When we arrived, I threw a black card onto the reception desk. The manager bowed and scraped, ushering us into the most luxurious private suite and lining up rows of handsome men for inspection.
Ten minutes later, Ava and I were sipping vintage red wine while a model with sculpted abs knelt before us, massaging our calves, calling us "Big Sister" with every breath.
Men are trash. As long as you have money, there will always be plenty of pretty faces willing to crawl at your feet.
The models were mid-laugh when a commotion erupted next door. Through the thin walls, three words pierced my ears.
*Sara Graves.*
I walked into the corridor.
A massive banner was draped across the adjacent suite's entrance. Gilded letters proclaimed: *"Celebrating Sara Graves on the Joyous Birth of her Precious Son and Daughter."*
Inside, voices rang out—loud, boisterous, grating.
"Sara, you really are the best! No morning sickness, your figure is still perfect, and you became a mother without a single stretch mark!"
"Adrian is truly devoted to you. He orchestrated a surrogacy just to spare you the pain!"
"In the past two years, he probably touched that haggard woman less than five times! I see his car parked at your villa every single evening!"
Then Sara Graves's voice floated out—proud, coquettish, sickeningly sweet.
"If it weren't for the children, Adrian wouldn't have touched her *once*. He told me the thought of her body makes him sick. He could only stomach kissing her by closing his eyes and pretending it was me."
Another voice chimed in: "Sara, that gang rape rumor... Adrian arranged that too, didn't he? Just to ruin her reputation so you could force her into the surrogacy?"
A light, dismissive laugh.
"Don't mention that rotten woman. Today we're celebrating *my* babies. Let's drink to their health and happiness!"
Cheers erupted. Flattery poured like cheap champagne.
My fingernails dug into my palms until the skin broke. My chest felt like it was being crushed in a vise.
So it wasn't just the baby.
The humiliation. The rumors. The destruction of my reputation.
All of it was designed by Adrian. He broke me so I would marry him out of gratitude and guilt—the perfect puppet to carry his children.
*BANG.*
I kicked the door open.
Sara Graves sat in the seat of honor, wearing a crimson cheongsam that hugged every curve. A pearl hairpin glinted in her hair. She looked radiant. Seductive.