"You mute, today you'll pay with your life." Julie gritted her teeth in hatred, lifting her foot to kick Mia's shoulder again.
Mia lay on the ground, clutching her abdomen, drenched in sweat, curled up in pain. Her stomach twisted in sharp, unbearable cramps, as though her insides were being wrung out.
Julie grabbed her thumb and pressed it into the ink pad. Hannah opened the contract, knowing Mia wouldn't obediently sign. So, she had already found someone to forge her handwriting and had signed her name.
Mia refused to comply, but at seven months pregnant, she was no match for Hannah. She could only watch helplessly as her thumbprint was pressed onto the contract.
"Just wait to die, Mia. Let's see if you and the little mutt in your belly can survive until someone comes to save you." Hannah raised her foot and kicked Mia's stomach with all her might.
Quickly, Mia protected her belly with her hands, but Hannah's kick landed on her arm instead.
Hannah, unwilling to let it go, was about to strike again, but Julie stopped her. "We've achieved our goal. The house is sold, William is dead, let's escape quickly, it'll be too late if we wait any longer."
Mia heard every word clearly.
"Anyway, she won't survive. Lock the door and leave her to die. Let's go."
Julie and the others had already packed their things and left. Mia distinctly heard the sound of the door being locked.
In the vast living room, only she and William's cold body remained.
She felt liquid continuously flowing from her body, and her pants were soaked through.
"Hurry. Break the door down."
As Mia's consciousness began to fade, she heard Jennifer's anxious voice from outside the heavy iron door.
"Mia, are you in there?"
Mia desperately wanted to answer, but she couldn't even let out a hoarse shout. She was terrified that Jennifer would leave without hearing her response.
With every last bit of strength, she struggled to get up, knocking over a cup on the coffee table.
Jennifer heard the noise and urged, "Hurry, faster!"
Ten minutes later, the iron door slammed open with a loud bang.
"Mia." Jennifer rushed over, calling her name.
Tears streamed down her face as she grabbed Jennifer's hand tightly.
Jennifer saw the gravity of the situation, pulled out her phone, and dialed an emergency number, instructing the servants behind her, "Lift her carefully and rush her to the hospital immediately."
With every bump and jolt, the pain intensified, but Mia became a little more conscious.
Jennifer couldn't wait for the ambulance, so she quickly got in the car herself and drove Mia to the hospital, meeting the ambulance halfway to save time.
"Mia, hold on, we're almost there." Jennifer comforted her as she saw the pain Mia was in.
An hour later, Mia was taken into the hospital, lying on the stretcher with her eyes closed. It looked like she had fainted from the pain, but in reality, she was awake, though drained of all energy.
As the doctors and nurses pushed her toward the operating room, they asked Jennifer, "The young mistress is in premature labor. The baby might not survive."
"What did you say?" Jennifer's ears rang. She grabbed the doctor's collar with immense force, pushing him against the wall, holding him down tightly. "My father-in-law is waiting for the birth of his great-grandson. You tell me the baby can't be saved? If the baby dies, you'd better not live either."
"Madam, there's one more option." The doctor, terrified, trembled as he spoke.
"Tell me." Jennifer's anger was palpable.
"We can perform a cesarean section, but... the mother might not survive." The doctor spoke cautiously, casting a quick glance at Mia lying on the bed, her eyes closed.
"Then what are you waiting for? Prepare for the surgery now." Jennifer shoved the stretcher, signaling the nurses to move Mia toward the operating room.
"The husband's signature is required, Madam. It's a rule, and we're powerless." The doctor, fearing Jennifer and the power of the Wenshte family, explained that she, as Lambert's stepmother, could not decide Mia's life or death.
Upon hearing this, Jennifer immediately understood, "I'll call Lambert."
Right in front of everyone, Jennifer pulled out her phone, found the number under Lambert's name, and dialed.
She put the call on speakerphone, and everyone held their breath, not daring to make a sound.
"Lambert, there's a crisis. We need to perform a cesarean on Mia, but the mother might not make it. What's your decision?"
"I want the baby. Do the surgery."
Those six words were crystal clear to Mia. She suddenly opened her eyes, but before she could resist, she was pressed down on the bed by the nurses. In the hallway, a needle of anesthesia was injected into her body.
No, she would make her own decisions about life and death. No one else would decide for her. She wanted her baby to live, and she wanted to live too. She couldn't die like this without avenging her father's death.
Lambert, how could you be so cruel? You may not love me, but why do you want to take my life?
She hated them, hated Julie, hated Hannah, and hated Lambert.
Her heart roared with anger, but her consciousness was fading, and her vision blurred. She didn't want to accept her fate, yet she had no choice but to let Lambert and Jennifer do as they pleased.
Her surroundings were a blinding white. She could still hear the sharp sound of surgical tools clashing, like a lullaby. Within minutes, she fell unconscious.
Outside the operating room, Jennifer waited. She hadn't called Lambert; instead, she had dialed one of her subordinates' numbers, just using Lambert's contact name as a ruse.
Lambert knew that Jennifer wanted to use the child to seize the family fortune, and he would never let the baby be born safely. She had been planning this for a long time. Today's events, however, had been a fortunate coincidence. Her father-in-law's insistence on keeping Lambert there had helped her immensely.
Meanwhile, the surgery was proceeding anxiously.
Hours later, the situation worsened for the elderly man. Ferguson, sensing the shift, spoke up, "Dad, there are no outsiders here. Why haven't you told us where the will is? Whether you're leaving it to Lambert or the grandson, it belongs to the Wenshte family, not anyone else."
"Shut up." Lambert growled, sending a sharp glare toward Ferguson. Ferguson immediately fell silent, not daring to speak further.
Lambert, restless, sat in the wheelchair, his mind occupied with thoughts of Mia.
He pulled out his phone and wheeled himself to the window, calling his subordinate, "Go check if Mia's car has arrived yet."
His hand gripped the phone tightly, his knuckles white.
When he turned his head again, the elderly man had passed away, staring at him with eyes wide open, mouth slightly ajar, clearly having something left unsaid.