Marcus' heart clenched with unease.

He knew I had always been clingy, always longing for his presence. I must be upset, he thought—angry that he hadn’t been by my side these past few days.

"Lila, I'm sorry," he said, his voice soft, coaxing. "Please don’t be mad at me, okay? I swear I’ll never do this again. I’ve been working non-stop just so I could come back to you as soon as possible."

He smiled as he apologized, as if my unhappiness was a burden on his conscience.

Love?

Love.

At least, I had truly loved him once.

I still remember that night. A rainstorm poured over the city, and Marcus had come to pick me up from work. Out of nowhere, a car lost control and came hurtling toward us. In that split second, I thought I was going to die.

But before I lost consciousness, I saw him let go of the steering wheel—choosing to wrap his arms around me instead.

He shielded me with his body.

I walked away with nothing but a few scratches. He spent three days in a coma.

The man standing in front of me had once risked his life for me.

But so what?

Feelings shift in an instant. Love is a long, grueling battle. When you love someone, you would die for them. When you don’t, there’s nothing left—not even a shred of sincerity.

A bitter laugh escaped my lips.

If I weren’t set to leave in ten days, I wouldn’t even bother playing this game with him.

Looking at that affectionate yet hypocritical face, I forced a smile.

"Marc, you’re overthinking. I’m really not angry," I said lightly. "Tell me, which woman in this city wouldn’t envy me? When you proposed, fireworks lit up the entire skyline for three days. And at our restaurant, anyone who wished us well got a free meal, all at your expense."

Marcus' lips curled into a gentle smile. "Lila, I love you more than I love myself. Even if you wanted my life, I would give it to you."

He was still the same as before—putting on a show, making sure that no matter the setting, no matter the audience, his love for me appeared unwavering.

Just as he was about to lean in and pull me into his arms, I shoved him away, disgust curling in my stomach.

"I want to eat cake," I said flatly.

Marcus chuckled and playfully tapped my nose. "Don’t eat too much. I’m taking you to my mother’s house later."

"I already bought the gifts for you."

Every time we visited his mother, Marcus—the ever-filial son—would bring a pile of gifts and then tell her they were from me, her future daughter-in-law.

His mother neither liked nor disliked me. To her, whoever married her son would be family, as long as she could provide grandchildren.

She lived in the suburbs, in a farmhouse Marcus had bought for his parents. The elderly couple preferred a quiet life in the mountains, tending to their vegetable garden and raising chickens in the spacious yard.

As soon as our car stopped, Vivian came bounding toward Marcus like an excited bird, throwing herself into his arms.

"Uncle, I missed you!" she whined, wrapping her arms around his waist, her voice dripping with sweetness.

The old lady beamed. "This girl is still as attached to her uncle as she was when she was little."

Marcus' face darkened. Annoyed, he pried her hands off him. "You’re not a child anymore. Move."

Vivian’s eyes filled with unshed tears, her lips trembling in a pitiful pout.

"Uncle, you’ve changed," she sniffled. "You used to love me so much! When that fat kid next door bullied me, you beat him up for me. You promised you’d always take care of me! But now… now that you have her, you don’t love me anymore?"

She shot me a resentful glare.

Marcus' expression turned cold in an instant. "Vivian, if you keep this up, I’ll have someone send you back to the mountains!"

"Apologize to your aunt!"

I stood there with my arms crossed, watching their ridiculous performance.

These two, who had already crossed every line of intimacy, were now pretending to be innocent in front of me.

Vivian, seeing Marcus' anger, bit her lip and whispered pitifully, "Aunt, I’m sorry."

I had no patience for their theatrics. Without a word, I turned and walked straight into the yard.

It was almost time.

Soon, I wouldn’t have to sit through this nauseating display of their twisted relationship.

At the dinner table, the old lady brought up the same topic as always—children.

"Lila, you're getting married soon. When do you plan to have children? When I was your age, Marcus' sister was already old enough to follow me to the fields."

Marcus' sister—Vivian’s mother.

I had heard the story before. After her parents passed away, Vivian moved in with her grandmother, living under the same roof as Marcus. He was eight years older, and with the old couple busy working all day, the responsibility of looking after her mostly fell on him.

Then he left for university, started a business, and barely returned home over the years.

The first reason was time.

The second—poverty.

He was so broke he couldn’t even afford the trip home.

When I first met him, he had just failed his first business venture. He was sleeping under a bridge, rummaging through trash for food.

All he had was a tattered black computer bag with an old, battered laptop inside.

That laptop held all his dreams.

He was the classic protagonist of this world—the self-made man from humble beginnings.

Then, a soft voice interrupted my thoughts.

"Grandma, she’s not the only one who can give Uncle a baby," Vivian whispered, her gaze flickering toward Marcus before quickly looking away.

I snapped back to reality, silently sipping my chicken soup. The chickens I raised myself—so even the broth tasted richer than anything outside.

Marcus' brows furrowed at her words. "My child will only be born by Lila."

Then, turning to his mother, he added, "Mom, stop pressuring Lila. We’re already planning for a baby. Maybe she’s already pregnant."

The old lady beamed with joy.

She eagerly ladled me another bowl of soup. "Lila, drink more! You’ll need the strength to give me a big, healthy grandson."

"Don’t worry about the wedding. Leave everything to Marcus. You just focus on resting and being a beautiful bride."

She was practically glowing, as if I were already pregnant.

What a joke.

"Grandma, I’ll go help at Uncle’s house!" Vivian chirped, her tone far too eager.

