After I refused Benedict’s request to donate sperm for his foster sister, he abandoned me on the roadside when I was four months pregnant. I was kidnapped by his sworn enemy and more than twenty men took turns raping me.
Yet to protect my child, I begged them for mercy even as my pelvis shattered and blood pooled beneath me, pleading for them to go easier on me.
Instead, they posted my video online, turning me into Wisconsin’s latest scandal gossip. Ten minutes after I was rescued, Benedict’s foster sister posted on social media, congratulating Benedict and me on our successful IVF.
My heart shattered. Rushing to confront Dorothy, I accidentally overheard Benedict speaking with his assistant, “Where’s the medicine?”
The assistant, Carlos Sastre, handed him a packet of white powder. “Mr. Romancon, these are abortion pills. Just add a pinch to the milk your wife drinks before bed and it’ll terminate the pregnancy.”
“But after she’s just been treated like that, it’ll make her infertile for the rest of her life. Isn’t that going too far?”
The man merely exhaled a smoke ring, his tone cold and said, “I don’t want this either, but I promised Dorothy that only her child can inherit the Romancon Corporation. Blame Eugenia for being stubborn. She managed to protect that child even after I sent so many people to kidnap her.”
“Anyway, I love her. Whether we have children or not won’t change that love. But Dorothy is different. She needs a powerful backer to ensure she lives comfortably for the rest of her life.”
My heart felt like it was being sliced open, my body trembling uncontrollably. I never imagined all this was Benedict doing. So, I turned around and booked an abortion, ending the pregnancy.
Then I dialed that number I hadn’t touched in five years. “Mom, I lost that bet five years ago. Benedict has changed his mind. I’ll let you do whatever you want with me.”
“But I have one condition, I’m going to bankrupt the Romancon Corporation!”
If they won’t let me live in peace, then no one else will.
My mother’s voice, filled with disappointment, soon reached the other end of the line, “Didn’t I tell you marriage isn’t about love? Like I said, you wouldn’t have suffered so much if you’d just come home and inherit the family fortune.”
“Get this marriage annulled immediately. As soon as the cooling-off period ends, I’ll come get you. As for the Romancon Corporation? They dared to bully my daughter. So, I’ll make them pay tenfold.”
Hearing my mother’s voice again, my nose stung with emotion. It turned out that only my family truly loved me in this world. Even after that huge fight with her five years ago over Benedict, when I ran away from home, she still stood by me without holding a grudge once she heard I’d been wronged.
***
By the time I got home, it was already evening. Benedict was bustling about in the kitchen with an apron tied around his waist.
Dorothy sat on the sofa, comfortably watching TV and snacking. Her long legs were casually draped over the coffee table, making her look like the madam of the house.
I’d seen this scene countless times before, yet my heart still twisted painfully. A year ago, Benedict vanished mysteriously. I tried every possible way to find him, but to no avail.
Just when I thought I’d never find him again and was about to end my life to be with him, he returned. But now there was a young woman by his side.
Benedict claimed he’d been in a car accident and this girl had saved him. Her name was Dorothy Lentini, a fish seller who’d endured a harsh childhood when she was little and whose life had been difficult.
To compensate her, Benedict decided to promote Dorothy as his personal secretary. Little did I know this would be the beginning of a nightmare in my marriage.
From that day onward, a third person entered the marriage between Benedict and me. Whenever we shared intimacy, she would appear with uncanny precision, always finding excuses to call Benedict away.
At every holiday dinner, the table now held three sets of cutlery and plates instead of two, with an extra dish prepared for the other woman’s preferences. Even the figurines on our anniversary cake had a third one squeezed in between.
Benedict’s gaze no longer focused solely on me. He began mentioning Dorothy’s name with increasing frequency.
He also said Dorothy was accustomed to rural life, so he took her back to the countryside for a month every six months. He claimed her parents constantly demanded money, so he spent ten million to buy her freedom, allowing her to live as his foster sister.
He mentioned that she had a bad digestion. After he explained all of that, Benedict, who never touched a dish, took cooking classes to prepare nourishing soups for her personally.
I cried, made a scene and even threatened divorce. But all I got was Benedict’s increasingly disappointed reproach.
“Dorothy saved my life. It’s only natural that I treat her well. You weren’t the one in the car accident. You weren’t the one nearly dying. Of course, you can’t understand this kind of gratitude.”
So, in the days that followed, he went even further, abandoning me time and again for Dorothy. Perhaps sensing my presence, Benedict glanced toward the entrance way.
Seeing it was me; a flicker of unusual emotion crossed his eyes before he quickly regained his composure and called out, “Oh, you’re back. Dorothy was too tired to cook today, so she came over for dinner with us.”
As if fearing my anger, he hastily added, “She’ll leave after dinner with us.”
But unlike before, I didn’t react with anger. I merely gave a faint nod, changed my shoes and prepared to go upstairs. My wrist was suddenly grabbed from behind. Benedict looked at me with displeasure.
“I told you she’s just here for dinner. Is it necessary to give her the cold shoulder?”
Before I could respond, he yanked me to the dining table and thrust a glass of milk in front of me. “Even if you won’t eat, you should drink this milk. You’ll have trouble sleeping otherwise.”
The milk in front of me was steaming hot, but I only felt a chill on my back. The conversation between Benedict and his assistant during the day was like a python wrapped around my neck.
He knew I couldn’t sleep without milk. From our wedding day onward, he’d brewed a cup of warm milk for me every night. Once, I would have felt deeply touched and happy. But now that tenderness had turned into a dagger piercing my heart.
