Five years of marriage, and Damian Bennett suffered from severe azoospermia. To give him an heir, I endured countless agonizing rounds of IVF treatment. My lower abdomen was covered in needle marks, so many they were uncountable, and I even developed severe ovarian hyperstimulation syndrome. Until that day, when I went to an elite private hospital to reserve a future delivery suite, I ran into him carefully supporting a young woman whose pregnant belly was swollen high. The girl said coyly, "Damian, the doctor said they're twin boys. How are you going to reward me?" That man, who was always so cold and aloof, who acted like even smiling at me was a luxury, now knelt on one knee, reverently kissing her belly. "Everything I have is yours. Along with all of Seraphina Stark's shares—everything belongs to our family of four." I stood in the corner, touching my abdomen that was cramping from excessive ovarian stimulation, and smiled. Damian Bennett, since you want children so badly, let me send your family of four to hell together.
In the VIP reception room at Cloud Peak, a luxury private hospital, the heating was turned up high, diffusing a faint scent of chamomile. I held a black card in my hand, preparing to swipe it for that top-tier suite costing $880,000. The receptionist looked apologetic. "Ms. Stark, I'm terribly sorry, but this suite was just reserved by Mr. Bennett. His wife is pregnant with twins, and Mr. Bennett is so concerned about her that he paid in full immediately." I froze. Mr. Bennett? There weren't many Mr. Bennetts who could drop $880,000 without blinking. Instinctively, I turned my head, following the receptionist's gaze toward the floor-to-ceiling windows at the end of the hallway. With just one glance, all the blood in my body seemed to drain away instantly, freezing into ice. In front of the windows stood a man. He wore the black pinstriped suit I had flown to Milan, Italy last week to have custom-tailored and perfectly pressed for him. His posture was upright, his demeanor cold and dignified. It was my husband, Damian Bennett. The same man who, ten minutes ago, had messaged me on Facebook: "Seraphina, I'm in an international video conference, very busy. Be good and give yourself your injection on time." At this moment, he was looking down, his eyes so tender they could melt. And nestled in his arms was a young woman wearing a Chanel haute couture maternity dress. The girl's belly was already swollen high—she looked at least five or six months along. "Damian, the mattresses at this private hospital aren't soft enough. I'm afraid my back will hurt when I sleep," the girl pouted, complaining sweetly. Damian immediately put his arm around her waist protectively, his voice coaxing in a way I'd never heard before. "Alright, alright, I'll have someone change it to your favorite brand right away. Summer, you're my top priority right now. You can't be uncomfortable at all." Lena Summer. Hearing that name, my mind exploded with a deafening roar. Damian Bennett's first love—the woman he had pined for for seven whole years, who supposedly went abroad years ago. When did she come back? Whose child was in her belly? Lena Summer giggled, her pale finger poking at Damian's chest. "You only care about the babies. What if Seraphina Stark, that frumpy old hag, finds out? She owns half your company's shares." Damian sneered, unconcealed disgust flashing in his eyes. "Finds out? Right now her brain is completely consumed with how to give me a child. Every day she's being tortured like a psycho by those ovarian stimulation injections. She doesn't have time to worry about me." "Once she's completely wrecked her body, I'll find an excuse to kick her out. Then Bennett Corporation will be all mine. All my money will be yours and the babies'." He lowered his head and pressed a deep kiss on Lena Summer's forehead. "Summer, just wait a little longer. Soon, I'll give you the proper status of a wife."