Ever since she moved to the city, she had been itching to live in our house.

"What can a child like you possibly help with?" The old lady muttered, debating whether to let her go.

Vivian pouted. "I’m not a child! I’ll be nineteen soon. I know how to pick a wedding dress, decorate the venue, even prepare a wedding speech—I’ve studied it all!"

Her eyes sparkled with excitement, as if she were the one getting married.

The old lady was so overjoyed she could barely keep her mouth shut.

"Alright, after your uncle gets married, it’s time for you to start thinking about love too. The old lady from next door has her eye on you—she wants to set you up with her grandson."

"Grandma, I already have someone I like," Vivian murmured, sneaking a shy glance at Marcus—so obvious she nearly said his name outright.

I nearly choked on my chicken soup.

Disgusting.

Marcus quickly handed me a glass of warm water, gently patting my back. "Lila, are you okay?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.

The old couple exchanged glances.

The old man, grinning ear to ear, took a big sip of wine.

They had been dreaming of a grandson for so long—how could they not be ecstatic?

The old lady smacked the old man’s arm with a scolding tone. "Drink less! You’ll be a grandfather soon."

At that, the old man quickly put down his glass. He had to quit drinking. He had to live long enough to meet his grandson.

Vivian suddenly muttered, "The chicken soup is too oily. I feel a little sick too."

No one responded.

No one cared.

The old lady, still buzzing with excitement, rushed to the kitchen and came back with a plate of freshly sliced lemons.

"Lila, eat something sour," she urged, her voice filled with old wives' wisdom. "Sour means a boy, spicy means a girl!"

Marcus, knowing full well that I hated lemons, gently pushed the plate aside.

"Mom, don’t worry," he said softly. "I’ll take good care of Lila."

"Alright, let Vivian stay at your house. The girl is sharp."

As soon as Vivian heard she could stay at my place, she rushed to grab a suitcase from the house, clearly prepared for this moment.

Marcus pressed his fingers to his temples in frustration. "You’re not going."

Vivian turned to me with pleading eyes. "Aunt, please? I’ll stay at your place for a few days and take care of you... and Uncle."

Take care of him? Sure, in every way possible.

I sighed and opened the co-pilot door. "Do whatever you want."

Vivian beamed and climbed into the back seat.

She really didn’t see herself as an outsider. After a while, she came out of the bathroom in a bikini, strolling casually through the living room.

When Marcus came out of his study, she was dancing to music on her phone.

His body stiffened, and the barely-contained desire in his eyes was unmistakable.

When he turned to look at me, he quickly masked his expression, but it was too late—I had already seen it.

I fanned the air, trying to cool the heat rising in my face. "You’re pathetic."

"Go back to your room." Marcus' voice was sharp now, his temper flaring.

Vivian pouted, the picture of innocence. "Uncle, I have to practice dancing every day..."

"Hmm, like a cat in heat."

Vivian blinked, the perfect image of confusion. "Who are you talking about? My uncle raised me. If you think dirty, that’s on you."

Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she looked at him, playing the victim like she always did.

The sad part? She was definitely more alluring to men now than she ever had been when she lived in the mountains.

Marcus' face hardened. "Enough."

"If I see you dressed like that in this house again, you’re out."

Vivian ran off in tears, leaving the tension thick in the air.

Marcus sighed deeply, his gaze softening as he turned to me. "Lila, don’t argue with a child. Maybe you’re carrying our baby. Don’t be upset, okay?"

He placed a large hand gently on my stomach, a gesture meant to comfort.

I smiled, but it didn’t reach my eyes. "No, not today. I got my period."

Marcus' shoulders slumped, disappointment flashing across his face. "I’ll try harder. I’ll make sure you become a mother sooner."

I couldn’t help but feel a cold emptiness at his words. No, Marcus. No.

Nine days. That’s all I had left. How could I possibly give birth to his child?

I woke up in the middle of the night, my throat dry with thirst. As I reached for the bedside, I realized he wasn’t beside me.

Marcus often worked late, choosing to sleep in the study to avoid disturbing my rest.

I grabbed my water cup and quietly made my way downstairs.

The moonlight filtered through the windows, casting everything in a soft, serene glow.

As I descended the stairs, a creaking sound reached my ears, coming from the study.

Since I’d gotten the cat, there had been no mice in the house.

I paused, taking a slow breath, and quietly made my way toward the source of the sound.

The door to the study room was slightly ajar, warm, yellow-orange light spilling out from the crack.

I approached, drawn by some invisible force, and peeked inside.

What I saw made my breath catch in my throat.

Two bodies were tangled together on the desk, their forms barely distinguishable against the dark wood.

Vivian’s slender body was a sharp contrast to the desk. She bit her lips, her face flushed with passion, her long nails digging into Marcus' back.

"Stop," he murmured, his voice low, but his body didn’t stop moving.

Vivian buried her head in his neck, her voice thick with tears and something darker. "Uncle Marcus, I am your legitimate little wife..."

"Shut up. Don’t wake her up," Marcus growled, his words a mix of command and desperation.

Marcus.

You deceived me.

Eight years ago, I came into this world, depending on him for everything.

Marcus fought for me. He took a brick to the head to protect me. He would cancel important meetings just to celebrate my birthday. He remembered every little detail—my preferences, my moods, even my menstrual cycle.

The office staff used to joke that the president was a love-struck fool.

I had come here for a reason, to save him. To help the poor boy become the king of this world.