I thought I was the Conti family's "legitimate wife."

Until the day I saw it with my own eyes, my husband, Christian, resting his hand on my stepsister Emma's bump belly, gentle like he was cradling the future.

Everyone told me to be "big-heated": when the baby was born, they'd put it under my name, make him call me Mom, because the family needed an "heir."

Even the private doctor they hired announced it in front of everyone—steady heartbeat, and from the ultrasound, it looked like a boy.

I didn't cry and didn't make a scene.

I just picked up the phone and told my lawyer to initiate the divestment.

Twenty-four hours later, Christian's cards were frozen, his projects got their loans yanked, and assets started getting seized—

That's when he finally understood: he hadn't betrayed a wife.

He'd betrayed the lifeline of the entire family.

But what I really wanted to know was—

When he dropped to his knees and begged me to come back, would I tell him— I had already picked out his grave?

My husband, Christian Conti’s hand was still on my stepsister Emma's belly.

That one picture stabbed my eyes raw.

"Rory, don't be mad at Christian." Emma lay back on the bed, wearing that harmless, innocent smile.

"The doctor said I'm not in great shape. Christian was just scared something would happen to me and the baby, so he kept it from you."

I let out a soft laugh. Yeah, "not in great shape". Emma was paralyzed. I honestly didn't think Christian could even bring himself to do it with her.

Emma heard that laugh and kept going, voice sweet as syrup:

"We're doing this for you. You're the Donna of the Conti family. How can you sit in that seat without having a child of your own?"

"Those capos and partners are all watching you. The second people outside smell an empty heir's chair, they'll pounce like dogs."

Then she patted the back of my hand like we were sisters sharing secrets.

"Once the baby's born, we'll register him under your name. He'll call you Mom, okay?"

On the side, my father cleared his throat and put on his elder's authority.

"Rory, Emma is carrying my only son, also the Conti family's only Don heir."

Christian started to persuade me too. He finally lifted his hand off Emma's belly.

"Emma's already inconvenient as it is, and she's still willing to take on the burden for you, for the Conti family. And you're not even grateful? You're pulling a dead face for whom, exactly?"

The way he looked at me was like I was a "failed family member," not his wife.

Then he walked toward me.

He reached for my hand, but I stepped away.

His arm froze in midair.

"Rory, we've been married all these years. Do you not get it?"

"Everything I'm doing is for you, for us. I can't let people gossip behind our backs that the Conti family's Donna can't even give the family an heir."

I stared at him, lips parting, but not a single word came out.

When Christian saw I still wouldn't budge, his patience snapped. He yanked at his tie, irritated.

"Fine. Enough drama. I already had the nanny prepare dinner. Let's celebrate."

"You're the Donna. You should at least show some goodwill."

He turned to help Emma up, gentle in a way I'd never once seen from him.

"Emma. What do you feel like eating? I'll have the nanny make it for you."

Emma leaned into his arms, whining like a spoiled kitten:

"I want pumpkin soup. And I want you to feed me yourself."

"Okay," he said softly. "Whatever you want."

They flirted like I wasn't even there, like I was just a piece of furniture.

I stood there, so extra it was almost funny.

Then the family doctor, Mr. Henry, walked in with his medical kit.

He was all smiles as he pulled an exam report from his briefcase.

"Christian, Ethan, congratulations."

He said it to my husband and my father.

Then he handed the report to Christian and announced it loudly, like it was a blessing to the room:

"This pregnancy is very stable. From the ultrasound, it looks like a boy! Congratulations. Your family finally has an heir!"

Christian leaned down and kissed Emma hard. My father's face flushed bright red with excitement.

Mr. Henry turned to me, his smile carrying a neat little slice of pity.

"Rory, don't take it too hard."

"If your belly can't produce one, having Emma give you a child works just the same."

The laughter and congratulations in that room felt like needles stabbing straight into my ears.

I gripped my phone so tightly my fingertips dug into flesh.

Christian held up the report and walked right in front of me.

"Rory, look. Isn't he adorable? From now on, he is our child."

My father rushed to add, "But, Rory, the baby will be under your name, yes… but he'll also have to call Emma 'Mom.'"

They were the same as always and so sure I would say yes to anything they asked.

Just like the day of my mother's funeral, when my father brought home a stepsister only half a year younger than me.

He claimed she was his late friend's daughter, even though her face looked ninety percent like his.

Just like when Christian said he wanted a child, and I tried countless folk remedies.

Even though I told him before we married, my body didn't get pregnant easily and I couldn't keep pumping myself full of injections and pills.

But I did it anyway, because seven years ago, beside my mother's hospital bed, I swore an oath.

I would support the White family with my weak father. I would pave Christian, a man who had nothing, a bright road forward.

To my mother, my father was love, and the Conti family was grace.

They were the obsession she couldn't let go of, even at the end.

But to me, it was just a promise.

