Chapter 1

On our wedding anniversary, my private video was displayed on the big screen.

A man's rough voice sounded, "As expected of a rich man's wife, she's well-maintained."

Friends whispered among themselves, and Nolan shot me a look of disgust.

My husband's secretary slapped me to the ground, "Xanthe, a slut like you doesn't deserve to be Mrs. Sterling!"

She ignored my explanations and tore at my clothes.

Until her high heel pressed against my lower abdomen,

I begged her through tears to stop, "This was secretly recorded during my gynecological surgery, please don't hurt the baby in my belly."

My husband sneered coldly, "Who knows whose bastard you're carrying?"

"Scarlett is standing up for me, you better take it!"

I stumbled away in a blood-stained white dress.

The seven-year promise has come due,

I don't want Nolan and the child in my womb anymore.

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1

As I turned to leave, a sympathetic friend advised:

"Nolan, your wife is still carrying your child after all, maybe you should check on her."

Nolan kissed Scarlett and held her close,

"She's so trashy, who knows which guy she's run off to!" "Don't look at how confidently she's walking now. Tonight when she gets home, she'll be on her knees begging for forgiveness at my feet."

His words coiled around me like thorns, choking me with pain.

After seven years of marriage, I should have grown accustomed to Nolan's targeting and contempt.

Yet, foolishly, I kept believing again and again that he would return to our family.

The first time, he tricked me by claiming he was anemic.

I donated a total of five bags of blood, nearly fainting before he admitted it was just a prank.

The second time, he said he had a stomach condition that required medicinal soups.

I diligently brewed soups for ten hours every day, only for him to pour them all down the drain.

...

The thirty-third time, Nolan complained I was too loose and told me to get a facelift.

I stupidly lay on the operating table, only to have a sex tape filmed of me.

This time, he said he wanted to celebrate our wedding anniversary.

I eagerly agreed, only to discover it was another scheme targeting me.

My mouth filled with the taste of blood as my fingers turned white from clenching my fists so tightly.

Nolan, I won't believe a single word you say anymore.

Sitting outside the operating room, Scarlett boastfully posted on social media.

On what should have been our wedding anniversary,

He had arranged a million-dollar drone fireworks show for his secretary instead. In the photo, Nolan has his arm wrapped around Scarlett's waist, and they gaze at each other lovingly.

The caption reads: "Walking hand in hand, growing old together."

I retch disgustedly, my internal organs twisting along with the eight-month-old life inside me.

The surgical consent form handed to me by the nurse is blotched with water stains, I'm not sure if it's from the rain or my tears.

"Ms. Carlisle, we can't save your baby. Please accept our condolences."

With trembling hands, I sign my name.

I had been so eager for my sweetheart's arrival, listening to their heartbeat countless nights.

But now, I can only watch helplessly as their life slips away.

I stare at the family member signature line, my pen hovering for a few seconds before I forcefully cross out the "spouse" column.

"I'm widowed. Let's proceed with the surgery."

The next day, I drag my weakened body to the cemetery.

I bury the tiny urn next to my parents' graves.

"Sweetheart, from now on, let your grandma and grandpa protect you."

As I stand up, my phone suddenly rings.

I answer with a frown, and Nolan's displeased voice comes through.

"Xanthe, you've got some nerve! Staying out all night now?"

"Get your ass back here. Scarlett's feeling sick today, you need to make her some soup."