I bit down hard on my lower lip until my mouth filled with the strong taste of blood, barely keeping myself from screaming. My stomach churned violently with nausea. I turned and stumbled toward the restroom. Bent over the sink, I dry-heaved until I thought I'd vomit up bile. The woman in the mirror had a deathly pale face and sunken eyes. Due to long-term hormone injections, her once-slender waist had become bloated, and her skin had lost its luster. For Damian Bennett, I'd turned myself into a monster. Five years ago, we got married. When we happily tried to conceive, Damian was diagnosed with severe azoospermia. That day, this proud man knelt before me, eyes red, slapping himself hard. "Seraphina, I've failed you. I can't give you a complete family. Let's break up. I can't hold you back." I cried and held him, saying it was okay, that modern medicine was so advanced, we could do IVF. Because of that promise, I embarked on a hellish road of no return. Down-regulation, ovarian stimulation, egg retrieval, embryo transfer. Thick needles piercing my ovaries—that tearing pain, I endured it ten times. Over two thousand days and nights, my belly was covered in purple-blue needle marks. Before the old ones faded, new ones were already stabbed in. I took so much medication I developed hormonal imbalances and lost hair by the handful. Damian would always hold me, crying with heartache. "Seraphina, you've worked so hard. Once we have a child, I'll give everything I have to you and the baby." I thought that was devotion. Now I know it was a poisoned blade. He never had azoospermia at all! That diagnosis report—he faked it! He watched me suffer like hell on the operating table for a lie, then turned around and lived it up every night with his first love, even getting her pregnant with twins. A sharp, cramping pain suddenly shot through my abdomen. I clutched my stomach, cold sweat instantly soaking through my back. It was ovarian hyperstimulation syndrome. The doctor had warned me that if I continued with ovarian stimulation, my life would be in danger at any moment. I endured the excruciating pain, pulled out my phone, and with trembling hands opened Damian Bennett's Facebook. "Damian, my stomach hurts so much. I think it's a complication. Can you come pick me up and take me to the hospital?" The message sank like a stone in water. Ten minutes later, I supported myself against the wall and weakly walked out of the restroom. In the hallway, Damian was carefully escorting Lena Summer into the elevator. His phone was in his hand, and the screen lit up. He glanced down at it, his brow furrowing with disgust. He pressed mute and casually shoved it into his pocket. Then he turned to Lena Summer and once again showed that infinitely tender smile. The elevator doors slowly closed. Shutting away their happy family of four, and completely burying my five years of stupidity. I leaned against the cold wall and slowly slid down to the floor. Tears fell heavily onto the floor tiles, but I didn't make a sound. Damian Bennett, you think you can just kick me out like this? Dream on.
I didn't call an ambulance. Instead, I took a taxi to the private hospital where my best friend Sophia Parker worked. "Seraphina Stark, are you out of your mind?!" Sophia looked at my ultrasound report, her whole body trembling with rage. "Bilateral ovarian enlargement, severe ascites! Don't you know you were one step away from ovarian rupture and massive hemorrhage? Where the hell is that bastard Damian Bennett?" I lay on the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling, my voice so calm it even scared me. "He's with Lena Summer at the hospital. Twins. Almost six months along." Sophia froze, her medical chart dropping to the floor with a loud smack. "What did you say?" I closed my eyes and recounted everything I'd seen at the private hospital, word for word. The hospital room fell deathly silent. A few seconds later, Sophia cursed and turned to rush out. "Fuck Damian Bennett! I'm going to grab a scalpel right now and chop off his worthless dick!" "Sophia, stop." I opened my eyes, my gaze cold as ice. "Destroying him is too good for him." I propped myself up to sit, yanking the IV needle from the back of my hand. Blood immediately gushed out. "Seraphina, what are you doing!" Sophia cried out. "Get me some strong painkillers. I'm checking out." My tone left no room for argument. "You don't value your life? Your condition requires hospital observation!" "I don't have time." I stared at her intently. "Sophia, if I collapse now, Damian will legitimately take over my shares. My parents' life's work absolutely cannot fall into that animal's hands." "I'm going to make him pay in blood." Sophia looked at my resolute eyes, her own reddening. She gritted her teeth and went to the pharmacy to get me the strongest painkillers and pills. "Seraphina Stark, remember—you're not alone. Whatever you're planning to do, count me in." I smiled wanly and gave her a hug. "Help me investigate someone—Lena Summer. I want all her records from her years abroad, including how she really got pregnant." When I left the hospital, the sky had already darkened. The wind cut across my face like a knife. I swallowed two painkillers, wrapped my coat tighter, and flagged down a taxi. The show was just beginning. At ten PM, I returned to the villa called "home." The living room was pitch black. Damian hadn't come back yet. I didn't turn on the lights. I went straight to the study. Damian was an extremely cautious person. His computer and safe both had complex passwords. But I knew his fatal weakness—his extreme arrogance. I opened his computer and entered Lena Summer's birthday.
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