Three hours before our wedding, my fiancée told me not to bother picking her up for the ceremony, and registered her marriage with Khalil instead.

I endured the whispers and judgmental stares of the guests. Just as the humiliation threatened to swallow me whole, her younger aunt, Adriana, pushed open the doors of the hotel.

She arrived with the most extravagant wedding convoy, carrying 9,999 roses. With a sincere gaze, she confessed she had secretly loved me for years—that marrying me had been her dream.

Moved by her gesture, grateful for her rescue from public disgrace, I said yes.

We were married for three years. Adriana suffered seven miscarriages during that time, and only recently managed to get pregnant again.

Overjoyed, she stood on her toes and kissed me, promising to take extra care this time—to protect the baby that symbolized our love.

Three months into pregnancy, I accidentally overheard a conversation between her and her private doctor.

“Miss Adriana, just like the last seven times, the abortion medication has been mixed into the milk.”

“I don’t understand. You were willing to donate your eggs for Khalil. Why won’t you give birth to your husband’s child?”

Adriana let out a self-deprecating laugh.

“Because only the one who gives birth to an heir can take over the company. Melissa is infertile—I can’t bear to let Khalil suffer because of that.”

So all those sweet promises and declarations of love... were nothing but lies.

Fine. If that’s the case, I’ll leave.

——

“By doing this, you're not only giving up the chance to become the next chairperson of the group, but also abandoning all seven of your children with him.”

“You’ve asked me to forge Miss Melissa’s medical reports for so long, she still doesn’t know that the baby in her womb belongs to you and Khalil. Even when the child is born, they won’t call you ‘mom.’ Is it really worth it?”

Adriana’s face was full of longing and sorrow as she whispered, “So what if it is? Since I couldn’t be the one Khalil married, at least I’ll protect his happiness for the rest of his life. No one can ruin it—not even the child I had with Allen.”

The doctor hesitated.

“But you’ve already had seven miscarriages. One more, and you might never conceive again. Your husband... he’s really looking forward to this baby.”

Adriana pressed her lips together. After a long pause, she replied softly, “It’s fine. As long as he has me, that’s enough.”

I stood outside the study, gripping the doorknob so tightly the veins on the back of my hand bulged and trembled uncontrollably.

Before Adriana could notice I was there, I stumbled back to the bedroom, collapsing to the floor in a daze.

All this time, I thought her miscarriages were my fault—that something was wrong with my body.

I even believed Adriana didn’t use contraception because she was desperate to have our child.

But I was wrong.

Her mother had made it clear: whether it was Adriana or her niece Melissa, whoever gave birth to an heir would become the next head of the family business.

To avoid suspicion, Adriana never used birth control. She made me believe she wanted the baby as much as I did. I even felt guilty, thinking I was the one holding her back.

But now I know—all her tenderness was nothing but lie.

In her eyes, my existence and our deceased seven unborn children were just obstacles on Khalil’s path to happiness.

“Allen, why are you sitting on the floor?”

Adriana walked into the room and hurried over to help me up, her face full of concern.

“It’s nothing. My stomach just felt a little off,” I lied without batting an eyelid.

She gently rubbed my back to ease my breathing.

“You’ve been taking such good care of me lately, darling. If you ever feel unwell again, please tell me. Don’t keep it to yourself. It breaks my heart.”

“Ever since I got pregnant, I haven’t been sleeping well. The doctor said warm milk helps. Once the baby is born, you’ll have to spank him for me—teach him not to let his mommy suffer so much.”

I looked at that cup of milk and felt a sharp pain in my chest.

Will I ever get to meet my child?

Before every miscarriage, Adriana had acted exactly like this—diligently following the doctor’s advice, eating every meal of nutritious food and taking every supplement said to benefit the fetus.

I thought she wanted this child as much as I did.

I never imagined those were the blades she used to kill them.

Clenching my fist, I said, “Honey, you’ve always hated the taste of milk. Don’t force yourself to drink it, okay?”

Adriana gave a helpless smile, but her tone left no room for argument.

“Allen, stop being silly. The doctor said the more you dislike food, the more it means your body is lacking it.”

“If I can’t sleep well, the baby won’t rest well either. Don’t you love him the most? For you and our baby, I have to drink it.”

Without giving me a chance to stop her, she lifted the glass and downed the milk in one swift motion.

Adriana... were you really that afraid my child would stand in Khalil’s way?

Or was it simply that, in your heart, only a child with him was worth having?

I shut my eyes in despair.

Not even thirty minutes later, the effects of the drug began to show. Adriana curled up on the bed, her body trembling in agony, sweat pouring down her face.

She had barely finished her call to her private doctor when he stepped through the door—as if he had been waiting right outside the whole time.

Even though I’d been through this seven times before, losing another child still felt like having my heart torn apart.

In a daze, I heard the doctor say, “Sir, this time, the bleeding was more severe than any of the previous miscarriages. I’m afraid her reproductive system may be permanently damaged. She likely won’t be able to conceive again.”

I felt the blood in my veins freeze. My hands went ice-cold.

Adriana said nothing. Her eyes were red as she looked at me with guilt.

“Allen, please don’t worry. Even if we can’t have children, I still love you. I’ll take care of you for the rest of my life.”

This woman—who had grown up as a pampered heiress—had just suffered another miscarriage, and yet she held my hands against her chest, gently trying to warm them with her own body. Even in sleep, she refused to let go.

Late that night, she murmured in her sleep, “Khalil, don’t be afraid. I’ll make sure you get the happiness you deserve.”

The tears I had been holding back finally burst forth.

