At the sipandsee party for the newborn twins, someone suggested a game of "Never Have I Ever".

Selena was the first to raise her glass. "Never have I ever carried a baby for ten months, only to realize I was carrying my husband’s child with another woman." The room plunged into dead silence.

A heartbeat later, my husband, Dave, slid his glass of juice across the marble table, stopping it right in front of me. "She’s telling the truth," he said, his voice flat, devoid of any hesitation. "Drink up, Julia." I stared at him, my breath catching in my chest. "Both babies belong to Selena," Dave continued smoothly, as if discussing the quarterly budget. "Her health is fragile; she can’t carry a pregnancy to term.

I promised to help her fulfill her dream of becoming a mother. Be generous about this, Julia.

Don't make a scene." My adoptive mother, Victoria, chimed in, squeezing my shoulder with fake sympathy. "She’s right, sweetie. Honestly, I knew all along.

I just didn't want to ruin your postpartum recovery by telling you sooner.

I was actually at the fertility clinic the day of the embryo transfer." A cold, sickening horror bloomed behind my ribs.

The children I had nearly died to bring into this world... weren't mine. Everyone in that room knew. Every single one of them.

I was the only idiot kept in the dark, treated like a tragic punchline. Gathering every ounce of strength I had left, I handed the sleeping infants to the nanny.

I turned on my heel, walked out toward the quiet courtyard, and dialed a number I hadn't called in years. "I'm ready," I said into the receiver, my voice trembling but sharp as broken glass. "I'll take over the family business." "Good," the voice on the other end answered seamlessly. "What do you need?" "Tomorrow morning, I want the Ellington and Barrington companies under the Primo name.

All of them." … As the party wound down, relatives lingered, offering their suffocating version of "comfort." "Don't take it to heart, Julia.

Honestly, Dave marrying you in the first place was a blessing. Selena is the real Ellington heiress, and she’s not even forcing a divorce.

What is there to throw a tantrum about?" "Exactly. It was all for the good of the family. Just be sensible." "You just finished your postpartum month.

Don't ruin your health over this. You still have two babies to raise, after all." The sheer, agonizing absurdity of it made me want to laugh out loud.

Even now, at this exact moment, they still expected me to be the sweet, sensible girl. To be magnanimous.

To keep playing the dutiful fake heiress, raising someone else’s children, fulfilling someone else’s dream.

I looked down at the twin babies sleeping soundly in the nanny’s arms, their tiny fists clenched tight against their cheeks. I carried them for ten grueling months.

I endured a sevenlayer abdominal incision during an emergency Csection. I laid in the ICU for three days, hooked to monitors, floating between life and death.

The IVF treatments before that had been a slow, quiet hell. Hormones bloated my body; long, terrifying needles left a galaxy of deep purple bruises across my stomach.

The sterile, bleached ceiling of the clinic and the sharp bite of antiseptic still lingered in my memory like a fresh wound.

And yet, the babies I bled for didn't carry a single drop of my blood. I swallowed hard, taking a deep breath, but I didn't even have the energy left to shake.

While the hosts were distracted entertaining the remaining guests, I slipped upstairs to my bedroom and locked the door behind me.

The first thing I did was open my phone and search for toptier divorce attorneys. My fingers moved across the glass screen with a chilling, detached precision.

I didn't shed a single tear. I methodically compared trial success rates, taking screenshots and saving them to a secure folder.

When I finally unlocked the door and stepped out into the hallway, Dave was waiting.

He stepped forward, carefully placing a soft cashmere beanie on my head. "You just got out of recovery," he said softly, his touch mimicking tenderness. "You need to stay warm.

Don't catch a chill." I took a step back, my movement mechanical, entirely numb. He let out a quiet sigh. "Look, Selena was out of line downstairs.

I already gave her a stern talkingto." "Did you reprimand her in front of everyone?" I asked, staring straight into his eyes.

Dave paused, his brows knitting together in irritation. "Why do you always have to take things so far? Selena’s health is delicate; she can't handle intense stress.

You two are different—" "Different how?" I cut in, my voice deadpan. "Do I have an extra set of arms and legs?" Dave’s face darkened instantly. "That's enough!" He clearly hadn't expected me to bite back.

After all, we had grown up as childhood sweethearts. I had spent my entire adult life bending over backward for him.

Years ago, when his startup was on the brink of collapse, I was the one who drank myself into alcohol poisoning at business dinners just to secure his first major investment.

For him, I gave up my acceptance to an Ivy League master's program, staying by his side through the mud and the grit. My reward?

A signed marriage license and a pair of beautiful twins... that didn't belong to me. My eyes burned, but I nodded slowly. "You're right.

It "is" enough." In this relationship, my conscience was completely clear. And this was where it ended. He blinked, caught off guard by my sudden, eerie calm.

