At my twenty-fourth birthday party, I simply offered Marta—the impoverished student my fiancé Andre had been sponsoring—a glass of wine, and she miscarried. That day, I discovered they’d been having an affair all along. I insisted on breaking off the engagement. Andre knelt before me, begging for forgiveness. Under our parents’ mediation, considering the five billion dollar partnership between our families, I compromised. But unexpectedly, three days after the wedding, he got into a car accident that supposedly caused sexual dysfunction. To save his dignity, I had to lie to everyone that I was childfree by choice, claiming I didn’t want children. Four years later, on an international reality show, I saw Andre playing games with a little boy. It turned out Andre had secretly had a child with Marta long ago. For four years, he’d been lying about his sexual dysfunction all along. In that case, this arranged marriage partner could get lost. I burst into his office intending to confront him, only to accidentally overhear him talking with a friend. “To punish her for that one glass of wine she gave Marta, you actually faked a car accident and didn’t touch her for four years. That’s really something.” Andre lounged lazily in his executive chair, sneering coldly, “Who told her to cause Marta’s miscarriage back then? This is her lesson.” “Eventually when Marta’s son grows up, I’m considering bringing him back and having him acknowledge her as his mother. She’ll get a free son that way—she should be satisfied with that.” The conversation inside continued, “Andre, actually Kingsley’s been pretty good to you. A pampered princess, searching everywhere for famous doctors on your behalf.” “Isn’t treating her this way a bit harsh?” Andre’s mocking laughter rang out, “This is the price she pays for hurting Marta.” “So what if she’s a rich heiress? Does that mean she can bully Marta? I’m just making her taste the bitterness others have suffered, so she won’t spend her whole life bullying people.” His friend sighed, “Andre, aren’t you afraid she’ll find out the truth and make a huge scene about divorcing you?” Andre’s gaze immediately sharpened, “You didn’t soften up and tell her, did you?” His friend shook his head, helplessly lowering his head to sip his tea. Andre’s cold voice continued, “I promised Marta I’d never touch Kingsley for the rest of my life, and that Marta’s child would be my only heir. I can’t disappoint her.” Andre’s tone was full of warning, terrified of leaking even a bit of information, worried his scheme would fail and make his dear Marta sad and upset. I couldn’t help thinking of those humiliating nights, when I’d actively climb on top of him, imitating methods from porn videos to stimulate him. What an effort it must have been for him—face flushed red, holding it in, forcibly suppressing his desire. I stood there humiliated, listening to the conversation inside, my heart pierced by thousands of icy swords. I wiped away my tears, turned and left, canceling the appointment I’d made for Andre with a British specialist. The other end still asked in confusion what happened.
That evening when Andre came home, I almost couldn’t control myself from rushing over to tear him apart. I wanted to demand why he’d deceived me like this. Was it really all because I gave Marta a glass of fruit wine? For four whole years, the torment I endured—from grief to worry, even preparing myself to spend a lifetime in celibacy with him—but in the end it was all just a joke. I watched Andre walk calmly into the living room, pull me into his embrace, then kiss my forehead, “Kingsley, tonight you can try those new techniques you learned. Who knows, maybe they’ll work.” I stared hard at Andre, wanting to see if there was even a trace of guilt or anxiety on his face. Finally I bit down hard and nodded, “Alright!” That night, Andre washed up and lay naked on the bed, while I put on lingerie at his request. He raised an eyebrow, signaling me to get on top. I laughed coldly, carefully studying his expression. Following his line of sight, I finally discovered something suspicious. On the huge wedding photo opposite the bed, there was a faint gleam of light at his eyes. I instantly understood why he’d been willing to try countless times. Before I could react, Andre grabbed me and pushed me down. Thinking about the unknown person behind that miniature camera, I couldn’t help feeling a wave of nausea, and with a “blech” I vomited, spraying it all over Andre. Andre immediately frowned in disgust and shoved me away, jumping off the bed. “Kingsley, if you find me repulsive just say so. No need to disgust me like this.” “Starting today, you sleep in the guest room. No need to force yourself anymore.” If this were any other time, I would have patiently coaxed him, then once again willingly tried, enduring the humiliation of serving him. But this time, I just silently stood up, looked at him coldly, said “Fine,” and turned to leave. Andre froze, then with a crash, a teacup smashed to the floor, “Kingsley, I knew your feelings for me weren’t genuine. It’s only been four years and you already find me disgusting, don’t you?” My figure paused. I turned back and looked at him with self-mockery, “Andre, don’t you find this disgusting?” Andre looked at the seemingly knowing expression on my face and couldn’t help freezing. All his angry rebukes instantly stuck on his face, his eyes guiltily avoiding mine, “Kingsley, what are you talking about? We’re a loving married couple—what’s disgusting about that?” I slammed the door shut with a bang, not wanting to look at him for another second. That once cool and noble bearing now seemed nothing but sleazy and shameless. The next day, while he was at work, I decisively hired a private investigator. When the private investigator placed the investigated information and videos before me, I instantly collapsed into my chair. At that moment, I wanted to take a knife and chop him to pieces. Andre, how could you be so deceitful? Aren’t you afraid of going to hell? Since that’s the case, the evil you’ve committed, I will certainly repay double.
