Chapter 1

Kathy's POV

At eight in the evening, I lay slumped over the dining table, fighting back a wave of nausea that threatened to overwhelm me.

The front door burst open, and my husband Damian strode in with an unfamiliar woman clinging to his arm.

She was wearing my cashmere sweater—the cream-colored one, the limited edition piece Damian had bought me in Paris last year. He'd once said that only I could wear it and look like a goddess fallen to earth.

Now it draped another woman's body.

"Kathy," Damian's voice cut through the air like ice. He tossed his suit jacket carelessly, and it landed squarely on my head. "This is Susan. The love of my life."

I pulled the jacket away. Susan's gaze swept over my oil-stained apron, her lips curling into an undisguised smirk. "Damian, is she your... housekeeper?"

My throat tightened as something acidic and far more burning churned in my stomach.

Susan released Damian's arm and walked directly to the open kitchen. She surveyed the space before her eyes landed on the display of bone china cups.

She picked up the cup I used most often for water, poured herself half a glass, and took a delicate sip. Then, with a casual flick of her wrist, she let it go.

The cup shattered against the tile floor with a sharp crack.

"Oops," she exclaimed, "why did you put the cup so close to the edge? I couldn't get a proper grip."

I froze, staring at the fragments scattered across the floor.

Before I could bend down to clean them up, Damian shoved me hard. "What are you standing there for? Can't even place a cup properly. Besides being a parasite in this house, what else are you good for?"

I stumbled backward, my lower abdomen slamming into the edge of the stove. A sharp, twisting pain shot through me.

At the same time, the nausea I'd been suppressing surged up my throat like a tsunami.

I covered my mouth and staggered toward the bathroom, collapsing beside the toilet as violent dry heaves wracked my body. My stomach contracted painfully, but nothing came up.

The click of high heels followed behind me. Susan leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, letting out a series of delighted giggles.

"Damian, come look at this! Is Kathy so jealous of me that she's actually throwing up?" Her tone was light and cheerful. "Though I suppose I can't blame her. You're so successful now, worth hundreds of millions. You really should be with someone more suitable—someone who can actually help advance your career. Not some..."

She didn't finish the sentence, but her cruel implication hung thick in the air.

Trina, my mother-in-law, emerged from her bedroom with no trace of surprise on her face, only her usual irritation.

She didn't even glance at the broken china on the floor before pointing an accusing finger at my nose. "Useless thing! Walking around with that miserable face all day. Can't even produce a child, yet you have the nerve to freeload in my house."

She turned to Susan, instantly switching her expression and even managing a smile. "Susan, dear, welcome. Don't mind her. Now this is what real breeding looks like."

I gripped the cold wall and slowly straightened up. The cramping in my abdomen continued.

"Damian," my voice came out hoarse as I tried to explain, "my stomach doesn't feel well, maybe..."

"Not feeling well?" Damian cut me off. He lounged back on the living room sofa, his eyes filled with nothing but boredom. "Kathy, spare me the pathetic act. I only pursued you because you were decent-looking and seemed naive enough to manipulate. Now?" His gaze traveled up and down my body dismissively. "I'm bored."

Each word felt like a needle dipped in ice.

"Being with a cheap nobody like you is nothing but a waste of my life. No money, no connections, no skills—what do you do besides drag me down?" He pulled out a bank card from his suit jacket and tossed it carelessly onto the glass coffee table.

"There's fifty thousand in there. The password is your birthday." His tone was flat, as if he were disposing of an expired document. "Pack your things and get out tomorrow. My lawyer will contact you later about the divorce papers."

I stared at the card, my vision blurring slightly.

Fifty thousand dollars.

So in his mind, my three years of marriage—countless nights staying up until dawn preparing business plans for him, quietly using my connections to smooth his path, even secretly pawning my private jewelry to fund his startup during the most difficult times—all of that was worth exactly fifty thousand dollars.

To marry him, I had hidden my identity as the sole heir to Parker International, pretending to be an orphaned girl with only a basic education and no family.

I gave up my art gallery, put on an apron, and learned to cater to his particular tastes. I thought this was pure love.

Now, in his eyes, I was just garbage to be disposed of—"cheap" garbage.

The master bedroom door slammed shut in my face without mercy. Soon, playful laughter drifted from within.

I clutched a thin blanket I'd retrieved from the storage room and made my way to the guest room at the end of the hallway—the one that had remained empty for years.

I reached under the pillow for my phone—my real phone, the one that maintained my connection to my past world.

My fingertips touched the cold metal, then jerked back.

No. Contacting the butler or my private doctor now would mean exposure. It would mean any possibility between Damian and me would be gone forever.

I still harbored a pathetic fantasy.

Around two in the morning, my abdominal pain intensified. I crept downstairs quietly, hoping to get some hot water from the kitchen and perhaps find some antacids.

Only a dim wall sconce illuminated the living room. I headed toward the storage cabinet by the dining area, but my peripheral vision caught sight of something on the sofa that stopped me cold.

Two intertwined figures writhing in the dim light.

Damian reclined on the sofa while Susan sat almost entirely in his lap, her arms wrapped around his neck as she kissed him passionately. The soft sounds of their intimacy were particularly clear in the silence.

Susan pulled back slightly, her fingers caressing Damian's cheek, her voice sickeningly sweet. "Damian, I can't wait for her to move out. I want to move in soon so we can be together every day."

Damian hummed low in his throat. "Don't worry. Soon. Her little schemes and manipulations won't amount to anything."

I gripped the bottle of antacids I'd found in the cabinet, the spasms in my stomach intertwining with the tearing pain in my chest until I could barely stand.

Just then, a detail that had been temporarily buried under pain and confusion suddenly jumped to the forefront of my mind.

My period was already more than two weeks late.

A terrible yet desperate thought wrapped around my heart like a vine: If I was pregnant, would he treat me even a little bit better?

Even just a little?