"Congratulation, Mrs. Holmes! Your baby is perfectly healthy."

The doctor smiled warmly, then added with a hint of caution, "But you must be very careful. If you lose this eighth child... you may never be able to conceive again."

My heart leapt. Clutching the prenatal report, I hurried to the office, my hands trembling with excitement.

Today was our eighth wedding anniversary.

Our baby—also eight months along—was the best gift I could ever give my husband, Weston.

In one hand, I held the medical report; in the other was a billion-dollar contract I had just secured for his company.

I wanted to surprise him.

But just as my fingers brushed the door handle, a familiar, honeyed voice stopped me cold.

"Weston, for your sake, my sister has already lost seven babies. Are you really willing to let her lose the eighth one too?"

My long-lost sister, Patricia, was sitting on my husband's lap, her arms looped around his neck.

"Mm," he murmured, his tone low and tender. "The doctor said that as long as we take the umbilical cord blood from her eighth child, your body will recover completely. After that, I'll give her another baby."

"Besides," he added, brushing her hair aside, "you're already pregnant. The rightful heir of the Holmes family can only be our child."

A deafening buzz filled my ears. My mind went blank.

For Patricia's sake... my husband had planned to kill our baby?

I froze where I stood, biting my lip so hard I tasted blood.

This couldn't be true...

Just this morning, Weston had rested his hand on my belly, whispering softly to our child, telling me how much he looked forward to becoming a father.

No. He wouldn't... he couldn't...

But memories of my past miscarriages flooded back like a nightmare I could never escape.

The first child was just three months old.

We were at the hospital for a checkup when one of his enemies ambushed him. I shielded him from the attack and lost the baby.

The second time, he hired bodyguards to protect me around the clock. But a runaway truck rammed into my car on my way home.

I spent three days in the ICU, and when I woke up, the baby was gone.

The third time was when his company was about to go public. I told him I was pregnant, and he held me so tightly I could hardly breathe. He swore he'd protect me no matter what.

But then, he was dragged into a gang war.

I led my own people into the fight and saved him—at the cost of our child and nearly my life.

Every time I miscarried, Weston knelt before me in tears, blaming himself.

And every time, I comforted him, telling him it wasn't his fault—that it was just fate.

But now I knew.

He already told me the truth. I had just been too blind to see it.

Hot tears streamed down my cheeks, my chest tightening until I could barely breathe. I clenched my fists and took shaky breaths, trying not to fall apart.

Inside the office, Patricia rested her head on his chest, tracing circles on his shirt with her finger.

"Weston," she murmured, feigning hesitation, "the doctor said if my sister loses another baby, she might never be a mother again. That's too cruel for her. Maybe we should just forget it. Don't save me."

Her teary eyes made his heart ache.

"No, Patricia," he said firmly, "you're the most important person in my life."

"Denise stole everything that should have been yours. If she loses the ability to have children, that's only fair. Compared to what you've suffered, it's nothing."

"Besides, she already has everything—wealth, status, my name. What more could she possibly want?"

His cold words pierced through me like knives.

Eight years of love, of fighting side by side, of sharing every joy and sorrow—and in his eyes, I was nothing but a greedy, ungrateful woman.

He knew how much I longed to be a mother. He knew I'd trade everything just to protect this child.

And still, he was the one who destroyed my dream.

Weston, how cruel can you be?

My heart shattered completely.

"Weston, I love you," Patricia whispered tearfully. "As long as you're by my side, nothing else matters."

Her lips brushed his throat, her hands sliding over his body.

"Patricia, you're pregnant... we shouldn't..." he murmured hoarsely, his breath growing ragged.

"The doctor said after three months, it's fine."

On hearing that, all his restraint vanished. He tore off her clothes and kissed her fiercely, their muffled moans filling the office.

I gripped the doorknob so tightly that my knuckles turned white, fighting the urge to burst in and confront him.

If he truly loved my sister, why did he marry me in the first place?

And he was my child's biological father, how could he bear to kill his own flesh and blood with his own hands?

But reason held me back.

I couldn't let them hurt my baby. Not again.

With trembling hands, I recorded their betrayal through the small crack in the door, then quietly turned away.

Only when I reached the car did my composure crumble.

