After hanging up, I composed myself, forcing my breathing to even out. Less than a minute later, the door was pushed open, and Sienna rushed in, a mask of perfect anxiety on her face.

"Blake, what are you doing out of bed? You just stabilized. This is dangerous."

Watching her walk toward me with such practiced concern, I couldn't help but wonder, Is she worried about me, or is she worried about her flawless plan?

I gave a bitter smile and sidestepped her touch. "I'm fine. Just had a nightmare."

For a split second, her eyes narrowed. She was always the one who flinched away from me. I'd never been the one to dodge her touch, even though I was the one who paid the price in agony every single time.

"If you're feeling better, let's go home," she said. "I hate these places."

Back at our penthouse on Fifth Avenue, she carefully took my hand—through my clothes—and placed it on her belly. She whispered to the child inside, "Little one, be good for Mommy, okay? Daddy just got back from the hospital. He's been through so much for us."

In the early days of our marriage, this would have sent me over the moon. I would've thanked my lucky stars for a loving wife and our precious child.

But now, every word was a knife plunging into my heart. My chest ached as if it were bleeding.

As usual, Sienna brought me a warm drink with a faint, fragrant aroma. Her eyes crinkled in a practiced, gentle smile. "I brewed you some special chamomile tea. Drink it and get some sleep. I'm going to the study to finish some work."

Her soft tone and familiar gentleness should have been comforting. Now, it just chilled me to the bone.

I knew what was in it. I took the cup, playing along. The moment she turned to get a blanket, I dumped most of the tea into the potted plant by the bed before pressing the rim to my lips for show.

Before long, I feigned that the drug had taken effect, letting my eyelids grow heavy and my breathing become even.

Once she was certain I was "asleep," Sienna tiptoed out of the bedroom. A few minutes later, the sound of a video call came from the study.

"Carter, don't worry. I'd never let him touch me. You know how I feel about him, how repulsive I find him," Sienna's voice cooed.

"And I'll make sure you shine at the Caldwell Foundation gala next week. You'll become the rising star of the entire medical community. Trust me, Blake will definitely play his part."

I barely had time to process the implications of her words.

This was the same Sienna who always publicly declared that "the Caldwell Group is a meritocracy, we don't even hire male interns to avoid any suspicion." And here she was, personally paving the way for a pretty-boy colleague with nothing to his name.

So, what did all her excuses about overtime, meetings, and being busy really mean?

I didn't dare to let myself think about it.

The most ridiculous part was that everyone seemed to know except me. I was the court jester, playing the part of the devoted husband.

I vaguely heard the sound of suggestive kisses over the call, followed by a loud crash as the custom art frame from our wedding fell to the floor.

What a joke.

"What happened, Blake?" Sienna's anxious voice suddenly came from the doorway. She looked genuinely worried, but the glossy sheen on her lips, meticulously applied for her video call, was a painful, glaring detail.

I forced myself to stay calm, pretending I had just been woken up. "Sienna... the picture frame fell."

She let out a long sigh of relief. Tugging uncomfortably at her wrinkled silk robe, she quickly turned away.

"I'm going to take a shower."

As she disappeared down the hall, an impulse drove me to pick up the phone she'd left behind.

I gambled on the unlock code. Her password was pathetically simple: Carter's birthday. Notifications from an encrypted group chat were popping up frantically on the screen.

Every message was like a heavy punch to my ribs.

Carter: "Everything is set."

One of her friends: "Don't worry, just waiting for the gala."

Sienna: "Blake will attend as a special case study. Carter, as the lead physician, will publicly demonstrate how he overcame this rare immune rejection, which will secure him the chief researcher position at the foundation."

Another friend: "And then Sienna will announce her pregnancy afterward, attributing it all to Carter's treatment plan. God, it'll be the top story in the medical world, the highlight of the whole event!"

The messages left me reeling.

Why did Sienna have to trample on my dignity like this?

Not only did she trick me into raising her and Carter's child, but she was also planning to use my illness to elevate his status in the medical community.

Sienna came out of the shower, glanced at her phone, and then casually suggested, "The Caldwell Foundation gala is coming up. I want you to try on the suit I had prepared for you. You need to attend with me, to be presented to the board as the crowning achievement of my medical career."

A shiver ran down my spine as I thought of their plan. I instinctively took a step back. "I'm not going. I don't feel well, and I have work to do."

Sienna's expression instantly soured.

"Work? What work could that pathetic little architecture firm of yours possibly have? A grown man, home all day. What do you even do? You couldn't touch me for years. Now that I’m finally pregnant, you’re going to give me attitude? Who do you think you're pouting at?"

Her words stabbed straight into my heart, sharper and colder than any outsider's mockery.

Who was it that turned me into this hollowed-out shell of a man? Who destroyed my immune system with drugs?

Seeing my silence, she assumed I was giving in, just like I always did. She said sharply, her tone commanding, "This isn't up for discussion. The car will be waiting downstairs at seven tomorrow night."

She turned and walked toward the walk-in closet, leaving me with her cold, indifferent back.

The next evening, I was powerless to resist. Bodyguards roughly pushed me into the car, and before long, we arrived at the gala venue.

Everyone was drinking, chatting, and smiling. On the surface, it looked like any other charity gala.

Just as I was starting to relax, Carter walked over with a bright, almost provocative smile.

"Blake, you're looking well," he said, raising his glass, his voice loud enough for the surrounding circle of people to hear. "You really are a lucky guy. Despite being allergic to women, Sienna still managed to get pregnant."

Every word dripped with hostility. Sienna, sitting on the sofa, watched him with a soft, indulgent gaze.

New York's elites joined in, poorly concealing their snickers.

"Have you heard? This Blake fellow supposedly has an extremely rare immune deficiency. Even a handshake can send him into shock."

"I heard that men with this condition can't control themselves once they get a chance, like animals in heat. I wonder if it's true?"

They slapped my shoulder hypocritically, pointing and whispering at me with malicious glee on their faces.

A tidal wave of humiliation, helplessness, and confusion washed over me, drowning me without mercy.

A rush of heat surged through my chest. I shot to my feet and slammed my champagne flute down on the table.

"Enough," I said, staring at Sienna, my voice as cold as ice. "Sienna, you're my wife. Are you really just going to sit there and do nothing?"

Only then did she lazily raise a hand, gesturing for the others to return to their seats.

Carter stepped forward, feigning kindness as he offered me a glass of water, a look of false concern on his face. "Don't take their words to heart, man. They're just joking. Here, drink some water, cool off. It has that serum Sienna specially prepared for you."

Listening to the sarcasm laced in his every syllable and staring at the slightly cloudy water, I knew I couldn't keep up the charade any longer.

"I've made my appearance. I'm leaving."

The moment the words left my mouth, Sienna slammed her handbag on the table with a loud smack.

The once-noisy VIP lounge fell instantly silent.

"Blake, Carter is helping you. How can you be so ungrateful? Drink it. Don't embarrass him."

Carter still held the glass out to me, his expression seemingly friendly, but his eyes were full of menace. "Yeah, man. Do me a favor. It's just a glass of water."

I glanced around and finally realized that everyone in the room was staring at me, their eyes filled with anticipation for the show to begin.

My heart sank.

I finally understood. This wasn't just a gala; it was a public execution. They needed me to be a submissive prop on stage to highlight Carter's so-called brilliant medical skills.