In the Name of Love

Just as Ethan began to decipher the words on the screen, Mariah—beside him—suddenly clutched her stomach and cried out in pain.

“Ethan, my stomach… it’s happening again… it hurts so much…”

His expression shifted instantly. Tossing the phone aside, he moved to her side. “Is the medicine not working? Don’t be scared. I’m taking you to the hospital now. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Mariah’s face had gone deathly pale. She didn’t speak—couldn’t, it seemed—and the sight of her terrified him. Without another second’s hesitation, he scooped her into his arms and rushed outside.

He never paused. Not even when Cynthia’s desperate pleas echoed from the locked, pitch-black room behind him.

Damp and thick with the smell of earth, the room teemed with insects. Drawn by the scent of blood from Cynthia’s wound, they swarmed her—crawling, biting, as if eager to drain her dry. The pain wrung continuous sobs from her throat.

“Ethan, there are bugs everywhere! They’re biting me, sucking my blood! Please, let me out! I didn’t drug her, I swear!”

“Ethan, it hurts… it really hurts… Just let me out, please? I won’t cause trouble anymore, I promise…”

For years, Cynthia had tried every treatment to heal her body, but her organs were too damaged to ever fully recover. Medication alone kept her alive.

Every system within her was fragile. A wound that would heal in an hour for anyone else took her five.

Now, the gash on her forehead bled relentlessly, as though determined to empty her completely.

Before long, her consciousness began to blur, and she finally passed out.

When she woke, she was lying in a bright, airy room, her forehead wrapped in thick bandages.

She had just begun to wonder who had released her when the door burst open. Mariah stormed in, eyes blazing.

“Cynthia, what kind of spell have you cast on Ethan? After everything you’ve done to him, why is he still so reluctant to let you die? Why did he have to save you?!”

Cynthia frowned. “What are you talking about? I don’t understand.”

Ethan wanted her dead. What could he possibly be holding onto?

But the next moment, Mariah flung a stack of photos into her face.

The sharp edges sliced a thin line of blood across her cheek, though she barely felt the sting.

Every photo was of her.

Not just the ones Ethan had taken when they were together, but also shots from after her capture—her back as she worked in the kitchen, her profile in the garden, even the way she dozed off. All had been taken in secret.

Cynthia was stunned. She had never imagined Ethan would photograph her like this. Every frame seemed carefully composed, not a single one careless.

But didn’t he hate her more than anyone?

Before she could process it, Mariah grabbed a fistful of her hair and snarled, “Cynthia, do you think seducing Ethan like this will make him change his mind about you?”

“Impossible. I was the one who stood by Ethan at his lowest. He belongs to me alone. I will never let you steal him!”

With that, she dragged Cynthia out of the room and shoved her into a dog cage in the backyard.

Inside waited a ferocious Tibetan Mastiff. The moment it saw Cynthia, it lunged.

Too weak to fight back, she could only endure as the mastiff tore into her, ripping away more than a dozen chunks of flesh. Blood splattered the ground around them.

Just as she thought this was where she would die, Ethan’s furious roar sounded from behind.

“What the hell is going on here?!”