At eighteen, the Holmes family found me and claimed I was their long-lost daughter. At first, I didn't want to return—but then, I saw Weston, their foster son, and fell hopelessly in love.

He blamed my return for driving Patricia, their "fake" daughter, out of the house.

But I never cared about her.

My adoptive father was far more powerful than the Holmes, and they only wanted me back to curry favor with him. Sending Patricia away was just a show of loyalty.

I didn't care. I only wanted Weston.

I gave him everything—my love, my loyalty, my family's influence—until he became the richest man in the city.

The billion-dollar contract in my hands would have secured his empire forever.

Now, it just felt like the cruelest joke.

After crying until my chest hurt, I wiped my tears and ripped the contract in half.

My hand moved to my belly. I could feel the faint rhythm of life within.

"Baby," I whispered softly, "since your father doesn't love you, Mommy will find you a new one."

I pulled out my phone and dialed a familiar number overseas.

"Dad," I said, voice trembling but resolute, "I agree to the arranged marriage. Please help me divorce Weston."

A sigh came from the other end.

"Denise, I've warned you. The Holmes family and Weston are both rotten to the core. Your birth parents abandoned you on purpose—how dare they later claim they 'lost' you by accident?"

Hearing the concern in his voice, I choked back a sob.

"I know, Dad. I was wrong. But I'll make them pay for what they did to me."

My adoptive father immediately sent his assistant, Mr. Lenon, to handle things.

"Miss," Assistant Lenon said, "we've already begun collecting evidence of Weston's crimes. The divorce agreement is being drafted as we speak."

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down.

Then I pulled out my makeup kit, concealing my swollen eyes.

Before I left him forever, I couldn't afford to let Weston see even a crack in my mask.

When I came home exhausted, I was met by a familiar embrace.

"Wife, you're finally back. Look—today's maternity meal, I made it myself."

"I had an emergency meeting and missed your prenatal check. I'm sorry."

Weston pressed a guilty kiss to my forehead. The memory of the office scene curdled my stomach; I slipped out of his arms without a word.

From the corner of my eye I caught the spread on the table and felt my nausea flare again. I forced a calm expression and said lightly, "I don't feel well. I want to rest."

"What's wrong? Are you upset?" His brows creased with concern, puzzled by my coldness.

"Don't be mad," he hurried on, eager to change the mood. "There's a surprise I prepared for you." He led me down the hall and pushed open the nursery door.

"Wife, look—I decorated the baby room just the way you like."

The walls were covered in warm, light-blue wallpaper.

A small crib stood in the center, surrounded by toys and framed photos of the three of us—a picture of what should've been a happy family.

"For our child?" I asked, my voice steady, my expression void of emotion as I looked at him.

"Of course," he replied quickly. "Wife, who else could it be for... besides our child?"

But as he spoke, a flicker of guilt flashed in his eyes.

A bitter smile tugged at my lips.

Blue... that had always been Patricia's favorite color.

Weston, you truly are a hypocrite.

"Wife, there's another surprise," he said hurriedly, as if to divert my attention. He reached into his coat and drew out a small velvet box.

"Look," he said proudly, opening it. "This bracelet has a safety lock. I paid a fortune for it—to protect you and the baby."

He gently clasped it around my wrist, utterly unaware of the chill in my expression.

From the moment I saw it, I recognized the design. It wasn't something you could simply buy—it was a limited-edition jewelry piece, meant to be a gift.

And just this morning, I'd seen that exact necklace glinting around Patricia's neck.

So that's what I was worth in Weston's heart—only fit to receive the scraps Patricia didn't want.

A bitter smile tugged at my lips. In that moment, I gave up on this hypocritical man completely.

I withdrew my hand and reached into my bag, pulling out a folder. "Before you go on pretending," I said evenly, "sign this contract first."

He blinked, surprised. "What's this…?"

"The billion-dollar contract I mentioned," I replied smoothly.

The excitement in his eyes was immediate. "You got it? That's amazing!" He flipped it open eagerly, but before he could read a single line, his phone rang.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the caller's name—Sweetheart.

Patricia.

Weston's eyes flickered nervously. Without another word, he scrawled his signature across the bottom of the page.