I holed up at home for three whole days, unable to face those videos. Even more afraid to imagine how many people had watched them. When Andre came home, he found me sitting by the window, drunk. He walked over and held me in his arms with a sigh, “Kingsley, I’m sorry. Did someone spread rumors again? If you can’t take it anymore, let’s just get divorced.” He looked so pained, so devoted. I calmly pushed him away, staring hard into his eyes, wanting to see even a fraction of genuine pain, wanting to see if all my efforts over these years had been worth even a little. “Andre, I didn’t do anything wrong. Why are you treating me this way?” Andre’s whole body froze, then his eyes reddened with grievance, “Kingsley, I can understand if you find me disgusting, but I really don’t want to leave you.” With that, he hugged me and started crying. At that moment, I seemed to see the Andre from ten years ago. Back then, he’d follow me around all day calling me baby, delivering the finest pastries to my hands. He’d even carry me on his back all the way up the mountain when we went hiking. Under the brilliant starlight, the young man’s eyes shone brighter than the stars as he gripped my hand tightly, “Kingsley, I never want to leave you in this lifetime. Let’s be together forever, okay?” Back then, I thought we’d have a forever future. Until Andre and I went traveling in the mountains and encountered fourteen-year-old Marta. She was being pressed to the ground by several men and lifted onto a three-wheeled cart. She knelt on the ground struggling desperately, pleading, “Dad, please don’t give me to someone else. I can chop firewood in the mountains, work the fields—I can earn money.” Tears mixed with dust smeared across her dark face, her hair tangled in a disheveled mess on her head. From the surrounding people’s discussions, I learned that her father wanted to sell her to a fifty-year-old man for money to build a house. I immediately felt compassion, rebuked those people, and protected her. Finally, after an argument, Andre gave all our travel money to Marta’s father, saved her, and promised to sponsor her education going forward. Who knew that after graduating from college, Marta would seek out Andre directly and stay by his side as his assistant. She played the victim at every turn, acting meek and timid in front of me, as if I’d bullied her. Andre told me more than once that Marta was timid, that I shouldn’t be too forceful when talking to her, to be more gentle. I thought she was just naturally unable to handle social situations. I never expected she was deliberately digging traps for me. Until my birthday that day, when I kindly handed her a glass of fruit wine, “Marta, let me introduce you to some friends. Play with them from now on.” Unexpectedly, after just two sips, she clutched her stomach and accused me of forcing her to drink, deliberately harming her. She cried hysterically, collapsed in Andre’s arms clutching her stomach. That day, Andre looked at me with eyes like poisoned arrows. In the end he said nothing, just rushed to the hospital carrying Marta. That day I was furious too, had a huge fight with Andre, demanding to break off the engagement. Finally, after his pleading and both sets of parents’ mediation, I naively thought the matter would just pass. But I never expected that the seed of resentment had already been planted. Andre became convinced I’d deliberately killed the child, and began using a lifetime to punish me. I coldly raised my hand to touch his head, laughing mockingly, “Andre, if I made you choose between me and Marta, who would you be unable to bear leaving?” Panic immediately flashed through Andre’s eyes, “Kingsley, why bring her up out of nowhere? Did someone tell you something?” “I haven’t been in contact with her for ages. Don’t overthink it.” I lowered my eyes to wipe away tears, rising indifferently, “Nobody said anything.” “I’m just feeling sentimental. If I hadn’t given Marta that glass of fruit wine back then, perhaps your child would be four years old by now.” Andre’s expression grew visibly tense, his spine stiffening involuntarily as he blurted out, “Kingsley, how could I possibly have a child with another woman?” I laughed mockingly, supporting myself as I slowly walked toward the bedroom, clutching the message Marta had just sent me, “Kingsley, you know what Andre says about you? That high and mighty woman isn’t even as good as a whore.” “Oh, and to prove his devotion to me, Andre specifically video-called me every time you stripped naked to seduce him. I figured I shouldn’t let it go to waste, so I did a live stream. Over a million fans watched—everyone praised how slutty you are.” Andre, if you betray me, I will never let it rest. I’ll make you face retribution.
