I hadn’t even been discharged from the hospital after giving birth when my mother-in-law beat me so badly I suffered massive uterine bleeding.

It was Kylian who brought in the top doctors to save my life—and it was also him who personally had his mother arrested to "stand up for me."

When I woke up, I couldn’t understand how the baby I carried for ten months wasn’t biologically his.

Refusing to believe it, I secretly had ten separate paternity tests done. However, every result was the same.

Overwhelmed with shame, I went up to the rooftop, ready to end my life in atonement.

But instead, I overheard a shocking conversation between Kylian and his assistant, Mauricio.

“Mr. Romero, Madam already gave birth to Miss Felicity’s child. Why would you still have her uterus removed? Do you really want to end the Romero family line?”

“So what if the bloodline ends?” he said coldly. “My mother forced me to marry Amber and drove Felicity away. This is what she wanted—so let her live with the consequences.”

“Felicity’s child is the only one I recognize as mine. Everything in the Romero family will belong to the two of them. Now that my mother is locked up, Amber will be grateful. As long as she’s obedient, she’ll be Mrs. Romero for life.”

I crumpled against the wall, covering my mouth as tears streamed down my face.

So it was all a lie.

His love, our marriage—it was nothing but a cruel scheme from the start.

The happy life I dreamed of—just the three of us, ordinary meals and seasons passing quietly—was never real. It was just my fantasy.

Fine. If that’s what they want, I’ll give it to them.

——

Mauricio hesitated, his expression was conflicted.

“But Madam already secretly ran ten paternity tests. What if one day she discovers the child isn’t hers either?”

“She won’t,” Kylian replied coolly. “I’ve paid off every testing center just in case.”

Changing the topic, he said, “Did the lactation specialist arrive? Make sure Amber starts nursing the baby. Don’t let him go hungry.”

Mauricio's eyes widened in disbelief.

“Mr. Romero... Madam just came back from the brink of death twice. Her body is still weak. Why not feed the baby formula for now and wait until she recovers?”

Kylian’s patience snapped. He lashed out at his assistant, and snarled, “I’ve given her a life of luxury, but not to let her play the part of some pampered lady. If she has even a shred of conscience, she should raise Felicity’s child properly—as repayment for me forgiving her affair and sending my mother to prison!”

“As long as she raises the child well, I’ll make sure my mother stays locked up for life. Otherwise, with how vindictive she is, Amber won’t survive. My mother will find a thousand ways to kill her.”

His voice thundered like a whip. I nearly collapsed in fear, and even Mauricio trembled.

“But... even after everything you’ve done, Miss Felicity still refuses to come back. She insists on marrying that broke guy...”

A flash of pain overtook Kylian’s cruel expression, softening into deep sorrow.

“This is Felicity’s way of punishing me for not fighting for her back then. If she loves someone else now, I won’t stand in her way. I’ll raise their child for them, and let them enjoy a perfect life—I owe her that much.”

Mauricio hesitated before finally nodding.

“Understood. I’ll call the lactation consultant now.”

Kylian stubbed out his cigarette and turned to leave. I quickly crouched down and hid in the shadows.

As he passed by, I heard him give one last order.

“Keep an eye on Amber. Don’t let her take too many painkillers. A mother must make sacrifices.”

I stared blankly at his retreating figure, too numb to move.

What kind of twisted love could drive Kylian to sacrifice even his own mother?

He used me as a tool, while also getting revenge for the way his mother tore him and Felicity apart years ago.

Even if his mother was eventually released, she would only hate me—not Felicity.

What a brilliant strategy—killing three birds with one arrow. Truly worthy of being CEO Romero who dominates the business world without shedding a drop of blood.

Without wasting another moment, I quietly began applying for a visa to Florida.

Then I bought a plane ticket scheduled to leave in ten days.

When I returned to the hospital room, I ran into Kylian—cradling the baby. His face was filled with anxious desperation as he searched for me.

