I was held captive in Mason's private estate.
Even more unbearable was the fact that I was pregnant.
Mason seemed determined to use this to tie me down.
Every day, he would come to see me bearing various gifts.
But my depression worsened. I hated this world, and I hated Mason, the culprit, even more.
I couldn't stomach anything.
After five consecutive days without eating, Mason sat by my bedside with a bowl of nourishing soup, pleading with me.
"Blaine, please eat something."
Like a madwoman, I screamed hysterically, raising my hand to knock the soup out of his hands.
The soup scalded his hand, turning it bright red.
But he acted as if nothing happened, instructing the housekeeper.
"She doesn't like bitter tastes. Go make some chicken soup."
Watching his pretense of deep affection made me even more nauseated.
"Mason, do you have masochistic tendencies?"
"I don't love you. Right now, I wish I could kill you and this cursed child inside me."
I said coldly.