come to the hospital. Aria-"

"What is so unusual about Aria ending up in the hospital?" Evan interrupted her with obvious impatience. "Rylee, how much longer are you going to keep exploiting Aria's illness to manipulate me?"

In Rylee's arms, her daughter's small body grew a little colder with every passing second.

Their little girl had already died, yet Evan still believed she was only putting on an act.

A woman's sweet voice suddenly came through the phone. "Evan, just listen to how strong the baby's heartbeat sounds."

A doctor's voice followed. "Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Marshall. The baby is developing well and appears perfectly healthy."

Rylee's eyes suddenly widened in disbelief. Was Evan accompanying another woman to her prenatal appointment?

At Willster General Hospital, the obstetrics wing stood right beside the pediatric wing. Rylee staggered along the corridor toward the obstetrics wing.

Evan came out of the obstetrics department, keeping an attractive woman tucked close beside him.

Rylee knew that face at once. The woman was Claire Collins, whom Evan had never been able to get over.

Their daughter had just died, yet Evan had been accompanying Claire to her prenatal appointment.

A shiver seemed to spread through Rylee's entire body.

When Evan raised his head and spotted Rylee, he immediately dropped his arm from Claire's waist. His expression darkened with irritation. "What are you doing here?"

With bloodshot eyes, Rylee looked straight at him. "Are you not even going to ask how Aria is?"

"She is making a fuss over nothing, as usual," Evan replied indifferently. "Every other time, she was fine after a few days in the hospital. This time will be no different."

Rylee tightened both hands into fists.

Claire leaned comfortably against Evan, a distinctly provocative gleam in her eyes. "So you must be Rylee. I appreciate you taking such good care of Evan on my behalf."

She was making it perfectly clear to Rylee that Evan belonged to her.

Turning toward Rylee, Evan said, "Claire is expecting a baby. I'm taking her back to our place. From now on, I expect you to look after her properly."

Rylee glared at him, her eyes bloodshot. "And why exactly should I do that?"

For a moment, Evan had no response.

Throughout their marriage, Rylee had always done whatever he asked of her. Not once had she refused him. This was the very first time she had ever talked back to him like that.

Evan flew into a rage. "Claire's an exceptionally skilled designer, and I paid a great deal to recruit her from overseas. She's still working for the company despite her pregnancy. As a housewife, you have no idea how hard that is. You are living off the Marshall family's money, so the least you can do is be grateful."

Rylee balled her hands so tightly that her nails left crescent-shaped marks in her palms.

Since marrying into the Marshall family, she hadn't spent a single cent of their money. On the contrary, she had to pay the household bills out of the savings she had accumulated before marriage, because her mother-in-law and sister-in-law squandered money freely.

"I'm feeling tired," Claire whispered to Evan in a soft, delicate voice.

Evan promptly supported her around the waist. "The doctor warned you against overexerting yourself. We should get you home so you can lie down and rest."

Claire gave Rylee a triumphant lift of her eyebrow, then moved even closer to Evan as they walked away together.

Rylee brushed the cold tears off her cheeks. She had no time to fall apart. Her daughter still needed to be laid to rest.

She took a few unsteady steps before darkness swept across her vision and she began falling helplessly toward the floor.

A man came into view just before she passed out. Desperately, she caught hold of his sleeve as though it were her only lifeline. "Please... contact a funeral home for me..."

Kristopher Campbell was on his way to visit his grandmother when a woman suddenly grabbed hold of him and fainted straight into his arms.

She appeared to be in her early twenties. Her face was as delicate as a doll's, but it was utterly pale and drained of color.

Holding her felt like cradling a fallen leaf, so weightless was her body that he hardly dared to draw a breath.

The doctor came over and spotted Rylee in Kristopher's arms. Furious, he began scolding him. "What kind of husband behaves like this? Your wife spent three days tending to your daughter without a moment to rest, yet you did not even come to see her when she died. Have you no heart at all? You are an absolute bastard!"

Kristopher was seldom one to reveal his feelings. He glanced at the unconscious woman he was holding, then at the doctor shouting at him. A flicker of bewilderment passed through his eyes. Since when did he have a wife and a daughter?

Standing behind Kristopher, his assistant Jasper Carter stared with his mouth wide open in astonishment.

As the richest man in Willster, Kristopher occupied the very top rank among the country's elite. Nobody in the city dared to turn him down. Yet someone had just called him a bastard to his face. A cold sweat broke out all along Jasper's back.

Before long, the funeral home employees arrived, carrying a form authorizing cremation. They pushed the form into Kristopher's hands. "You have to sign this. We cannot take the child away without a signature."

Kristopher studied the devastated woman resting in his arms and the lifeless girl lying on the bed. He then took the pen and put his name on the form.

A single look at the paperwork nearly scared Jasper out of his mind.

Beside Kristopher's sweeping signature, the word "Father" stood out in plain print.