“Amber, where did you go?” he hurriedly asked.

“I just went up to the rooftop to get some air...”

Before I could finish, Kylian cut me off sharply.

“You haven’t even finished your postpartum recovery! How could you go out and catch a chill? How long were you up there?”

He was trying to probe—trying to figure out whether I'd overheard anything.

“I didn’t stay long. Halfway up, I felt weak and came back.”

Upon hearing that, Kylian visibly relaxed, the tension draining from his shoulders.

“Honey, it doesn’t matter if the baby isn’t mine. As long as you gave birth to him, I’ll love him as my own. Don’t let it weigh on your heart, okay?”

He held the baby naturally, then gently pulled me into his embrace, as if we were just a blissful little family of three.

But all I could feel, looking at the child I nearly died bringing into this world, was a crushing, suffocating pain—as if invisible hands were squeezing my heart.

The baby began to cry, and Kylian hurriedly tugged me toward the hospital bed.

“Honey, our son is hungry. Hurry and feed him.”

His expression was full of tender concern. If I hadn’t known the truth, I might have been moved completely by this display of affection.

But it was all an act! Everything was fake!

“Just give him formula,” I said coldly. “I’m still recovering.”

I was done being used as a vessel, drained of flesh and blood for someone else’s benefit.

Kylian looked stunned, then hastily tried to place the baby in my arms.

“Honey, this is your baby. I feel bad enough seeing him hungry—how could you be so heartless and give him formula? Didn’t you say before you wanted to breastfeed until he weaned naturally?”

If this child were truly mine, I could never be so cruel.

But he wasn’t. He was Felicity’s child—a product of Kylian’s manipulations.

I took a deep breath and said flatly, “This isn’t my child.”

Kylian froze, thinking I was rejecting the baby just because he wasn’t biologically mine. He rushed to explain, “How many times do I have to tell you? I want this child. Even if you have wronged me, I still accept him. Why are you being so dramatic?”

He was getting more and more skilled at gaslighting me—pinning me to the pillar of infidelity and guilt again and again.

Before I could even scoff, he twisted the knife deeper. “Besides, you don’t even have a uterus anymore. Kiran is the only child we’ll ever have.”

The name struck me like a blow. Kiran.

It was the name we’d chosen together—after poring through dictionaries, arguing and laughing through long nights, we finally chose Kiran that means ray of light. Moreover, it sounded like Kylian's name as well.

I hesitated, retreating a step, unable to bring myself to take the baby.

He immediately began to wail, shrill and desperate.

That ten-month bond between mother and child tugged at my soul. No matter how much I tried to steel myself, I couldn’t leave him crying like that. Inhaling sharply, I relented and took him into my arms.

But my body and mind were wracked with unbearable pain. No matter how hard Kiran latched, he couldn’t draw a single drop. He was so hungry, and didn’t even have the strength to cry.

Kylian’s face darkened with frustration as he grabbed his phone and barked at his assistant.

“Why the hell isn’t the lactation specialist here yet?”

Just then, Mauricio stepped into the room, trembling as he stammered an apology.

I lay silently in the hospital bed, tears streaming down my cheeks.

I never imagined that after enduring the torment of dilation, a cesarean that cut through eight layers of flesh, and brushing past death itself, I’d still be expected to let silver needles pierce my chest—just to feed another woman’s child.

The needle in the specialist’s hand gleamed faintly, fine as a strand of hair. The sight of it made me tremble violently—just like when anesthesia fails and every nerve screams in protest.

I shook so hard the acupuncturist couldn’t proceed and tried to soothe me instead.

“Acupuncture is the quickest way. Just hold on a little. Being a mother means enduring pain.”

But fear and instinctive rejection had overtaken me. I couldn’t stop my body from convulsing.

Helpless, I looked toward Kylian—out of habit—hoping he would step in.

"Kylian... I’m scared. Can’t we just give the baby formula?" I looked at Kylian with pleading eyes, my voice trembling.

