With a 140 IQ and exceptional spatial reasoning, I was handpicked by Declan Sterling's father, Arthur, to enter a contractual marriage. My sole purpose: to become Declan's wife in name only and produce an heir.

In seven years of marriage, I never once became pregnant.

Declan, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. Over those seven years, his name was constantly plastered across the tabloids, each new conquest a model or a socialite.

Every day, I stared at the mountain of clarification statements and hush money invoices delivered by his public relations team.

I couldn't take it anymore. I finally confronted Declan.

"Let's get a divorce."

He looked at me coolly. "What game are you playing now?"

Staring at his impassive face, I didn't dissolve into the hysterical tears I once had. I just shook my head.

"I'm not playing any games."

After all, for the past seven years, to be worthy of the contract fee Arthur had paid, I had long since swallowed my pride, grinding it to dust.

I had once tearfully clutched his sleeve, pleading with him to stop seeing other women, pleading for a single scrap of genuine affection.

But each time, Declan would just look down on me, coldly spitting out a few words:

"What right do you have?"

Then, he would turn and leave without a backward glance.

That alone should have been enough to make me surrender.

————————

1

When the "New York Post" ran yet another exclusive featuring one of his pregnant flings, a profound exhaustion washed over me.

Not annoyance, not sadness, just a bone-deep exhaustion.

In these seven years, scenes like this had played out so many times the ache had long since faded to numbness.

Declan arrived quickly. He didn't even glance at the newspaper on the coffee table. He simply ordered security to disperse the reporters camped outside, not even deigning to glance at the paparazzi.

He walked straight up to me, took a Cartier jewelry box from the inner pocket of his suit, and held it out. His tone was uncharacteristically gentle.

"Eliza, don't be upset."

"Look, plenty of women can get pregnant with my child. But you are, and always will be, the true Mrs. Sterling. No one can touch your position."

His words were a thousand tiny needles, pricking my heart.

I glanced at the Cartier box in his hand. I didn't need to look inside to know it was another expensive diamond.

This was his usual tactic. Every time he caused a major scandal, he would use these expensive peace offerings to shut me up.

I was the laughingstock of our social circle. Everyone sneered at my supposed shrewdness, calling me the biggest winner in this whole sordid game.

His mistresses schemed for headlines and ended up with nothing, while I, supposedly, reaped all the rewards.

But they didn't know that I had long since had enough of this life.

I spoke softly.

"Declan, let's get a divorce."

"Divorce?" Declan scoffed. "Eliza Hayes, what are you playing at now? You're the one who sold yourself to this family for a million-dollar contract. And now you want out? Do you really think you can just walk away?"

At this, his fingertips gently brushed across my cheek.

"You have a high IQ and you're beautiful. You were always the most suitable person for me. Isn't being Mrs. Sterling enough for you? Just play your part."

His words instantly brought back the events of seven years ago.

At that time, my mother had suddenly fallen gravely ill. Having just graduated, I was completely unable to afford the astronomical cost of her experimental treatment.

Just as I was on the verge of collapse, I happened to see Arthur's announcement in "The Wall Street Journal" seeking a contract wife for his son.

The announcement specified the requirements for the woman's intelligence and appearance and promised a substantial sum of money.

Desperate, I sought out Arthur. Perhaps because I fit the requirements perfectly, Arthur was very pleased when he met me. Without a second thought, he gave me one million dollars, solving my crisis in an instant.

I carried the weight of that debt for seven years, doing everything in my power to repay it. Yet I had failed to fulfill the one clause that truly mattered: getting pregnant.

I knew in my heart that a great family like the Sterlings ultimately needed an heir.

But I was the one person who couldn't give the Sterling family what they hoped for.

Now that seven years had passed, I truly had no reason to keep occupying the position of Mrs. Sterling and holding up the family line.

I opened my laptop and found the contact information for Arthur's executive assistant.

"Please inform the Chairman that I am grateful for his lifesaving help seven years ago. I have returned the one million dollars in full to the family trust account. I wish to leave the Sterling family. I hope you will grant my request."

Moments after the message was sent, a reply came from Arthur's assistant. It was a single, terse question:

"Are you certain?"

My fingers paused for a moment before I typed two words:

"I'm certain."

Soon, Arthur replied again:

"Since you have decided, I respect your choice."

As I closed my laptop, I met Declan's questioning gaze. He frowned and asked:

"What are you doing?"

I just shook my head, without offering any explanation.

After all, in seven years, he’d never shown an ounce of interest in a single word I’d ever said.

When I didn't answer, he didn’t press, simply stating flatly:

"In two days, it's my father's sixtieth birthday. Be there on time."

I didn't respond, but I had already made my decision.

Arthur had always treated me well. Even though I had decided to leave, it was only right for me to attend his sixtieth birthday celebration.

I would treat it as my final way of repaying his kindness.

That afternoon, I went out to choose a birthday gift for Arthur.

I remembered Arthur’s passion for collecting architectural manuscripts. The few precious pieces hanging in his office were ones he had painstakingly acquired.

