Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"I know you have a soft heart and would plead for them, but I don't want to hear it," Rhett whispered softly against my hair. "Let me stay in bed with you a little longer, okay?"

Laying me gently on the plush mattress, he looked down at me, an unusual glimmer of anticipation in his dark eyes.

"By the way, didn't you go to the hospital this morning? What did the doctor say?"

He was desperate for the answer. I didn't hide it. Lowering my gaze, I rested a hand over my flat stomach.

"I'm pregnant."

Rhett froze in place before pressing his ear directly against my belly, completely unable to conceal the sheer ecstasy on his face.

Had I not overheard the conversation earlier, I would have truly believed this joy was for me and our unborn child.

What a tragic joke.

"What are you all standing around for? Go prepare high-nutrition meals for my wife, you useless idiots!"

Having secured the answer he needed, Rhett immediately issued precise instructions to the staff. Organic diets, specialized lifestyle routines, prenatal music, and a 24-hour private obstetrician on standby―he played the role of the devoted, doting husband to absolute perfection.

It was this exact mask that had deceived me year after year.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

Noticing my pale complexion, Rhett sat down beside me, instinctively taking my cold feet into his warm hands to rub them.

"When did you get back? Are you feeling nauseous? Did the staff fail to look after you properly?"

As he spoke, he suddenly turned and kicked the personal maid who had accompanied me to the clinic.

"What were my orders? Take care of my wife! She is carrying my heir right now. If anything happens to her, can your worthless life pay for it?"

Still unsatisfied, he gave a sharp flick of his wrist. Two burly bodyguards dragged the crying woman out of the room instantly.

A muffled scream echoed from outside. I instinctively flinched, then forced my lips into a fragile smile.

"I just got home. Early pregnancy is just uncomfortable, that's all. Don't blame..."

Before I could finish, he pulled the duvet over my shoulders and gently stroked my cheek. "You don't need to defend her. Failing to comfort you is her failure."

This was the ruthless patriarch of the Montgomery family.

I had to play my part carefully; otherwise, my fate would be no different from the maid outside.

If he could destroy my life once during my engagement, he had ten thousand ways to force this baby out of me.

Lying under the blankets, I dug my fingernails so deep into my palms that they pierced the skin, forcing myself to close my eyes.

For the first four years of our marriage, Rhett had never touched me.

He always claimed he was terrified of triggering my past trauma, insisting that he loved my soul and was entirely content with a platonic marriage.

It wasn't until a year ago that he started taking me to parks to watch children, dropping subtle hints about his longing to become a father.

Unable to bear his silent longing, I voluntarily saw a trauma therapist and pushed through my deep-seated terror, wanting nothing more than to give him a baby of our own.

To sustain this pregnancy, I swallowed countless medications and endured daily hormone injections that left my stomach bruised with needle marks.

Only now did I realize that my hard-earned miracle was nothing but a sacrificial offering for someone else.

Just because he couldn't bear to let fragile Sylvia endure the physical toll of childbirth, he turned me into a human breeding machine to save her dying kid.

Tears silently soaked my pillow as exhaustion finally dragged me into a fitful sleep.

When I woke up, the massive penthouse was dead silent, with no sign of Rhett anywhere.

For the first time in five years, I truly examined the luxurious home around me.

The wall colors were Sylvia's favorites. The minimalist interior was Sylvia's aesthetic. Even the glass display cabinets were filled with limited-edition figurines that Sylvia collected.

Then my eyes landed on that locked private study at the end of the hall―a room I had never been allowed to enter.

My hands shook violently as I turned the brass door handle.

Just as I had suspected, the room did not contain his late mother's heirlooms as he had always claimed.

The walls were covered in candid photos and oil portraits of Sylvia. Stacks of meticulously preserved gifts lined the mahogany shelves, marked from her first birthday to her wedding day, complete with cards celebrating every holiday.

This entire room was a shrine to his secret, unrequited love for her.

Tears blurred my vision as I collapsed onto the Persian rug, my fingers brushing against a polished brass medal on the bottom shelf.

Engraved on the back in Rhett's handwriting were the words: "My Angel at First Sight."

I stared at the medal. I had an identical one in my old keepsake box.

Or rather, this medal had once been uniquely mine―the first-place award from a national youth ballet championship a decade ago.

Sylvia had coveted it back then, but when I refused to give it away, she stole it and lied that it was lost forever.

I vividly recalled that championship afternoon. In the lobby, I had handed a chocolate bar and a bottle of milk to a pale, sweating boy who was suffering from acute hypoglycemia.

It had all happened so fast, and we hadn't clearly seen each other's faces. But connecting the medal to Sylvia's endless claims of having saved someone important in her youth...

A bone-chilling cold swept through my entire body.

So that was it. That was the sickening truth behind everything.