Back when I was rushed to the emergency room after being beaten by his mother, hadn’t the baby done just fine on formula?

But Kylian’s eyes were only on Kiran—he didn’t see the desperation in mine.

“If you truly care about the baby, then cooperate with the lactation specialist. Don’t worry—as long as you love Kiran, I’ll love him even more!”

With that, he handed the baby to Mauricio, then personally restrained my arms and legs before coldly instructing the specialist.

“Begin.”

His voice was icy—completely devoid of warmth. It chilled me to the bone.

The physical pain in my chest couldn’t even compare to the ache in my heart. My resistance meant nothing.

After the acupuncture and massage, Kiran finally fed to his heart’s content. And just like that, Kylian was so moved he burst into tears, hugging me tightly.

“Honey, thank you. You’ve suffered so much... I swear, I’ll never let you down for the rest of my life!”

His burning tears splashed onto my skin—but they couldn’t melt the ice that had frozen over my heart.

I shoved him away.

“Take him to rest. I’m tired.”

Kylian gently ruffled my hair, eyes brimming with emotion.

“Raising a child is no easy task. I’m so lucky to have you.”

“Once you’re discharged, we’ll throw a grand celebration for Kiran’s birth. I want the whole world to know—I’m a father!”

He seemed so proud to be a father to someone else’s child. I didn’t even have the strength to mock him anymore.

I gave a bitter smile, silently cursing my own blindness. From childhood sweethearts to marriage and childbirth—for over twenty years, I never saw through who Kylian really was.

Seeing my smile, he gently took my hand, interlacing our fingers.

“Honey, I had a master read Kiran’s fortune. He said Kiran needs a godmother whose birth chart aligns with his. So I—”

“Alright. Whatever you decide.”

I knew what he was trying to do—give Felicity the “motherhood” experience she missed out on.

Fine. In ten days, I’d be gone. She could take over her role as the real mother.

—

Felicity arrived at the hospital room like a star—surrounded by Kylian’s group of loyal friends.

Everyone else carried fruit baskets while Felicity held a bouquet of flowers.

She smiled sweetly, shoving the flowers into my arms like we were old friends.

“Amber, giving birth must have been hard, huh? You look half-dead—good thing I decided never to have kids. But I do love children. In fact, I should be thanking you for letting me have the chance to be a mom...”

She paused, giggled, and corrected herself.

“Oops—not mom. Godmother! Sorry, I can be a little blunt sometimes. Hope you don’t mind?”

Everyone turned to look at me, like they were waiting for a show.

From the ridicule in their eyes, I could tell—they all knew I was just a surrogate.

I opened my mouth to speak, but suddenly began sneezing uncontrollably.

Pollen allergy. Reflexively, I tossed the bouquet aside.

Felicity’s smile faded as her eyes welled up with tears. She turned to Kylian like a wounded child.

“Kylian... does she not like me?”

Kylian immediately stepped in with a frown, smoothing things over.

“A godmother is still a mother—just like a biological one.”

Felicity beamed with delight and reached for my hand again, putting on a show of affection.

“Amber, I just love kids too much. From now on, I’ll help you raise our baby!”

The itching on my skin was unbearable. I pulled my hand away and rang the nurse’s bell.

“Can someone bring me some antihistamines?”

Only then did Kylian seem to remember that I was allergic to pollen. He grabbed the flowers and threw them outside the room.

But then—he also tossed the medicine the nurse brought... straight into the trash.

“You’re breastfeeding. You can’t just take any medicine. Endure it—it’ll pass.”

I stared at him, wide-eyed in disbelief.

Back when I was pregnant, I once went into anaphylactic shock from pollen exposure.

Kylian panicked, carrying me all the way to the hospital in his arms.

Afterward, when I was finally out of danger, he couldn’t stop blaming himself.

He treated me like I was a priceless treasure, going to great lengths to remove every possible allergen from my environment.

But now? I was nothing more than a wet nurse to him.