His eyes flicked away, avoiding mine.

“This is our marital privacy, it’s not something to be spoken aloud.”

“And didn’t you personally invite top experts from abroad for me?”

“I believe it can be cured. We’ll have our own children, so why rely on anyone else?”

Before his words could fully settle, Kristen stepped in, feigning innocence.

“My friends all say I’m very fertile, though I’m not sure what they mean.”

“But I did give birth to five sons, one set of twins, one set of triplets. Even I think it’s rather miraculous.”

A soft blush touched her cheeks.

“I just feel, even if my husband were infertile, I should still be able to have a child.”

George’s eyes brightened at her words, but he quickly masked it, forcing his composure back.

He wrapped his arm around my waist with stiffness, intentionally putting space between Kristen and me.

“Kristen, don’t ever speak like that again,” he warned. “Even if we can’t have children, Jennifer is the only wife I’ve chosen.”

His words made it feel as though I were the one who was flawed, incapable of giving him a child.

But with Kristen, he would certainly have one.

I felt a surge of disgust. Just half a month ago, I had flown abroad, arranging consultations with top specialists for him.

And yet, behind my back, he had brought Kristen into our home in secret.

Kristen carried burnt stir-fried dishes to the table, moving gracefully.

George, picky as ever, buried his face in his food and devoured three bowls of rice without complaint.

The antique sapphire earrings he had bought secretly, I had assumed they were for my birthday, now adorned Kristen’s ears.

Each night, he waited until I fell asleep before entering our bedroom, as though I might stop him.

I took a deep breath and pointed at Kristen.

“George, I’ll ask you one last time… are you really sure you want to keep her?”

He shoved me aside impatiently.

“Are you done yet? Haven’t I already made myself clear?”

“Must you keep making baseless accusations, stirring up trouble, trampling my dignity into the ground?”

My lower back slammed against the stair railing, pain shooting through me so sharply I couldn’t straighten.

George rolled his eyes and came over irritably, trying to pull me up.

“Alright, stop pretending. Acting weak doesn’t suit you. You didn’t get the nickname ‘tomboy’ for nothing!”

I remembered sophomore year, when he had walked me back to my dorm.

Just as we reached the bottom, a basin fell from above. Without thinking, I had pushed him aside, taken the hit on my head, and smiled at him, insisting I was fine.

In the end, I needed five stitches, earning the nickname “tomboy.”

Now he used it as a mockery.

I jerked away from his hand. “Don’t touch me… you’re filthy.”

His face stiffened, his hand curling into a tight fist.

“Can’t you speak properly for once today?”

“I’ve said all I need to. With her, there’s no me.”

Leaving the words hanging, I turned and went upstairs.

George opened his mouth to follow, but Kristen began to sob softly.

“I understand no one has ever liked me. Everyone always says I’m slow, useless.”

“That’s why my ex abandoned me, leaving me to raise five sons alone.”

“When my father loses at gambling, he beats me. When my sick mother is moody, she calls me cheap. Even my own children say I’m worthless.”

“Now, even your wife hates me, fighting with George, wanting a divorce because of me. I might as well die.”

She finished and moved as if to smash her head into the wall.

George hurried forward, gripping her gently, eyes brimming with helplessness.

“Kristen, don’t do this. I’ve never despised you.”

“You’re not slow, really. You’re very cute.”

A smile broke through Kristen’s tears. “Really?”

George reached out, running his fingers through her hair, raising his voice deliberately.

“Of course, unlike some people who keep a cold face all day, stiff in speech and movement, with no trace of femininity, who would ever like that?”

Kristen suddenly laughed, glancing at me with a mischievous sparkle.

“George, she seems to be exactly the kind of person you’re describing.”

“The first time I saw her, she was in a suit, hair perfectly tied, not a strand out of place, I almost called her brother,” she teased.

George laughed too, his voice rich with amusement.

“Let me tell you a secret, all the company subordinates privately call her a tomboy.”

My steps froze.

My heart thundered in my chest, threatening to burst. I grabbed the nearest vase and hurled it at them.

“George, take your maid and get out of my house!”

“Ah!”

Kristen’s shriek pierced the air.

George instinctively shielded her, the vase smashing heavily against his back. Yet even then, his first instinct was to steady Kristen, afraid she might fall.

“Jennifer! Why don’t you just smash me to death!”

He spun, fury burning in his red-rimmed eyes.

“I have no family background, no influential connections, and I can’t give you children! Hit me, curse me, look down on me, do as you please! But leave innocent people out of it!”

“Kristen is the kindest, purest soul I’ve ever met! She only became a maid to support her family. She’s a college graduate; she could have taken a far more respectable path!”

“In my heart, you, a spoiled princess born with a silver spoon, aren’t even worth a single strand of her hair!”

Each syllable cut deep.

He had no family, no backing, and was infertile.

