Chapter 1

On the night of our fortieth anniversary gala, a young man in his early twenties stormed into the ballroom.

He dropped to his knees right in front of my husband, Waylon.

"Dad, I'm your son, Jaxson," he cried out.

I froze. My husband of forty years―the man who promised we would remain childless together―suddenly had a son?

I turned to Waylon. His face turned as white as a sheet, and his eyes darted around, refusing to meet mine.

The guests erupted into a frenzy. Whispers flooded the room like a rising tide.

I looked at this absurd scene and suddenly burst out laughing.

You're here for the inheritance, aren't you?

By the time I slapped three DNA reports in front of Waylon, his face had turned a sickly shade of green.

01

It had been five years since the new laws confirmed the inheritance rights of children born out of wedlock. It was also the fortieth year of my marriage to Waylon. What a bitter irony.

For forty years, we lived in a cramped, drafty apartment, smelling of coal smoke and pinching every penny.

In the winter, when there was no heat, Waylon would tuck my frozen feet into his coat to warm them up.

In the summer, when the mosquitoes were relentless, he would stay up all night fanning me so I could sleep.

Later, we started a small business, working from dawn till dusk. He wore holes in his shoes chasing leads, and my skin tanned dark from manning our outdoor stall.

We clawed our way up to where we are now―living in a luxury penthouse with a seven-figure savings account.

He always called me his pillar of strength, saying he wouldn't be the man he was today without me.

But now, he was cowering behind that young man, muttering excuses. "Pearl, it was a mistake from my youth... He's innocent in all this..."

I ignored his pathetic whimpering. My gaze landed on the limited-edition watch on Jaxson's wrist.

That was the birthday gift Waylon claimed he lost last month. I had saved three months of my salary to buy it for him.

"And?" I brushed a speck of imaginary dust off my silk gown, my voice calm but laced with ice. "You want me to pack up and make room for you and your son?"

Waylon's eyes shifted. He finally managed to choke out, "Pearl, look at us. We're at that age..."

"What about being sixty?" I cut him off, my voice rising. "Does being sixty mean I should let you and your son kick me out onto the street?"

The chatter around us grew louder. Some looked at me with pity, while others pointed fingers at Waylon.

I remembered the day Waylon proposed. He was on one knee, holding a wilted rose. "Pearl, let's just be us. No kids, no burdens. Just the two of us against the world."

What a massive joke. The man who swore to cherish me forever was now using a secret son to slap me in the face.