

To defuse the bomb strapped to the hostage, I had no choice—I cut off all her clothes. My clueless new wife, Dana Poole, blasted it online. She cried as she faced me. "Why not at least leave her underwear on? You were saving her, I get it—but did you have to take everything? Doesn't a girl's dignity matter? With cameras everywhere, how is she supposed to live after this? You couldn't even cover her up?" The backlash exploded. The unit benched me to calm things down. So I stopped caring. I followed procedure, no improvising, no extra effort. Then one day, at the busiest mall in the city, Dana's mom got strapped into a brand-new linked bomb. This time, the whole unit panicked.

I was pregnant, and when I went to a private club to have Ronan sign the divorce papers, he was tangled up with his mistress, Molly. Under Ronan's coercion, I drank the wine Molly handed me. But what I didn't expect was that Molly had slipped an abortion-inducing pill into the drink. I collapsed, yet Ronan left with Molly in his arms. "I'll bring in the top medical team to save the baby." he said. "Ronan, there are only eight days left on the marriage contract. We will never meet again in this life." I replied. But Ronan didn't hear me—he was too busy answering Molly's call. Fortunately, my baby survived. Eight days later, I returned to my grandfather's farm with my child, severing every last tie to Ronan. Just when I thought life would settle down peacefully, Ronan knelt at my doorstep.