Chapter 1
My husband made me be the surrogate for his mistress.
That meant the baby in my bully would be theirs, not mine.
I had been pregnant for three months already.
How could they plan to take my baby?
I took out my phone and made a call.
“Dad, cut the capital flow to the Kaufman Group in three days. I and Antonio, we’re done.”
It was time to restore my real indentity.
My dad exhaled.
“OK. Tell me when you want to come back, and I’ll go pick you up.”
I had been disabled for three years. After countless hormone injections to protect the pregnancy, I finally conceived.
But, on my birthday, I overheard my husband, Antonio Kaufman, speaking German on the phone with another
woman.
She said, “I can have your child too. Why does it have to be her, the cripple? You said you’d marry me as soon as she gave birth. Don’t go back on your word.”
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He reassured her softly, “I promise. Childbirth is dangerous. How could I let you go through that?”
My hand, clutching the medical report confirming my full recovery, began to tremble violently.
Antonio probably forgot that I was the one who taught him German.
My legs had recovered a few weeks ago, and I wanted to surprise Antonio today.
He hung up, his eyes dark with a trace of desire. He didn’t notice my reaction.
Staring at the untouched beef on the table, he frowned.
Then he said to me, “Don’t be picky. Having beef is good for the baby. Be good, Grace.”
I looked at the beef he placed on my plate and smiled bitterly.
Once, I accidentally ate beef, and Antonio was even more nervous than me. He took me to the hospital in the middle of the night.
From that day on, beef was never served at our dining table again. He always checked the ingredient list regarding whatever I ate.
Yet, now, it seemed he had completely forgotten I was allergic to beef.
He was sitting opposite me, and I noticed the imperceptible smile on his lips.
He was so engrossed in his phone that he completely forgot
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what he had told me this morning. He said it was my birthday today, and he’d stay with me to celebrate it together.
Suddenly, he looked up and said to me apologetically, “Sorry, Grace.
“The company’s accounts don’t add up, and I got to go take a look. I’ll be back as soon as I deal with it. Stay home and wait for me, OK?”
He walked out quickly before I could respond.
Tears streamed down my face in an instant, my chest tightening with pain.
It never occurred to me that he’d betray me one day.
Back then, I had a car accident and was sent to the hospital. The doctor said I could never stand up again.
It was Antonio who held my hand and said he’d be with me forever. He gave me the strength to live.
Then he even married me resolutely against his family’s objection
In disbelief, I pulled out my phone and saw a photo sent froOTY my friend.
Under the dim streetlight, a man and a woman embraced, locked in a passionate kiss, as lovers lost in their own world.
That all–too–familiar figure crushed the last shred of hopel had left.
With trembling hands, I texted my friend back, “Antonio is home celebrating my birthday with me. This isn’t him,”
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I stared at the photo for a long time before it suddenly dwelled on me I had seen the woman before. It was Pearl Greene, the company’s translator who came here last week to fetch some materials.
I logged in to WhatsApp, found her contact in the company’s group chat, and added her using my alternate account.
She accepted my friend request almost immediately.
Then I checked her Instagram.
One of her posts was: “Sneaking around with someone else’s husband in his study–so thrilling I can almost hear my own heartbeat. Just kidding…”
She updated this post exactly a week ago.
That day, I saw her walking out of the study while blushing, followed by Antonio, who looked a bit uneasy.
I figured she was probably not feeling well, or maybe it was too warm here.
It never occurred to me that they deliberately chose to have an affair in his study for the thrill.
As I was in a daze, Pearl updated her Instagram again.
In the photo, Antonio, who was supposed to be at work, sat comfortably in her living room.
He was sitting on a couch, chatting with an old madam. Those who didn’t know might think he was her grandson–in–law.
I clicked on the live photo and heard Pearl’s voice, tinged with a smile. “Grandma, this is the fourth time Antonio is here this
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week. You still think he isn’t here enough?”
1288 Wouchers
A lump formed in my throat as tears spilled onto my phone.
screen.
Last year, my mother fell seriously ill and was hospitalized, undergoing four surgeries. Yet, Antonio, her son–in–law, never showed up once.
I couldn’t walk, so I begged him several times, asking him to check on my mom, but he refused me righteously.
He said, “What’s the point? I’m not a doctor. If you really are worried about her that much, ask the driver to take you to the hospital. Why are you forcing me?”
I thought he didn’t want to go because he wasn’t good at getting along with the elders. After my mom was cured, she was discharged. One day, she brought this up, and I even defended him.
It turned out he simply thought I was deliberately forcing him to make things difficult for him.
Antonio and I were married for three years. I showed off his love for me to the others countless times, but now, it dwelled on me that I was a complete joke.
My vision blurred, and my heart broke. I was overwhelmed by pain and bitterness.