Back then, I had resisted my parents’ pressure and married him without hesitation.

The cost had been brutal: within two years, I had to double the family’s profits.

I gave up full nights of sleep, steeled myself as if I were a man, and poured every ounce of effort into the task.

And I succeeded.

But now he accused me of looking down on him and called me worthless.

And with another woman by his side, he laughed at me for being a tomboy.

Like a madwoman, I stormed into the study and slashed that pillow that resembled Kristen.

I grabbed everything within reach, photo frames, plants, a desk lamp, and hurled them at the two of them.

He shielded Kristen tightly, effortlessly dodging each flying object.

“Jennifer! All these years, I’ve had enough of living under the Hathaway roof! I have the ability, I’m the youngest hospital director in the country!”

“You really think I have to scrape by in your brother’s hospital? Let me tell you, there are countless top hospitals trying to recruit me!”

“If you keep losing control like this… fine. We’ll divorce! And the only one who will regret it will be you!”

I gripped the stair railing, trying to steady myself. “Do whatever you want!”

Kristen trembled in his arms.

“George, married couples fight… It’s normal. She has a strange temper, but if you just endure it, it will pass.”

“Divorced women really have it hard. People look down on them… just like me.”

George sneered coldly, barely sparing me a glance.

“I don’t care about her. She brought it on herself. Not every woman deserves to be cherished.”

A wave of exhaustion swept over me. I released the railing and quietly went upstairs.

George stared after me, his gaze sharp, seemingly unprepared for my calm departure. A flicker of guilt passed through him, and he opened his mouth to call me back.

Just then, Kristen’s phone rang.

“What? Dwayne has a fever?”

“Alright, I’ll head to the hospital immediately.”

She hung up, eyes wide and reddened with worry.

“George, Dwayne has a high fever, forty degrees! What should we do?”

George’s face drained of color in an instant.

“Dwayne? But… wasn’t he perfectly fine at the amusement park just yesterday?”

“I’ll go with you!”

Hearing the slam of the door as George and Kristen left, I could no longer keep myself upright and collapsed onto the floor.

His relationship with Kristen had already reached the point where he was taking her child to the amusement park.

Or was that child connected to him all along?

The thought made my chest tighten. I bit down hard on my lips and dialed my brother Chase’s number.

“Brother, help me investigate George and Kristen.”

“Investigate what? Did he cheat?”

“I suspect he has an illegitimate child.”

Chase gasped in shock. “Are you sure? He can even have children?”

I felt all my strength drain away, my throat tightening.

“Kristen said she’s a lucky, fertile woman.”

Even as I spoke, the words felt absurd, a claim with no proof, yet the weight of it pressed down on my heart.

“Brother, hospital directors change every five years; it’s about time for George to step down.”

“These five years under his management, the hospital has lost money year after year. That betting agreement he signed, the penalty should be enough to ruin him, right?”

My brother froze for a moment, then asked cautiously, “Jennifer, are you alright?”

I wasn’t. Not at all. My heart ached as if it were being sliced apart piece by piece.

But I could not allow the slightest impurity in love. If any existed, I would crush it completely.

“Brother, help me find a reliable divorce lawyer. I want George to leave with nothing. This will be difficult.”

In our circles, prenuptial property agreements were always signed.

But I had never made George sign one.

I had always believed he wasn’t here for money, that he would never betray me.

Looking back now, I realized I had spoken far too soon.

After I set everything in motion, George sent me a message.

[Wife, everything I said just now was in anger. Don’t take it to heart.]

[Dwayne has pneumonia. I have to stay at the hospital tonight to be with him.]

[Honestly, I really want to come home, but Dwayne is only four years old. He’s clinging to me… I couldn’t bear to leave.]

I typed back quickly, my fingers trembling.

[I don’t care. Come tomorrow to pack your things and move out of my house.]

A question mark appeared in response.

[Jennifer, are you really forcing me like this? You won’t be satisfied until you push me into another woman’s arms?]

[Fine. I’ll grant your wish!]

I paused, then sent my reply. [On our wedding day, I told you, if you betray me, you’ll be left with nothing. Do you remember?]

That had been our wedding. He had gently lifted my veil, eyes shining like a sky full of stars, and said firmly, “There will be no betrayal, unless I die.”

And now, the only thing left on my screen was a cold, red exclamation mark. He had blocked me.

Not long after, someone added me, and it was Kristen.

She sent a video.

In it, George sat at a bedside, reading a picture book to a four- or five-year-old boy with tender patience.

The child listened closely, eyes wide, completely absorbed.

Father and son, the warmth between them was undeniable, a scene of effortless harmony.

I replied, my chest tightening, “What are you implying?”

Kristen answered immediately, “Ma’am, don’t you think Dwayne looks a lot like George? Take a closer look.”

“Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t look like.”