I dug my nails deep into my palm, so hard that the skin split and blood welled up.
8
Venice’s POV
When I opened my eyes again, Jericho was standing quietly in front of me, holding a bowl of soup.
“You’re awake? Here, have some soup. It’ll help you recover.”
As he spoke, he lifted a spoon to my lips, his gaze soft in a way I hadn’t seen in a long time.
But I knew this sudden kindness wasn’t because of me. To him, I was nothing more than the womb carrying his and Verona’s child.
That thought left me hollow. My voice drifted out, light and detached.
“I once thought I’d never regret my decisions, Jericho. But now, I do. I regret marrying you. I regret saving the Fowler Corporation. I should’ve let you rot in the mud!”
His hand froze midair, a flicker of conflict flashing in his eyes. Then, as if he couldn’t bear to face me any longer, he turned his gaze away.
“Tomorrow’s the shareholders’ meeting. Make sure you come. As for whatever’s between you and Verona, let’s end it here.”
With that, he abruptly stood up and left the room, as if running from something.
Not long after he left, a man in a tailored suit walked into my room.