At our wedding, she had also promised to give me happiness.

But now I see—it was just a lie to stop me from interfering with Khalil.

And I realized, everything about our marriage had been one enormous, cruel joke.

Inhaling sharply, I sent a message to my childhood friend overseas.

[You mentioned wanting me to travel the world with you. I’ve made up my mind. I’ll come find you in Australia the day after tomorrow.]

As I put down my phone, the pain in my chest became unbearable.

I had just lost another child—and this time, it had been murdered by his own mother.

I locked myself in the bathroom, memories of the past three years with Adriana flashing through my mind.

Silent tears slid down my face.

As I stood, my phone slipped from my hand and fell to the floor.

When I bent down to pick it up, I noticed something hidden beneath the sink cabinet—wrapped layer after layer in expensive silk, as if it were a treasured artifact.

I unwrapped it—and found a thick photo album.

It contained every photo of Khalil from the age of 15 to 28.

I recognized the cover—it was the same one I’d once seen in Adriana’s office.

Adriana had always loved photography.

Though technically Melissa’s aunt, she was only a few years older than us. When we were kids, she always carried herself with a cold, aloof demeanor—watching Melissa and me play from the sidelines, as if our games were too childish to bother with.

Then, when we were fifteen, Khalil approached me, asking if we could be friends. I saw he was always alone, so I introduced him to both Melissa and Adriana.

Looking back, it must have started then.

From that moment on, Adriana began joining our outings. She also started learning photography.

I thought it was just part of growing up—her coming out of her shell.

But now I understand—she had met someone she liked.

Most of the photos in the album were ones I had never seen. They captured Khalil in moments even I hadn’t noticed: every smile, every frown, every glance, even a casual stretch—she had preserved them all through her lens.

Ever since we got married, Adriana never touched a camera again.

Once, I asked if she could take a photo of me, but she brushed it off, saying her camera had been lost. Then she recommended a famous photographer instead.

Turns out it wasn’t lost at all—she just didn’t want to use that lens unless it was for someone she truly loved.

My eyes were too dry to cry anymore. I quietly placed the photo album back where I found it.

On my phone, I booked a plane ticket and drafted a divorce agreement.

If she loved Khalil so much, then I’d set her free.

—

The next morning, my eyes were swollen like walnuts.

Adriana looked genuinely distressed. She personally made me a nutritious breakfast and even boiled eggs to reduce the swelling around my eyes. She peeled them with care and pressed them gently to my eyelids.

Her tenderness and concern made me doubt everything—was last night just a bad dream?

Seeing that I hadn’t touched a single bite, she sighed.

“Allen, we lost our baby. I know you’re heartbroken—I am too. But you still need to take care of yourself. Please eat something, don’t make me worry, okay?”

“Where’s the baby’s body? I want to see him.”

Three months in—my child should’ve been fully formed by now.

But he’d never have the chance to come into this world.

And just like seven times before, her answer was the same.

“I already arranged for the baby to be buried properly. You’re too emotional right now—I didn’t want you to see it and feel worse.”

“Mom and Dad are also devastated. Let’s go to the old house tonight for dinner and spend some time with them.”

...

As soon as we arrived at the old family estate, I saw Khalil holding onto Adriana’s mother’s arm, acting playful and affectionate.

When he spotted me, he raised his eyebrows with a smug grin.

“Allen, you’re here? Long time no see. Come, sit down. I heard your ‘tadpoles’ didn’t pass the quality check again—poor Adriana had another miscarriage. You must’ve cried all night, huh? Try not to wear yourself out.”

Since the wedding incident, things had fallen apart between me, Melissa, and Khalil. I usually avoided coming here when they were around.

But today, luck clearly wasn’t on my side.

I thought of the photo he’d posted—Melissa’s six-month baby bump. I thought of the truth: that child was Adriana’s. My heart twisted painfully.

Adriana had never let my child survive past the third month.

When her mother—my mother-in-law—saw me, her expression immediately soured.

“Useless piece of trash. How many times has this happened now? And you still have the nerve to look tired? How did my daughter end up with someone like you?”

She was Adriana’s biological mother, but only Melissa’s step-grandmother. At fifty, she was still ambitious, and watching the CEO position—originally meant for Adriana—fall into Melissa’s hands, filled her with bitterness.

In the past, Adriana might have spoken up for me.

But now, her eyes were fixed on Khalil, filled with longing and devotion. It was like she couldn’t hear anything else being said in the room.

“Grandma, don’t be angry,” Khalil said with false concern. “It’s not Allen’s fault he wasn’t born to be a father. It’s not like he meant to lose that many babies.”

My mother-in-law scoffed coldly.

“He’s a walking curse. All he does is drag my daughter down.”

Then, Khalil put on a pitiful act and started to stand—but suddenly stumbled, pretending to twist his ankle.

Even though he quickly regained balance, Adriana rushed to his side, shoving me aside without hesitation.

Right in front of her parents, she touched his face and asked anxiously, “Khalil, are you okay?”

He looked over at me with a mocking smile, then said in a pitiful tone.

“Adriana, I think I twisted my ankle... It really hurts~”

Without a second thought, Adriana wrapped her arm around his waist and helped him upstairs—straight into the second-floor bedroom without even sparing me a glance.

My mother-in-law looked at me meaningfully, her words sharp as knives. “You’ve got weak seed and can’t even hold onto your wife. If Melissa hadn’t married Khalil first, you think my daughter would’ve looked twice at you? You still have the gall to sit here and eat? Get upstairs! Just looking at you kills my appetite.”