The door creaked open, casting a long, sharp shadow across the floor. Rosalie stood at the threshold, her breath hitching as her eyes scanned the dim room. There, huddled in a corner like a wounded animal, was Avery. She was curled into a tight ball, her arms wrapped white-knuckled around her knees. Her hair, once lustrous, was now a tangled thicket veiling her face. As the commotion at the door reached her, Avery lifted her head. Her eyes were glazed, swimming in a daze of exhaustion and hunger. "Avery! My God, what has happened to you?" Rosalie’s voice cracked with a mixture of horror and rising fury. The sight of Avery’s face—pale as bleached bone, lips parched and cracking—sent a jolt of pure adrenaline through Rosalie’s veins. "Was it Elliot? Has he been... has he been abusing you?" Avery’s chest labored with shallow, uneven breaths. She tried to form a word, a plea, a greeting—anything—but her throat was a desert, and her voice remained trapped in the silence. Mrs. Cooper hurried forward, her face etched with quiet guilt, and pressed a glass of warm milk into Avery’s trembling hands. "Drink this, Madam. Drink. You don't have to be afraid anymore. Now that Madam Rosalie is here, he won't stop you from eating." The words hit Rosalie like a physical blow. "What? Elliot stopped her from eating? He’s trying to starve her to death?" The shock transformed into a cold, righteous rage. Rosalie turned on her heel and stormed into the living room, where her son sat in his wheelchair, the picture of frozen indifference. "Elliot!" she screamed, her voice echoing off the high ceilings. "Avery is the wife *I* chose for you. Do you have so little respect for me that you would torment her like this?" Elliot didn't even look up. When he spoke, his voice was like shards of ice scraping against glass. "She committed an unforgivable mistake. If it weren't for your sake, Mother, she wouldn't even be in this house anymore." To him, two days of starvation was a measured mercy. She had touched what was forbidden. She had crossed his most sacred boundary. In his world, mercy was a weakness he could ill afford. "A mistake?" Rosalie’s voice rose an octave. "Avery is a sensible, gentle girl! What could she have possibly done to deserve this?" Elliot’s jaw tightened, his lips pressed into a thin, stubborn line. He offered no explanation. "I know why you do this," Rosalie said, her voice dropping to a pained whisper. "I know why you refuse to love, why you refuse to have a family. But I won't let you destroy yourself—or her. It doesn't matter if you love her, Elliot. You will remain husband and wife, even if it is only in name!" Agony welled in her eyes, turning them a bloodshot, frantic red. The room began to tilt. Elliot saw the change in her expression and gestured sharply to his bodyguard to steady her, but it was too late. "As long as I draw breath... you will not cast her out!" Rosalie gasped, her hand clutching at her chest. "Find a woman you truly love if you want a divorce... but I will not let you spend your life in this hollow solitude!" Those were her final words before her strength vanished. Her head lolled back, and she collapsed onto the sofa. The matriarch of the Foster family, who had only been discharged from the hospital that morning, was rushed back into the siren-filled chaos of the emergency room. Elliot watched the ambulance lights fade, his expression unreadable. He hadn't expected his mother’s will to be so ironclad, nor her fury so life-threatening. He hated Avery—he hated the very idea of women in his space—but he was now trapped. He would not seek out another woman just to satisfy his mother's conditions for a divorce. He was a man of cold walls, and he intended to stay that way. *** In the guest bedroom, the warmth of the milk was beginning to seep into Avery’s veins, bringing a fragile clarity back to her mind. Through the thin walls, she had heard every word of the storm outside. She had heard Elliot’s coldness and Rosalie’s desperate defense. Mrs. Cooper entered softly with a bowl of oatmeal, her eyes downcast. She began to gently brush the knots out of Avery’s hair. "Don't lose heart, Madam. As long as Madam Rosalie stands behind you, Master Elliot cannot throw you away." Avery looked at her reflection in the darkened window. She was thin, battered, and broken—but her spirit was beginning to harden. "I want a divorce," she whispered. Her voice was husky, a mere shadow of itself, but it carried the weight of a vow. "Whether he permits it or not, I will leave him. I will not stay in this hell for another second." "Madam, please, eat your breakfast," Mrs. Cooper urged, her voice trembling. "I’ll go see what the situation is." As Mrs. Cooper reached the door, the bodyguard pushed Elliot’s wheelchair toward the room. The air in the doorway turned freezing. Avery’s head snapped up. Her eyes, though sunken, burned with a sudden, fierce light. She set the bowl of oatmeal aside and stood up, her legs shaking but her gaze steady. She grabbed the suitcase she had packed two nights ago. "Let’s end this, Elliot. Give me the divorce," she demanded, her voice gaining strength. "Go find someone you actually like. Let me go." Elliot’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. He looked at her luggage, then at her defiant face. "You hate me that much? Do you truly think you were the victim here?" "I was wrong to use your computer. I admit that," Avery said, her breathing shallow. "But I have paid for that mistake in hunger and fear. We are even. Give me the papers, or I will go have them drafted myself." A cruel, dark smile tugged at the corner of Elliot’s mouth. Seeing her desperation to escape him only fueled his desire to maintain control. "Did I say your punishment was over?" he drawled, his voice dripping with malice. Avery froze. It felt as if the floor had dropped out from under her. "Since being by my side is such an 'agony' for you," Elliot continued, leaning forward, "then you shall remain Mrs. Foster. You will live in that agony." "You... you monster," she breathed. "We will divorce," he added coldly, "but only when I decide the time is right. Not a moment before." He signaled his bodyguard, who turned the wheelchair and pushed him away, leaving Avery standing in the center of the room, trembling with a mix of rage and exhaustion. Her vision blurred. The world spun in sickening circles, and her knees finally gave way. She collapsed onto the bed, the darkness of sleep claiming her before she could even cry. *** A week passed. Avery’s physical strength returned, but a heavy stone sat in her heart. She felt hollow. After the two days of starvation and the immense stress, she was certain of one thing: the life she had been carrying was gone. After breakfast, she slipped away to the hospital for a checkup. She needed to know for sure. She needed to close that chapter of her grief. When she lay on the cold exam table, the gel for the ultrasound felt like ice on her skin. She looked at the ceiling, her eyes stinging. "Doctor... is the baby gone?" she asked, her voice small. The doctor paused, looking at the monitor. "Why would you assume that?" "I... I didn't eat for days. I was sick. The conditions were... terrible." "The human body is more resilient than you think, Dear," the doctor murmured, turning the screen toward her. "Some mothers can't eat for a month due to morning sickness, and the baby thrives." Avery’s heart began to hammer against her ribs. "So...?" The doctor smiled, pointing to two distinct, flickering pulses on the screen. "Congratulations, Avery. It’s not just one heartbeat. There are two gestational sacs. You’re having twins." Avery stared at the screen, her breath catching. In the midst of the cold war with Elliot Foster, a miracle—double the size of her fears—was fighting to survive.