And now the seven years were up.

I looked around and realized there was nothing here worth holding on to anymore.

I turned around and shut all that "warm family togetherness" behind the door.

Out on the empty balcony, I called the lawyer my mother had appointed before she died.

"Eric. Seven years are up."

There was a brief silence on the other end, followed by a quiet sigh.

"Rory… everything's ready. As long as you order, all the funds injected into Christian and Ethan's names will begin withdrawing within twenty-four hours. Estimated six days, and we can pull every last cent."

"Start."

When I hung up, it felt like the rope that had tied me down for seven years finally loosened.

Christian appeared behind me at some point, frowning.

"Who are you calling all sneaky like that?"

"Rory, I'm warning you don't take the family's money and go throw it into random investments outside."

"Raising a kid costs money everywhere. Be saving."

He lectured me like it was only natural, completely forgetting his money existed because I made it exist.

I didn't answer. I walked straight into the dining room.

The long table was loaded with food, every dish something Emma liked.

Christian carefully picked fish bones out for her, never noticing I hadn't even touched my fork.

My father was flushed from drinking, cheerful and loud.

"Rory, transfer your shares in the White family company to the baby in Emma's belly. Consider it your first gift as his mother."

I looked up at that face full of calculation and nodded once.

"Okay."

My quick agreement made all of them freeze for a beat.

Christian recovered first. Satisfaction spread across his face.

"See? Rory's always been the reasonable one."

Then he decided on my behalf: "And the shares in my company that are under your name, transfer those too. For our child. You'll do it."

Emma nestled against Christian's chest, tugging at his sleeve like she was worried for me.

"Christian, don't… Rory will be upset."

My father scoffed.

"How could she be? She's delighted. Right, Rory? Come on, toast Emma. Say a few blessings."

Christian handed me a glass of red wine.

"I can't drink," I said.

Christian's face darkened instantly.

"Can't drink? For the right to use the Manhattan port, when you were downing drinks at the table until your stomach bled, why didn't you say you couldn't handle it then?"

My father piled on, smug as ever. "Exactly. All these years you've been to how many drinking tables? You looked pretty happy back then. Half the time we told you not to go, you insisted."

These years, one of them had to keep up the Don image, and one had to keep up the righteous-father act.

The kind of humiliating work, lowering your pride to charm people, of course it was always me.

Six days. I counted silently.

Then I took the glass Christian was practically shoving into my mouth and turned to Emma.

Her triumph wasn't even hidden.

I lifted the glass and said each word clearly:

"I wish you exactly what you've been dying for."

That night, a twisting stab in my stomach yanked me out of a nightmare.

Cold sweat soaked my pajamas. I curled into myself, even breathing felt like pain.

I fumbled for the nightstand, trying to find painkillers, nothing.

Only then did I remember: the nanny had already cleared out the household medicine, saying Emma couldn't stand the smell of it.

This massive house felt empty as a tomb.

They were probably all crowded in Emma's room, asking if she was cold, if she was hungry, if she needed anything.

I forced myself up and went to the hospital alone.

In the ER, the doctor scanned my medical records and his expression turned grim.

"How did you end up like this again? Didn't I tell you to take care of yourself?"

He looked up, scolding. "Wasn't Christian keeping an eye on you? Last time he was here, he begged me again and again to get you properly healed."

My mind went a little blank.

The first time my stomach flared up, it was here too.

Christian had carried me into the ER, eyes red, gripping the doctor's hand, asking over and over what to do.

After I was discharged, he locked away all my work files and cooked meals that were safe for my stomach with his own hands.

Every few days he'd show up at the hospital, pulling the doctor aside to discuss my diet.

Back then… he really did love me.

And yet that love still disappeared.

Maybe I was too busy. Too busy to notice anyone's feelings—anyone's needs.

I still remember the last time Christian and I had a real fight.

I'd gone three days and three nights without sleep for a project.

And I missed the trip I'd promised him again.

For the first time, he exploded.

He called me a cold-blooded monster who only knew work, said I hadn't fulfilled a wife's responsibilities at all.

I was stunned, honestly.

I was just doing what my mother did, trying to give them a better life. What was wrong with that?

Holding up two families' businesses was exhausting.

And the competition in the underground world was brutal, port access, drug routes…

There wasn't room for me to slow down and think too much.

By the time I came back to myself, everything had already become this.

My phone buzzed, dragging me out of the past.

It was a message from Christian:

"Dad and I are taking Emma on a vacation to clear her head. Transfer six million dollars from the company account."

Like I always did, I replied: "Okay."

Then I messaged finance and authorized unlimited spending on their end.

It wasn't going to be my company. Whether the cash flow broke or not wasn't my problem.

The doctor was still talking beside me. "You need to follow orders. Stop wrecking your body like this."

I nodded, steady and certain. "Yes, Doctor. I won't do that anymore."

From now on, I would live for myself.