His tone softened slightly, condescending as ever. "I couldn't even give her a proper wedding license, Julia. Is it so wrong to let her vent a little?

You just had a baby; your hormones are driving your emotions.

I don't blame you for acting out." He reached for my arm. "Just don't push it too far." A cold, bitter laugh echoed silently in my head. Years of devotion.

Risking my life on an operating table. And it was all reduced to: "Don't push it too far." Victoria came hurrying up the stairs, breathless. "Dave!

Selena locked herself in her room and she’s sobbing uncontrollably!

She won't open the door for anyone!" Dave turned instantly, stepping around me without a second thought. "I'll go check on her." I watched his back disappear down the hall.

Then I went downstairs, grabbed my car keys, and drove straight to the office. The lights in the accounting department burned late into the night.

While I had been stuck at home on bed rest, Dave had quietly transferred property titles, offshore investment funds, fine jewelry, and international bank accounts over to Selena.

The grand total was well into the eight figures. Staring at the darkened monitor, a sharp, metallic ache settled deep in my chest.

My senior financial manager, whom I had called in for an emergency audit, approached my desk.

Her voice trembled softly as she spoke. "Vice President... there's also this." She handed me a stack of hotel expense reports. Toptier luxury penthouse suites.

The dates matched the exact fortyeight hours I was screaming in labor and lingering in the ICU. Dave’s signature was scrawled at the bottom in his signature, arrogant flourish.

While I was torn open on an operating table, he was wrapped in highthreadcount sheets with Selena. I reached up, wiping away an invisible tear from the corner of my eye.

Pulling out my phone, I typed a brief message to the contact I had spoken with earlier: "I agree to the terms.

But I have one condition." "By tomorrow morning, I want Ellington and Barrington under the Primo name." I locked the screen, leaned back into the leather office chair, and closed my eyes. …… The next morning, inside the executive boardroom of Barrington Corp.

Dave pushed the double doors open and froze. I was sitting in his leather chair at the head of the conference table.

He recovered quickly, a practiced smile sliding onto his face as he took the adjacent seat, acting as if nothing was amiss. "Julia just had the babies, everyone.

Her mood has been a bit unstable lately, so please be patient with her moving forward." With a single sentence, he labeled every future word out of my mouth as the ramblings of a hysterical woman.

Anything I said would be rendered meaningless. Selena walked in right behind him, gliding into the empty chair on Dave’s other side as if it were her birthright.

Dave raised a hand, addressing the room. "Selena will be stepping in to lighten Julia's workload starting today.

She has extensive experience, so I expect full cooperation from all departments." "Lighten my workload." I nearly burst out laughing.

It wasn't workload sharing; it was an execution of power.

By the time I was expected to return from "taking care of the babies," my title, my network, and my authority would be completely erased and handed to her on a silver platter.

I tilted my head, looking directly at Dave. "Did the board of directors vote on this?" Dave’s voice remained smooth, indifferent. "Company policy regarding parental leave doesn't require a board vote.

It's standard procedure." He leaned in close, lowering his voice so only I could hear. "You wouldn't bring personal household drama into the workplace, would you, Julia?" I looked at him, remaining silent.

I knew exactly what was running through his head. He was gambling on my silence.

Gambling that I would hide the family disgrace to protect our reputation, swallowing the broken glass just like I always had.

When the meeting adjourned, my assistant brought lunch to my office.

A heavy, lukewarm bowl of pork trotter soup sat on the tray, thick with a layer of congealed fat—the classic, suffocating meal forced on nursing mothers to boost milk production.

I frowned. "Who ordered this?" "Mr. Barrington," the assistant murmured nervously. "He insisted that you drink every last drop." My jaw tightened.

He truly viewed me as nothing more than a wet nurse for his mistress's children.

I opened my laptop, trying to pull up a quarterly operations file, when my phone vibrated rapidly with dozens of notifications. "You have been removed from the group chat." "You have been removed from the group chat." I blinked.

I had been systematically purged from every single corporate communications channel. Not a single group was left.

The sharp click of designer high heels echoed against the hardwood floor. "Sister," Selena purred, leaning against the doorframe. "Dave is doing this for your own good.

You just finished your recovery; you shouldn't be stressing yourself out with business." She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "Now that the real heiress is back, an imposter like you should just go home and nurse my children.

Once they're older, I might even let them call you 'Auntie.' Consider it a reward for your three years of service." "Auntie." I stared at her, genuinely baffled by her delusion.

Did she truly believe I was going to stay and raise her kids?

I pointed a firm finger toward the hallway. "Get out of my office." "It's going to be my office soon anyway," she smirked. "Then why stop there?" I replied coldly. "Why don't you take Dave's seat too and play CEO yourself?" The heavy oak door swung open with a loud slam.

