In the second year of her marriage, Khloe accidentally tore her marriage certificate while tidying a drawer.

She rushed to the courthouse to have it reissued, only for the clerk at the window to frown.

“Miss Roswell, there’s no record of your marriage in the system.”

“That’s impossible. I’ve been married for two years!” Khloe handed over the torn document, her voice sharp with disbelief.

The clerk checked three more times, then turned the screen toward her.

“See? Nothing. And look here, the seal is crooked. This certificate is most likely a forgery.”

Khloe stumbled out of the courthouse, feeling utterly hollow and disoriented. The world seemed to blur around her when her phone rang.

“Miss Roswell, hello. I’m the attorney for your late father’s estate. Would you be available to come to Pearson Law Firm to review and sign the inheritance documents?”

‘Another scam,’ she thought, her finger hovering over the “end call” button.

But the man continued, “Your mother’s name was Adele Roswell. Twenty years ago, she left you at the gates of the Harden Housee. After a thorough investigation, we have confirmed that you are the sole biological child of Neil Morrison.”

The name hit her like a physical blow. Neil Morrison. The financial titan, the richest man in Goldmont City.

Stunned into silence, Khloe stood frozen on the courthouse steps. Then, moving on autopilot, she rushed to the appointment.

What she learned in lawyer’s office was the most staggering revelation of her life: her biological father, Neil Morrison, had passed away the previous month. His estate—a vast empire of stocks, global real estate, and controlling interests in countless corporations—was valued in the billions.

And she, the daughter who never knew him, was his one and only heir.

Her head buzzed as if struck by lightning. The lawyer’s next question cut through the fog.

“May I ask about your marital status? Do you have children?”

At once, her husband’s face flashed in her mind.

Her hand clenched around the broken certificate hidden in her bag. She gripped the pen tightly and said, “Give me two hours. I need to confirm something first.”

Leaving the law office, she headed straight for her husband’s company.

The door to Trey Fox’s office was ajar. She had just reached out when a low, sultry voice drifted out, “Trey, we’ve been married five years. When will you finally make it public?”

Khloe froze.

She knew that voice all too well. It belonged to Angela Thompson, their former university advisor.

Angela was six years older than Trey, but aside from that, she was flawless—stunningly beautiful, with a perfect figure, an untouchable goddess in the eyes of the student body. Back in their university, she had been universally adored, renowned as the most popular and beloved counselor on campus.

Khloe held her breath. A second later, she heard her husband’s familiar voice.

“The company is about to go public, and I still need her for a few more things. Besides, my grandfather’s will explicitly forbids you from being recognized by the Fox family. If we go public now, my grandmother will come after you. I can’t stand the thought of you getting hurt.”

A roaring sound filled Khloe’s ears. She clamped a hand over her mouth, choking back the sob rising in her throat.

That marriage certificate—the one she’d painstakingly taped back together and cherished like a priceless treasure—was nothing but a lie. From the very beginning, she had been the fool, dancing alone in the dark.

She fled the building, pulling out her phone the moment she hit the sidewalk. Her voice was unnervingly calm, as if all the emotion had been drained from her.

“Mr. Bateman, I’ll sign the inheritance papers now. And for the official record: I am unmarried and have no children. Every single asset is to come to me, and me alone.”

After finishing at the law firm, Khloe drove home. But her mind was elsewhere, and she failed to notice that the car in front of her had stopped. The jolt of the rear-end collision was minor, but it was enough to split her forehead open.

At the hospital, after the ER doctor stitched up her forehead, a sudden, chilling thought sent her straight to the gynecology department.

When she got the results, her heart turned to ash.

“Are you saying… my uterus is perfectly healthy?”

“That’s correct. According to these scans, you’re in excellent health.”

“I can get pregnant?”

“Of course.”

“And it won’t affect… my sex life?”

The elderly doctor, despite decades of experience, looked slightly taken aback. “No, not at all.”

But before their wedding, Trey had waved a medical report in her face, claiming she had a severe uterine condition—that she could never have children, and that even normal intercourse could cause irreparable damage.

“Even so, I’m going to marry you,” he had told her, his eyes full of tender resolve as he held her hands. “In this lifetime, I choose you.”

For that promise, she had endured the Fox family’s wrath.

She had watched her father-in-law smash a teacup, roaring, “Bringing a barren woman into this family will be the end of our bloodline!”

She had listened as her mother-in-law sobbed to relatives at family gatherings, “Trey is under a witch’s spell.”

And every time, he would just smile and reassure her, “Don’t listen to them. You have me, that’s all that matters.”

So for two years, she endured her mother-in-law’s endless insults—”a broken woman,” “useless, can’t even give my son a child”—each word a thorn festering under her skin, stealing countless nights of sleep.

…

When news of her accident reached him, Trey rushed to the hospital, tall and striking in his crisp white shirt. His visible concern should have stirred memories of their six years together.

She remembered their first meeting in Angela’s office. She was just dropping off documents for a classmate. He had looked up, given a polite nod, his dark eyes locking with hers. He hadn’t said another word.

That was followed by four years of relentless pursuit.

Trey had been the university heartthrob—handsome, brilliant, born into wealth. Combined with his fierce determination and disarming gentleness, he was practically irresistible.

Khloe, an orphan raised in cold solitude, was no exception. She had finally surrendered, melted by the heat of his devotion.

Now, seeing her dazed and unresponsive, he assumed she was in shock from the accident. He pulled her into his arms, trying to comfort her.

But Khloe recoiled instinctively, shoving him away. She rose to her feet.

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