Chapter 1

I believed my husband sacrificed his life for mine. He left me with massive debts and a newborn. I worked hard, caring for the baby while trying to clear the financial burden he'd left behind.

Then, one day, my life was turned upside down. I witnessed something unbelievable: my supposedly deceased husband in bed with my closest friend.

"Axel, you're so clever," my friend said with a grin. "You stole the company's money, pretended to die, and left your naive wife with all the debts. Brilliant."

Axel laughed. "She's such a fool. She didn't even know the baby she delivered was from a lab, created by us. When she was giving birth, begging to save the child, I could barely contain my laughter."

"So," the friend asked playfully, "when will you reveal the truth?"

Axel's expression turned smug. "There's no hurry. Let her work off the debts and raise the kid for us. Once she's finished, I'll take everything back—her efforts and the child. Then we can enjoy a luxurious life."

I concealed my shaking hands and tears, acting as if I knew nothing.

I nurtured their son with all my love and rebuilt the company they had deserted. Eighteen years later, my boy was accepted into both Harvard and Stanford. Under my guidance, the business thrived and eventually went public.

During the IPO celebration, they showed up. My best friend clung to Axel's arm, holding a DNA test report.

"Arabella," she said with fake sympathy, "Axel isn't dead. He's been with me all this time. Rowan is biologically ours, so it's time for you to give him back to us."

Axel stepped forward, throwing divorce papers and a $100 bill on the table.

"The company is mine from before our marriage," he said arrogantly. "Sign these documents, hand over the business, and return our son. This hundred dollars is your payment for managing my company and raising Rowan."

I looked at them calmly and replied, "Alright."

That evening, my so-called best friend came to my house as usual, her voice sickeningly sweet.

"Arabella, it's getting chilly. I made some lamb soup to keep Rowan healthy."

She didn't notice my icy stare.

Since Axel's "death," my best friend often found reasons to visit.

Sometimes, she claimed she was concerned I might become depressed and needed guidance through widowhood. Other times, she insisted I couldn't raise the child alone and came to "help out."

For convenience, she even added her fingerprints to my door lock. "If anything happens to you at home," she said, feigning concern, "I can come to your aid immediately."

But I knew better. She wasn't worried about me—she was worried about her son.

I didn't confront her. Instead, I smiled and accepted the lamb soup she brought, playing along with her act.

As soon as she put down the soup, she took my hands in hers. Her eyes turned slightly red, and she spoke softly, her voice filled with fake distress.

"Arabella, your hands are so cold." She sighed. "Your husband cared for you deeply. If he were alive, he'd be devastated to see your hands like this."

She blew warm air onto my hands, her face showing what seemed like genuine concern.

If I hadn't seen her and Axel together with my own eyes, I might have believed her. This "good friend," who treated me like family, had calculated every move with chilling precision.

Before I could respond, my son rushed out of his room, his face beaming with happiness.

He ran over and embraced her tightly. "Godmother, you're so thoughtful! I just mentioned yesterday that I wanted lamb soup, and here you are with it!"

My best friend smiled warmly and knelt down to caress his face. "Of course. Rowan is Godmother's precious boy. Whatever you wish for, I'll make it happen!"

She hugged him close, her face radiating love and joy.

Over the years, she had overstepped countless boundaries in the name of helping.

She visited my son every few days without fail. She threw extravagant birthday parties for him each year. She took him out alone to celebrate Children's Day and even Mother's Day, as if she were the one entitled to those moments.

Even school meetings weren't off-limits—she attended every single one, taking charge as though she were his rightful guardian.

Her dedication wasn't motherly—it was obsessive.

And I allowed her to think she was succeeding.