When yet another pregnant woman showed up at our doorstep, something in me just... gave out.
Not anger. Not sadness. Just bone-deep exhaustion.
Seven years of the same scene on repeat. When pain hits its limit, all that's left is numbness.
Ethan arrived fast. He didn't look at the woman standing off to the side—didn't let her linger. Just told his assistant to see her out. Never spared her a second glance.
He walked straight to me, took a velvet box from his assistant, and held it out. His voice was almost soft.
"Alex. Don't be upset."
"Look—so many women can carry my child, but you're still the young madam of the Gilbert family. No one can take that from you."
His words were like needles, pricking into my chest one by one.
I glanced at the velvet box. Didn't need to open it. Another gemstone worth a fortune.
His signature move. Every time he knocked someone up, he bought my silence with compensation.
The jokes about me had spread through every circle we ran in. Shrewd, they called me. The real winner in this marriage.
All those mistresses scheming to get pregnant, ending up with nothing—while I just sat back and reaped the benefits.
But they didn't know I was done. Completely done.