With this in mind, I drove to a private gallery in SoHo, where a rare architectural manuscript by Mies van der Rohe was for sale.

When the gallery owner learned of my purpose, he enthusiastically brought out the master's manuscript. It was the original design drawing for the Barcelona Pavilion, a work of immense historical value and a perfect birthday gift.

I examined it for a moment, feeling it would suit Arthur's taste, and was just about to pay when the gallery door was pushed open.

Two familiar figures walked in: Declan and Sienna.

Among Declan's many mistresses, Sienna wasn't the most stunning, but she was the most tenacious.

She was the only woman who'd had three abortions for Declan yet still clung to his side.

At this moment, she was nestled at Declan's side, her belly already showing a slight swell, pregnant once again.

Declan's gaze fell on the drawing tube in my hand. The gallery owner was about to introduce it when Declan spoke directly, his tone imperious:

"We'll take this manuscript."

With that, he took out his black card and handed it to the owner, then turned to me.

"You can pick something else, Eliza."

My expression hardened, but I held my tongue.

Sienna then spoke in a cloying voice:

"Eliza, just let me have it. Think of this manuscript as the first gift from my baby to his grandfather."

The owner had already processed the card, and Sienna moved forward to take the drawing tube from my hand.

I gripped the tube tightly, about to retort, but she lowered her voice, speaking in a tone only the two of us could hear:

"Eliza, aren't you curious why you couldn't get pregnant after seven years with Declan?"

My heart seized. Nausea coiled in my stomach.

Seeing my face turn pale, she smiled even more smugly.

"Because every morning, Declan puts birth control pills in your fresh juice!"

"For seven years, without a single break."

Her words detonated in my ears. I felt the blood turn to ice in my veins.

"He said only I am worthy of bearing his child. A woman like you, who sold herself for cash? You're worthless. Utterly unworthy."

The word "unworthy" was like a poisoned needle, twisting viciously in my heart.

Seven years of pent-up resentment and anger erupted in an instant.

I couldn't hold it back any longer. I raised my hand to slap her.

But before the slap could land, a hand shot out, gripping my wrist.

Declan stood in front of Sienna, his brow tightly furrowed.

I followed his arm with my gaze, and my eyes landed on the faint scar on his forearm. I froze.

That was from seven years ago, right after my mother got sick. I was desperate for money and got robbed. The mugger was about to stab me with a knife.

Declan suddenly appeared and, without hesitation, took the knife for me.

That scar was from that day.

A bitter ache squeezed my heart.

How could the man who had once fearlessly taken a knife for me have become this person?

He hadn't just destroyed my chance to be a mother; he'd used it to humiliate me, making me waste seven years of my youth and live as a joke.

Seeing the scene before me, a sudden, profound exhaustion washed over me.

What was the point of fighting over this manuscript?

It would only lead to more humiliation.

I slowly relaxed my hand and said calmly:

"Forget it. If you want this manuscript, take it."

With that, I didn't spare Declan or Sienna another glance and turned and walked out.

On the day of the birthday banquet, I arrived at the ballroom of the Plaza Hotel on time.

I deliberately avoided the main hall, planning to wait for the banquet to officially begin before entering to offer my congratulations to Arthur. I never expected to run into Declan and Sienna at the entrance.

Declan was holding Sienna's hand as they walked side by side.

The moment they appeared, the gazes of the surrounding guests instantly fell upon them.

There was curiosity, but mostly, there was undisguised mockery.

"Can you believe it? Declan, with a pregnant Sienna on his arm... It's a total slap in the face to Eliza."

"I heard she only married into the family for money. It's pathetic, really. Seven years, no kid, and she still won't let go of her position. She has no one to blame but herself."

I took a deep breath and walked past them, my face a carefully constructed mask of indifference, and tuned out their venomous whispers, never once glancing in their direction.

When I reached the ballroom, I saw Arthur from a distance, sitting at the head table. His gaze fell on me, filled with a complex emotion.

I gave a slight nod in acknowledgment, then found a corner seat and sat down, waiting quietly for the banquet to end.

Before long, Sienna, holding Declan's hand, walked straight toward me.

The surrounding chatter gradually died down, all eyes following them, thirsting for drama.

Sienna stood before me, a hint of theatrical vulnerability on her face, her hand still protectively over her belly. She nudged Declan beside her, signaling him to speak.

Declan frowned, then looked at me. After a moment of silence, he finally spoke slowly:

"Eliza, I want Sienna to keep this child."

He stared at me intently, probably waiting for the hysterical outburst he’d come to expect.

After all, in the past seven years, I had personally ensured every woman he got pregnant had an abortion, taking them to the clinic myself without a single exception.

He paused, perhaps seeing that I hadn't immediately erupted, and then added:

"Sienna has already had three abortions for me. The doctor said another abortion could leave her unable to ever have children."

The whispers started again, guests likely speculating on how I would cause a scene.

But I simply met his gaze, my own calm and clear, and uttered a single word.

"Fine."