Just because Ethan Walker’s lucky number is 99, after three years of marriage, I had been pregnant 98 times.

I thought it was his way of wanting our relationship to last forever, so I ended up losing all the children.

When I cried over the miscarriage of the 99th child due to a car accident, I discovered that Ethan had directed the film crew to record this as material, making me, the one who had lost the child, a free background prop for Vivian Hart's acting.

Even when I had crushed legs, trembling uncontrollably from excessive blood loss,

Ethan still turned a blind eye, speeding past me in his luxury car with Vivian Hart by his side.

He coldly said, "Stop pretending. You've had 98 miscarriages before; what's so special about this one?"

It was at that moment that I realized Ethan was obsessed not with the number 99, but with the woman named Vivian Hart.

I was the joke all along!

I silently stared at the bloodstain on the ground, tears flowing like rain.

This was my 99th child, and I still couldn’t keep him.

When I first married Ethan, I was overjoyed to be pregnant for the first time.

But he was indifferent, asking me to abort.

Ethan's reasoning was that he wanted to have some time alone with me.

I respected his wishes, though reluctantly, and went through with the abortion.

The second time I was pregnant, he said he wasn’t ready to be a father yet.

The third time, he patted my belly and said he understood that the interval between pregnancies was too short, and it wasn't suitable to have a child.

...

The 98th pregnancy, Ethan still insisted that I terminate it.

I questioned him, wondering if he had any feelings for me at all.

His response was a reproach:

"How can you think that of me? I’ve made you have so many abortions just because my lucky number is 99."

"I hope our child can be as lasting and smooth as our relationship."

I was on the verge of tears, feeling that I had misunderstood him, eagerly anticipating the arrival of the 99th child.

Until today, I held the prenatal check-up report, happily planning to tell Ethan the good news that I was pregnant.

A car accident unexpectedly took away this hard-earned life.

I desperately protected my belly, but it was all in vain.

I could only watch as my stomach deflated, the blood pooling around me.

Shaking, I dialed Ethan’s number to tell him what had happened.

His voice sounded somewhat satisfied and hoarse, and when he heard the word “car accident,” his tone slightly lifted.

I thought I would be waiting for Ethan, but instead, it was the film crew with cameras in hand.

The director adjusted the camera, observing the scene.

Ethan walked over and patted the director's shoulder, "This scene works well. Saves you from spending extra money on an outdoor set."

His near-ignoring attitude suffocated me. My lips trembled as I tried to call his name.

"Ethan, thank you for finding such a real backdrop for me."

It was only then that I noticed the woman leaning against him.

Vivian Hart’s sweet voice, like candy, rang out again: "I will never disappoint your kind heart, Ethan."

I sat there in the blood, watching Vivian Hart, her expression stiff, finish all her lines.

Watching Ethan, who had barely touched me, lowering himself to help Vivian Hart with her clothes.

Watching Vivian Hart, done filming, get into his car, and the two of them driving off into the distance.

After the two left, the crew members began to gossip in whispers.

"Mr. Walker really treats Vivian Hart well, even ignoring his original wife like it’s nothing."

"If it weren't for Ethan dumping 99,999,999 dollars on her, how could she, a stiff-faced actress, have made it this far?"

Vivian Hart, Hart...

99,999,999...

If it weren’t for them, I probably would still be in the dark.

What lucky number, what lasting love — it was all just Ethan's obsession with Vivian Hart!

And I, for him, had been pregnant 99 times. I was the joke.

My vision went dark as I lost too much blood, falling into unconsciousness.

When I woke up again, I had been brought to the hospital by a kind stranger.

The doctor looked at my report, hesitant to speak.

I calmly said, "Doctor, just tell me, I can take it."

The doctor sighed, his face heavy.

"To save your life, we had to remove your uterus."

"Ms. Quinn, you will never be able to get pregnant again."

I gently touched my flat stomach, feeling no strong emotions.

Aside from not being able to have children, my right leg had a compound fracture.

I didn't return home, instead staying in the hospital for a while.

During this time, Ethan never sent a single message.

Instead, I saw photos of him and Vivian Hart on the entertainment headlines.

The trending headline was eye-catching: "Married CEO Spends 3 Hours in a Car with Popular Actress, Allegedly Flirting."

Back at home, Ethan was sitting on the couch, flipping through documents.

Hearing me open the door, he didn’t even look up, saying, "I had the maid make you some chicken soup; it’s on the table."

