I’ve been married to Lucas for seven years, and I’ve lost count of how many women he’s slept with. The reason I never made a fuss is simple—he always throws money at me to shut me up. When he cheated with an online influencer, he bought me a penthouse in the city center. When he partied on a yacht with models, he gave me an identical yacht. He used money to buy my silence, to purchase my breakdowns, my questions, and my tears. Until I was eight months pregnant, and my baby died in my womb. I had to go through induced labor. The nanny helped me out of my hospital room, weak and barely able to stand. That’s when I saw Lucas in the room next door, carefully tending to a woman who had just given birth. Our eyes met. Panic flashed across his face for a moment before his usual cold indifference returned. He walked over and handed me a blank check. “Fill in whatever amount you want.” I tore the check to pieces. I looked at him and smiled. “Lucas, I don’t want your money this time…” I raised my trembling hand and pointed toward the room behind him, where a baby’s weak crying could be heard. “I want that child.” 0
“Nina, have you lost your mind?!” Disbelief was written all over Lucas’s face. I repeated myself. “I want that child.” “Stop this nonsense!” He lowered his voice. “That’s not your child!” Right. My child is gone. Dead… “Your child is my child, isn’t it?” I asked softly. “Or would you prefer your child to be born with the stigma of being illegitimate?” Lucas was instantly speechless. He and I grew up together. Our families had been friends for generations. Both the Knight family and the Sanders family were elite, prestigious families that valued reputation above all else. Rules mattered. The woman in the hospital bed, Emily, finally understood what was happening. She struggled to sit up, her voice shrill. “Lucas! You can’t give my child to her! This is my only…” This was her only weapon to climb the social ladder. I watched Lucas’s conflicted expression and suddenly found it all so ironic. I used the last of my strength to push him aside and walked step by step into the room. Emily’s body shrank back, and she clutched the baby in her arms even tighter. “Hello, mistress. I’m Lucas’s wife, Nina. From today on, I’m this child’s mother.” Emily broke down into hysterical screaming and grabbed the pillow from the headboard, throwing it at me. “You’re lying! This is my child! Mine!” Lucas followed me in, looking troubled. “Lucas, you can’t let her take our child!” Emily cried, begging him for help. Lucas looked at me, clearly torn. “Nina…” I leaned close to his ear and whispered: “That property on the west side… Grandpa really values it. And it just happens to be in my brother’s hands.” Lucas’s body went rigid. The west side property was crucial to the Knight family’s strategic plans for the next decade. It was also key to proving his competence to his grandfather. He spun around to look at me—anger, resentment, and a hint of fear in his eyes. He took a deep breath and said to Emily: “Listen to me. Let Nina raise this child.” I turned to my nanny and ordered: “Go bring that child to my room.” I walked out of the room and called my assistant. “Make arrangements with the hospital. I don’t want anyone except us to know about this. On the birth certificate, the mother’s name can only be mine.” Soon, louder arguments erupted from next door—the sound of things being thrown and Emily’s heart-wrenching sobs. I looked down at the baby boy in the bassinet. He was sleeping soundly, his little mouth opening and closing. A cold smile curved my lips.
