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.