When I lost my baby in a car accident Part 1

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When I lost my baby in a car accident, Preston just happened to be driving by with his female assistant in the passenger seat.
He saw my white dress soaked in blood, shielded his assistant's curious eyes, and coldly muttered, "Bad luck. Don't look." Then he sped off.
That same night, while I was in the bedroom, I found a lace bra stuffed in the corner of our closet—a bra that definitely wasn't mine.
Closing the closet door, I calmly dialed a number. "Mr. Miller, I've made up my mind. I can leave the city next week and start at your company."
"That's wonderful news, Ms. Baker! We're excited to have you on board!" he replied cheerfully.
The second the call ended, Preston walked out of the bathroom. His hair was damp, and beads of water still clung to his skin.
He used to take five minutes in the shower. Lately, he's been spending at least half an hour, always with his phone in hand.


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