I silently deleted all the messages, neither confronting him nor shouting. Because I knew that if shouting could solve problems, the rulers of this world wouldn’t be tigers—they’d be donkeys. Our families’ five-year project was successfully completed. I specially chose Blueberry Manor, inviting all relatives, friends, and business partners to celebrate together. That day, I specifically prepared a big gift for Andre. He even asked teasingly what I’d prepared. Was it a set of lingerie, or had I learned some new tricks? I just smiled and told him it would be something he’d never forget for the rest of his life. The crystal chandelier at the partnership celebration banquet illuminated the entire venue filled with clinking glasses. Andre took my hand as we walked onto the stage. As fireworks burst above our heads, they represented the successful partnership between our families. I smiled and accepted the contract, securing the benefits that belonged to my family. As applause thundered, I took the microphone, my gaze sweeping across the entire venue, “Distinguished guests, dear friends and family, today marks not only the successful conclusion of our two families’ partnership, but also the fifth anniversary of my marriage to Andre.” “Today, I have a grand gift to present to him, for everyone to witness Andre’s five years of devotion to me.” As the applause died down, several bodyguards carried in two large boxes, decorated with beautiful silk butterfly bows on top. I smiled lightly and pushed Andre toward the boxes, using my eyes to signal him to open them. The entire venue instantly fell silent, everyone craning their necks, curiously watching these large boxes, wondering what precious gift I would give. Andre affectionately pinched my cheek, then reached out to flip open the lock, lifting the lid with a snap. Under his shocked gaze, a woman slowly stood up from inside the box. The moment she looked up and saw Andre in front of her, she burst into tears with a wail and threw herself into his arms, “Honey, you scared me to death! Didn’t you tell me to bring our son back to attend the celebration?” “Right after getting off the plane, I was stuffed into a box. You’re so mean, you can’t scare people like this.” With that, she broke into a smile through her tears and wrapped her arms around Andre’s neck. The entire venue fell deathly silent for three seconds, then suddenly erupted into chaos, “What’s going on? Why is this woman calling Andre honey?” “And she brought a son? Isn’t Andre supposed to be infertile?” Andre’s face changed dramatically. He immediately spun around and threw open the other box. His son was inside, eyes tightly closed, sleeping soundly. Andre’s alarm intensified. He rushed over, scooped the child out, and shouted loudly. But the little one just let his head droop on his shoulder, completely motionless. Andre panicked. After patting him a few times, he turned his gaze toward me, “Kingsley, what did you do to Osman?” I walked forward with a cold laugh, my eyes sharp as I stared at him, “Andre, why are you so nervous? Could this possibly be your son?” “Oh right, I forgot—Andre was injured in a car accident and shouldn’t be able to father such a cute child.” As I spoke, my manicured nail lightly traced across the child’s cheek, leaving a red mark. Andre froze. Without even a second’s contemplation, he forced a smile onto his panicked face, “Kingsley, don’t misunderstand. This child… this child…” In his haste, even someone as shrewd as Andre couldn’t find a suitable explanation. Suddenly, as if he’d thought of something, he immediately held the child out toward me, “Kingsley, this is Marta’s little nephew. Marta knew we couldn’t have children, so to repay our kindness, she specially gave us her nephew to raise as our son.” As he spoke, his voice steadied, excited to have found such a good excuse. “Kingsley, look how adorable this child is. Haven’t you always wanted a child? Good people are rewarded—Marta is grateful for our sponsorship and really gave us a child.” Seeing the child in my hands, Marta couldn’t help but panic. Just as she was about to rush over, Andre grabbed her arm and glared her back. I methodically stroked the child’s soft hair, my sharp nails scraping across his tender cheeks one stroke at a time, leaving white marks. Watching Marta’s eyes redden with anxiety, tears welling up, and appreciating Andre nervously swallowing, his Adam’s apple bobbing continuously. Suddenly I grabbed the child’s neck, hissing a harsh rebuke, “Marta, you’ve already miscarried one son. Do you want this son to die in my hands too?” Marta cried out in alarm, a shrill scream echoing through the hall, “Kingsley, that’s Andre’s son! You can’t hurt him!”
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