"Wife, something urgent came up at the company. I'll handle it first." He grabbed his coat and hurried out.

As the door clicked shut, I calmly pulled another document from the folder—the divorce agreement.

He still doesn't realize what he just signed.

A special clause was included: since the husband committed adultery, all marital assets would belong solely to the wife.

My gaze fell to his signature, perfectly penned at the bottom. A slow, triumphant smile spread across my lips.

Weston, I was the one who raised you up—and I'll be the one to pull you down.

You will pay the price.

Weston didn't come home that night.

The next morning, I was woken by the shrill ring of my phone. It was Assistant Lenon.

"Miss, Weston has erased every trace of his crimes too cleanly. We can't find any evidence against him!"

My tone remained calm. "What do you need me to do?"

"We discovered a personal computer in Mr. Weston's study. It might contain something useful…"

"Alright," I replied after a pause. "Pick me up in a week."

I ended the call and turned toward the study—only to be interrupted by another call, this one even more urgent.

"Denise, help!"

The voice on the other end trembled—it was my biological mother, Vivian.

"Mom? What happened?" My heart skipped a beat as I gripped the phone tightly.

"Your mother owes five million in gambling debts," a man's rough voice interrupted. "Bring the money if you want her alive! And listen carefully—come alone. If you call the cops, I'll send her straight to hell!"

The line went dead.

I didn't have time to think. I immediately sent someone to prepare the cash.

Even though I hadn't grown up with the Holmes—and I knew they only brought me back for their own gain—blood was still blood. I couldn't just stand by.

No matter what she'd done, she was still my mother. Saving her was the least I could do to repay the life she'd given me.

When the money was ready, I drove to the location the kidnappers had given me. It was an unfinished building on the outskirts of town.

By the time I reached the top floor, I was out of breath—clutching the heavy bag of cash and the weight of my pregnancy.

"Denise! You came! I knew my daughter would save me!" My mother's tear-streaked face lit up with relief.

I set the bag down and looked coldly at the kidnappers. "Five million, not a cent short. Now release her."

After checking the money, they untied her. My mother stumbled forward and clung to me—but the next words out of her mouth made my blood run cold.

"I'll have you all arrested! My daughter is the wife of the Holmes Group's president! My son-in-law won't let you off!"

My heart sank instantly.

The last thing I needed was for them to know who I was.

Sure enough, the leader's eyes lit up at the name. He looked me over, his expression twisting with greed.

"Holmes Group's president's wife? No wonder you could hand over five million so easily. I bet Mr. Holmes would pay ten times that for his precious wife and unborn child. How about it, Mrs. Holmes? Let's make it a hundred million this time."

"Bastards! You're all liars—greedy scum!" my mother screamed. "When my son-in-law finds out, he'll—"

Before she could finish, I grabbed her hand and ran for the exit while they were distracted. My people were waiting downstairs—if we could just make it there, we'd be safe.

"Stop them!" the kidnapper shouted. "Those two bitches are trying to run! You're dead!"

Gunfire exploded behind us.

Vivian shrieked and clung to my arm. I was already struggling under the weight of my pregnancy and the adrenaline; my body felt like it could give out at any second.

Then, just as the exit came into view, she stumbled.

"Mom!" I reached for her—but a hard shove slammed into my back.

I lost my balance and tumbled down the stairs.

"No!"

Instinctively, I wrapped my arms around my stomach.

The world spun violently, then stopped with a brutal impact—my abdomen smashed against a jagged concrete slab.

A searing pain tore through me.

I felt the baby inside me kick once, faintly, as if saying a final goodbye.

Warm blood soaked through my clothes, spreading fast. The memories of all those lost pregnancies crashed back like waves.

"No... baby... please... don't leave me again..."

I pressed my hands desperately to my stomach, trying to hold onto what I was already losing. But the blood wouldn't stop. My vision blurred, darkened.

I curled up on the cold ground, sobbing in agony.

"Wife! Are you okay?!"

Weston's voice broke through the ringing in my ears. He ran toward me, his face drained of color. When he saw the blood, he pulled me into his arms, shouting, panicked, "Hold on! You'll be fine! I swear you'll be fine!"

I wanted to answer—but the world faded to black before I could speak.