Guilty Hearts The Scumbags Original Sin

I looked him dead in the eye.

"Sign the papers. Then you get your son."

As I walked out with the signed agreement in my hand, a bitter smile curved my lips.

I wondered—when the day came that Adrian Vance had nothing left, would he and Sara Graves still be so inseparable?

The moment Adrian nervously took the child from the nurse, I was already sitting in Ava's car.

"Ava!" I laughed—loud, hollow, nothing reaching my eyes. "We just made two billion dollars. My treat. Drive to the Royal Club. I want the most expensive suite and eight male models."

Ava frowned, her gaze heavy with concern.

"Hailey... if you're hurting, just cry. You don't need to—"

I wiped a stray tear from the corner of my eye and slapped the equity transfer agreement onto her lap.

"I'm not sad. Look at this. Three years of marriage in exchange for a twenty percent stake worth two billion. Who else is that valuable?"

My voice dropped.

"Before my mom died, she told me: never trust men. Money is a woman's only eternal support."

Ava nodded slowly. Then she slammed on the gas and sped toward the Royal Club.

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.

And I stood there—bloated, recovering from birth, face stained with melasma.

We were two different species.

Our eyes met.

Sara rose, a smug smile playing on her lips.

"Oh, look who it is. *Mrs. Vance.*"

She raised her wine glass in a mocking toast.

"You came at just the right time. I should thank you—for giving birth to such adorable babies. *For me.*"

Adrian must have called her. She knew the game was up. No need to hide anymore.

A cold smile spread across my face.

I strode into the room, grabbed the edge of the banquet table with one hand—

And flipped it.