He Killed Our Son for the Affair I Never Had

Freya’s POV

When I woke again, my gaze met the stark white ceiling above me. Ignoring the weakness that still clung to my limbs, I tried to push myself upright.

But before I could, a long and strong hand reached out from beside me and pressed me firmly back down.

It was Rodney. The faint crescent-shaped bite mark I’d left earlier was still etched into his wrist.

His brows furrowed as he forced me back against the pillow, and then he reached for a glass of juice.

“Drink some juice first,” he said.

I pushed his hand aside without a second thought, my voice urgent. “Where’s my daughter? Where is she?!”

He answered as though I hadn’t even asked. “Not a fan of cranberry? I’ll have someone bring another.”

My patience snapped. I knocked the glass from his hand, sending the dark red liquid splattering across the floor.

“You murderer!” I screamed. “Where is my daughter?!”

His expression darkened instantly. Rage flashed in his eyes as he slammed a fist into the wall.

“Daughter, daughter—she’s all you ever think about! Let me tell you—because of you, Harper was frightened and lost so much blood she’s on the verge of collapse! Until you make amends, I will never let you see that bastard again!”

My heart twisted like a blade was buried inside.

“She’s not a bastard,” I rasped, my throat raw. “She’s your child!”

But Rodney’s gaze was as cold as iron, unmoved by my pain.

“That brat is in the emergency room right now,” he said flatly. “If you don’t apologize to Harper, I’ll order the doctors to stop trying to save her.”

The words knocked the air out of me. I slumped back onto the bed, my voice trembling.

“Fine… I’ll apologize to her.”

For a moment, his expression faltered—surprise flickering in his eyes—but just as quickly it was gone, replaced by that familiar, impenetrable mask.

In silence, I let him drag me toward Harper’s hospital room.

We hadn’t even stepped inside when chaos erupted from within. Rodney’s assistant burst out, panic written across his face.

“Sir, the doctor says Ms. Driscoll has lost too much blood—she needs an immediate transfusion!”

Rodney froze, then whipped around as if a thought had just struck him. Without warning, he yanked me into the room.

“Doctor! Use her blood!”

The doctor frowned, glancing from me to my hospital gown. His eyes widened.

“Sir, that patient is already anemic. Drawing her blood could put her in serious danger. We can easily request compatible blood from the bank—”

Rodney’s voice cut like ice.

“I’m not asking for your opinion. Just do as I say.”

Under his unyielding demand, the thick needle pierced my arm.

I shut my eyes tight, forcing myself to endure the dizziness. I only wanted this over with. The sooner it was done, the sooner I could see my daughter.

Rodney reached as if to smooth the deep furrow in my brow, but I turned my head sharply away.

“Freya,” he murmured, voice low and falsely gentle, “I know you’re in pain, but this is you paying for what you’ve done. Bear with it. It will be over soon.”

I didn’t so much as glance at him.

When it was finally over, my body gave out. I collapsed weakly onto the floor.

As he moved toward the ward door, ready to rush to Harper, I forced my voice out, hoarse and faint.

“Now… can I see my daughter?”

Even then, seeing me like this, he only scowled.

“You care so much for that brat,” he said coldly, “but you still haven’t apologized to Harper. Until you do, you won’t see Farrah.”

I no longer had the strength—or the will—to remind him that my daughter was his own flesh and blood.

Four more days—just four more days, and I could take her away for good.

When that day came, Rodney would never again be her father!