I thought I was the Conti family's "legitimate wife."
Until the day I saw it with my own eyes, my husband, Christian, resting his hand on my stepsister Emma's bump belly, gentle like he was cradling the future.
Everyone told me to be "big-heated": when the baby was born, they'd put it under my name, make him call me Mom, because the family needed an "heir."
Even the private doctor they hired announced it in front of everyone—steady heartbeat, and from the ultrasound, it looked like a boy.
I didn't cry and didn't make a scene.
I just picked up the phone and told my lawyer to initiate the divestment.
Twenty-four hours later, Christian's cards were frozen, his projects got their loans yanked, and assets started getting seized—
That's when he finally understood: he hadn't betrayed a wife.
He'd betrayed the lifeline of the entire family.
But what I really wanted to know was—
When he dropped to his knees and begged me to come back, would I tell him— I had already picked out his grave?

That night, a twisting stab in my stomach yanked me out of a nightmare.


Cold sweat soaked my pajamas. I curled into myself, even breathing felt like pain.


I fumbled for the nightstand, trying to find painkillers, nothing.


Only then did I remember: the nanny had already cleared out the household medicine, saying Emma couldn't stand the smell of it.


This massive house felt empty as a tomb.


They were probably all crowded in Emma's room, asking if she was cold, if she was hungry, if she needed anything.


I forced myself up and went to the hospital alone.


In the ER, the doctor scanned my medical records and his expression turned grim.


"How did you end up like this again? Didn't I tell you to take care of yourself?"


He looked up, scolding. "Wasn't Christian keeping an eye on you? Last time he was here, he begged me again and again to get you properly healed."


The first time my stomach flared up, it was here too.


Christian had carried me into the ER, eyes red, gripping the doctor's hand, asking over and over what to do.


After I was discharged, he locked away all my work files and cooked meals that were safe for my stomach with his own hands.


Every few days he'd show up at the hospital, pulling the doctor aside to discuss my diet.


Maybe I was too busy. Too busy to notice anyone's feelings—anyone's needs.


I still remember the last time Christian and I had a real fight.


I'd gone three days and three nights without sleep for a project.


And I missed the trip I'd promised him again.


He called me a cold-blooded monster who only knew work, said I hadn't fulfilled a wife's responsibilities at all.


I was just doing what my mother did, trying to give them a better life. What was wrong with that?


Holding up two families' businesses was exhausting.


And the competition in the underground world was brutal, port access, drug routes…


There wasn't room for me to slow down and think too much.


By the time I came back to myself, everything had already become this.


My phone buzzed, dragging me out of the past.


"Dad and I are taking Emma on a vacation to clear her head. Transfer six million dollars from the company account."


Then I messaged finance and authorized unlimited spending on their end.


It wasn't going to be my company. Whether the cash flow broke or not wasn't my problem.


The doctor was still talking beside me. "You need to follow orders. Stop wrecking your body like this."


I nodded, steady and certain. "Yes, Doctor. I won't do that anymore."


Chapter 3 - Chapter 3