Lucas came to my room every day, but while his body was present, his heart was next door. His phone screen was always lit up with messages from Emily. [Lucas, I miss the baby so much. Please ask her to give him back to me, okay?] [I don’t want anything else anymore. I just want my child.] [Lucas, I’m bleeding so much. The doctor said I have postpartum hemorrhaging. Am I going to die?] Emily knew exactly how to manipulate Lucas. She never attacked me directly. She just repeatedly emphasized her pain and longing for the child. This way, she could paint me as “cruel” and “heartless.” Every time Lucas read her messages, his frown deepened. Then he’d find an excuse to leave in a hurry. Early one morning, Lucas wasn’t there. The baby had been taken by the nurse and nanny for checkups. Emily appeared beside my bed like a ghost, her eyes full of hatred. “Nina, don’t think you’ve won.” “Your unlucky child—Lucas killed him because I told him to.” “That night, Lucas got drunk and kept calling me.” “I just acted cute on the phone and said your baby would be an obstacle to me…” “I told him to spend more time with me instead of always hovering around you.” “I didn’t expect him to actually hang up and go back to you. What happened after…” “You couldn’t keep your own child. That’s your own failure. Don’t blame others.” “You’re just raising my child for me. Don’t get too happy!” She turned and walked away. Every word was like a red-hot iron, burning into my heart. So that’s how it was… I closed my eyes. My hands under the blanket were shaking violently. Blood quickly flowed back into the IV tube, staining a section of the transparent tubing red. I bit my lip hard until my mouth filled with the thick taste of blood. I didn’t cry or make a scene. I just silently pulled the needle from my hand. Blood dripped down the back of my hand onto the pure white sheets, like a tragic plum blossom. Just then, the door opened. Lucas walked in. He saw the blood on my hand, froze for a moment, then quickly stepped forward and grabbed my wrist. “Why did you pull out the needle? Are you crazy?!” He grabbed a cotton swab from the bedside and pressed hard on my wound, his brow furrowed with what seemed like genuine concern. My whole body was shaking. I wanted to scream, to demand answers, to tear him apart. But I had no strength. “Just go. Go be with Emily. The nanny will be back soon. You’re not needed here.” Crying came from next door. Emily was throwing another fit. Lucas didn’t hesitate. He ran over to her. I called my assistant and told her to arrange for my early discharge immediately. When I appeared at the Knight family estate holding the baby, the entire family was in an uproar. Everyone gathered around. “Oh my, what a good baby!” Grandma carefully took the baby from my arms, beaming with joy. Grandpa was so excited his hands were trembling. He looked at me with approval in his eyes. “Nina, well done! You’ve finally given us an heir!” No one knew that my heart had already died in that cold hospital, along with my unborn child. Lucas’s father, Jack, saw the nanny’s car drive straight to the garage and asked in confusion: “Where’s Lucas?” “Busy, I guess. I didn’t see him at the hospital either.”
The rewards the elders gave me were almost shocking. Grandpa gave me an oceanfront villa. Grandma brought out all her treasured jewelry, set after set. Jack directly transferred five percent of Knight Group’s shares to my name, making me the youngest member of the board overnight. Lucas’s mother was even more thoughtful—she gave me a private island in the Maldives and said I could go there to relax once I recovered. I smiled and accepted everything. These were what I deserved. They were what I’d traded for my child’s life. No one knew that in the deepest corner of that luxurious walk-in closet, I had a small hidden space. There were no expensive bags or designer clothes there. Inside were the tiny wool shoes I’d knitted by hand but could never give away, and a few pitifully small baby clothes. Every night when it was quiet, I would lock myself in that closet. “Baby, Grandpa and Grandma bought so many toys today. If you were here, you’d have them too.” I never cried loudly. I just let the tears fall silently. Lucas also returned to the estate, but he didn’t dare come near me. In front of everyone, Grandpa pointed his cane at him and called him an asshole, saying I had just “given birth” and instead of being with me, he was making me angry. He probably couldn’t understand how I—who once loved him desperately, whom he controlled completely—could suddenly change like this. He occasionally came to the bedroom to keep me company, but more often, he went to see the child. He would clumsily hold him, feed him, his eyes showing something unfamiliar—something called “fatherly love.” He stood behind me, silent for a long time, then suddenly spoke. “Nina, about that night, I was wrong. I was drunk.” “Emily… she just depends on me too much. Don’t hold it against her,” he added. I slowly raised my head and looked at our reflection in the mirror. He was tall and handsome. I was thin and haggard. “Hold it against her?” I let out a soft laugh. “What right do I have to hold it against anyone? I couldn’t even protect my own child.” His face instantly darkened, as if my words had wounded him. “That was an accident!” He raised his voice. “Why do you keep bringing it up! I’ve tried my best to compensate you!” Compensate? I was born into wealth. Money was the most useless thing to me. I didn’t want to argue with him anymore. I pushed him toward the door. “Nina, what exactly do you want?” “What do I want?” I looked at him, my tone mocking. “I want you to stay away from me.” In the end, he let go. From that day on, he rarely entered my room.
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