I nodded and walked upstairs without a word.

Seeing my lack of reaction, he slammed the contract shut, frowning.

"Why aren’t you talking? Still thinking about this miscarriage?"

Ethan picked up the bowl, pretending to feed me.

I merely took the soup, with no intention of drinking it.

"You've had 99 miscarriages already, why are you so upset this time?"

Ethan's patience was exhausted. He never expected me, the always gentle and obedient wife, to reject him.

Our eyes met.

He seemed to sense something was off.

Ethan rarely spoke to comfort me, "Don’t be sad, we’ll have children."

He reached out to hug me, but I subtly avoided his touch.

Ethan didn’t know, we had no future, let alone children.

I turned to go upstairs, intending to pack my things.

Just as he was about to stop me, his phone rang with a special ringtone, unlike the usual system notification.

And after all these years of marriage, he had set my calls and messages to Do Not Disturb.

He looked at me, hesitating for a few seconds,

then immediately answered the call.

I vaguely heard a familiar female voice on the other end, it was Vivian Hart.

But I had no intention of asking. I just continued packing my things in silence.

Only to unexpectedly find a few lace nightgowns among his usual suits and shirts.

I quietly took the inconspicuous file that was hidden under his computer.

It was the divorce agreement I had long discussed with the lawyer, already signed by Ethan.

A few days ago, I asked Ethan’s secretary to sneak this agreement in with company files.

Years ago, I saved Vivian Hart from a powerful man at a company banquet.

There was no other reason, but before I married Ethan, I was a bartender, very familiar with the colors of drinks.

So, when I knew my purpose, even though I risked being found out,

the secretary still resolutely helped me.

Even though the lawyer repeatedly warned me that I might not get a penny if I divorced Ethan,

I remained firm, "I don’t care about that."

Before marrying Ethan, I was an ordinary person, worlds apart from the status of a CEO.

Even if I left him, with my skills, I could still live well.

Outside the mansion, I unexpectedly ran into Ethan tightly holding Vivian Hart.

Ethan’s cold gaze fixated on the luggage in my hands.

Vivian Hart trembled when she saw me.

She even knelt before me.

"Ms. Quinn, please spare me. I’m just a small actress, how can I handle being written about like this?"

Ethan quickly supported her, his tone full of pity, "You don’t have to do this, I’ll help you."

Then, his gentle gaze turned cold as he questioned me.

"Did you send those paparazzi to take pictures? Liora Quinn, how could you be so vicious? Are you trying to ruin Vivian?"

I was just an ordinary person, how could I have that much power to cover things up?

But I didn’t argue.

After all, in Ethan’s eyes, Vivian Hart’s words were the supreme truth.

Ethan’s anger grew when he saw I was leaving.

He reached out and angrily threw my luggage to the ground.

In the process, I fell awkwardly.

The wound on my leg began to bleed again.

Ethan froze, unsure of what to say.

He reached out to help me, but was interrupted by Vivian Hart’s light words.

"Ethan, I have a dinner tomorrow, can you help me pick out my clothes?"

Vivian Hart clung to him, gently tugging at his sleeve.

"Ms. Quinn, don’t take it too personally, I’m just used to it."

Vivian Hart’s smile was provocative, trying to provoke me.

I just silently picked up my scattered luggage, took a taxi, and returned to my own place.

I booked a flight for the next evening, planning to go abroad and get some peace.

Vivian Hart and Ethan’s scandal had already been suppressed.

And the film crew released the behind-the-scenes footage of my miscarriage accident, which became a new topic of gossip.

I made myself a few drinks.

For the first time in three years of marriage, I drank myself into a stupor.

At the dinner party,

Ethan absentmindedly drank the toasts from others.

Even though Vivian Hart, his "white moonlight," was smiling beside him, his mind was still filled with the image of me being thrown to the ground.

Vivian Hart keenly noticed his mood and signaled the waiter.

A bottle of wine quickly arrived.

The taste of the wine was familiar, the same one Ethan had drunk before.

The aftertaste had a faint hint of lemon peel, a scent I always added when bartending.

Ethan stared at the wine in a daze, while Vivian Hart’s gaze began to cloud over.

She began to subconsciously tug at her clothes.

Ethan became furious and abruptly stopped the dinner.

The mastermind was quickly brought forward, but he only shouted in protest.

Ethan roared, "Who drugged the wine?"