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.

And yet now, Kylian told me to “endure it.”

A glint of triumph flashed in Felicity’s eyes, though her expression quickly shifted into a pitiful pout—eyes red like a rabbit’s.

“Amber, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were allergic to pollen. Do you think Kiran might inherit your allergy too?”

I looked at her—dressed in a designer outfit, wearing delicate makeup—then down at myself, still in a wrinkled nursing gown, barefaced, worn out from childbirth. The contrast couldn’t have been starker.

“Why would he be allergic?” I said flatly. “He’s not even my child.”

For some reason, Kylian’s heart skipped a beat. She shouldn’t know... he thought. She’s not supposed to know the truth.

He leaned close to my ear and murmured gently, “Honey, what are you saying? Didn’t we agree not to bring up the baby's parentage anymore?”

His voice was low and soothing, laced with helpless affection.

I turned to look at his face—the same face that once overflowed with love when I first became pregnant.

Back then, my morning sickness was so severe he learned to cook from scratch just to make meals I could stomach.

He showered me with limited-edition handbags and jewelry, trying to keep me in good spirits every day.

He never missed a single prenatal checkup. Even if it meant losing billion-dollar deals, he always came home in time for nightly baby bonding rituals.

And when he found out the child wasn’t his by blood, he never blamed me. He only expressed regret that his mother had hit me.

Each gesture, each sacrifice—how could it not feel like love?

But now, the unbearable itching on my skin and the growing tightness in my throat told me the truth.

Kylian’s love was never for me. It was for the child I carried—for Felicity’s child.

Now that the baby was born, my only remaining value was to help raise someone else’s son.

As I slipped into unconsciousness, I let out a faint, bitter smile and whispered to his anxious face, “How long do you plan to keep lying to me...”

But Kylian didn’t hear me—he was too busy frantically pressing the call button, summoning doctors to save me.

To “make it up to me,” he insisted on throwing me a birthday banquet the next day after my condition had stabilized.

He presented a full set of gemstone jewelry as my birthday gift.

I barely spared it a glance. My eyes were fixed on a text notification that just popped up on my phone.

The visa application was approved.

“What good news has you smiling like that, sweetheart?” he asked.

“Oh, nothing. Just a lame scam text,” I replied flatly.

Felicity’s smile faltered as she watched us from across the room. Jealousy flared in her eyes, and her grip on the baby tightened.

Kiran immediately wailed in pain.

Thinking he was hungry again, Kylian quickly urged me to nurse him.

I hesitated, wanting to refuse—but then I remembered I was still officially unmarried, and my visa had finally come through.

This double dose of liberation softened me just enough to be kind—one last time—to the child who’d shared my body for ten months.

I took him to a spare guest room.

But just as I sat down, Felicity followed me inside and closed the door behind her.

Gone was the sweet act. Glaring at me, she sneered.

“Amber, you used your childhood sweetheart status to get Kylian's mother to drive me away and forced your way into marrying Kylian. Bet you never expected it to end like this, huh?”

“Ten months of pregnancy just to give birth to my child—how does it feel being forced into a glorified wet nurse?”

“Even if that old hag made Kylian marry you, so what? You’ll never have his love. Not even the child you gave birth is really yours. Honestly? If I were you, I’d have found a quiet place to die by now.”

Her voice was venomous, every word meant to pierce.

But I was in such a good mood—knowing I’d soon be leaving this twisted farce behind—I didn’t even feel like responding.

My indifference only fueled her rage.

She whipped out her phone and shoved the screen in my face, her tone turning manic.

“Look! See this? Daily transfers—1,314,520 dollars every single day. That number spells ‘I will love you for a lifetime.’ Each one is proof of Kylian’s undying love for me!”