Dave stood in the doorway, his face pale with anger, his tone laced with suppressed rage. "Julia!

I provide your clothes, your food, your whole life—and you're already plotting to usurp my position?" I looked at the man standing before me, suddenly realizing how terrifyingly strangerlike he had become.

He seemed to have completely forgotten that this company only survived because of me.

Three years ago, I was the one kneeling at corporate dinners to secure the funding that pulled him out of bankruptcy.

I was the one who gave up an Ivy League education to wade through the dirt with him. I was the one who spent ten months growing children in my body to keep his domestic life whole.

And now, he was asking if I wanted to usurp him. A small, bitter smile touched my lips. "Dave... did you forget? You offered me the Managing Director position years ago.

I was the one who turned it down." His face flushed a mottled red, entirely caught off guard. He immediately pivoted, trying to regain control. "Your mother called.

She said the babies are hungry.

Go home and feed them." I chuckled softly. "You two really put on a coordinated performance, don't you?" He snapped his briefcase shut, frowning. "You're in a terrible mood.

I'm not going to argue with you." Without another word, I gathered my personal belongings, stood up, and walked out.

When I arrived at our estate, the smart lock at the front door let out an abrasive electronic screech. "Fingerprint not recognized." On the third failed attempt, a security alarm chimed, and the door opened from the inside.

The housekeeper stood there, looking at me with nervous, shifting eyes. "Miss Julia... Mr. Barrington deleted your biometric access from the system.

He... he also asked me to tell you that you should stay indoors from now on. There's no need for you to go out." Soft house arrest. It was so ridiculous it was almost funny.

A grown woman, locked out of her own life. Stepping into the foyer, the subtle shifts in the house hit me immediately.

The grand canvas of our wedding portrait hanging in the living room was gone.

In its place hung a fresh, framed family portrait: Dave, Victoria, and Selena, holding the twins between them. I was nowhere in the frame.

I pushed open the door to the primary bedroom. The crisp, minimal linen bedding I preferred had been completely stripped.

In its place were heavy, gaudy satin sheets embroidered with layered red peonies. Selena’s favorite.

Victoria walked up behind me, her voice light and careless. "You won't be sleeping in this room anymore, Julia.

Move your things down to the nanny's quarters on the first floor." She paused, offering a tight, unbothered smile. "It's just more convenient for taking care of the babies at night." My fingers tightened around the strap of my handbag, my nails digging deep into my palms.

I knew why she hated me. She blamed me for "stealing" her biological daughter's luxurious life for twentyseven years. She resented me for holding onto Dave.

But for those twentyseven years, I had truly loved her as my mother. A dull, aching pain throbbed in my chest. I knelt down beside the trash can in the corner of the room.

Settled at the bottom was a framed photograph of Dave and me from college, the glass shattered. Over twenty years of being childhood sweethearts.

From school uniforms to a wedding dress. From rock bottom to a publicly traded company. It couldn't even survive three years of a shiny new distraction.

That night, Dave and Selena walked through the front door laughing and chatting, looking for all the world like a glowing, happily married couple.

I sat at the dining table, picking at a plate of spicy crawfish. Before the fork reached my mouth, Dave slammed his palm onto the table with a deafening bang. "You're breastfeeding!

Why are you eating spicy food?" "My milk dried up," I said calmly, taking another bite. "I can't feed them anymore." He froze, his voice dropping. "What?

Why?" "The doctor said severe emotional distress cuts off lactation," I replied, looking him straight in the eye. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

When I was pregnant, he had obsessively researched every pregnancy book, compiling lists of foods and habits that could affect lactation.

Back then, I thought it was proof of his overwhelming love for me. Now I realized the truth: he didn't care about me at all.

He only cared about the nourishment of his and Selena's biological children.

I set my fork down. "Enjoy your dinner." I turned and walked into the study, pulling out my personal document binder to retrieve our marriage certificate.

When I opened the leather folder, my fingers went completely rigid. My side of the marriage certificate had been viciously charred.

My face was scorched black by a lighter, rendered entirely unrecognizable. I stared at the burnt paper, a cold, creeping shiver slithering up my spine.

This home was officially a crime scene of a dead marriage. At 2:00 AM, my phone buzzed incessantly. I had been added to a massive group chat titled "Barrington Corp Watercooler".

Someone had dropped a candid photo into the chat. It was a shot of me in the boardroom yesterday—eyes red, standing up to confront Dave.

The angle was intentionally grotesque, making my face look twisted, unhinged, like a lunatic on the verge of a breakdown. "Guys, did you know?

The Vice President is actually the fake heiress." "I heard she forced Mr. Barrington to marry her years ago!

Used her business connections to blackmail him, otherwise he would've been with the real Ellington daughter all along." "She must have severe postpartum depression.

She lost her mind in the office yesterday and almost pushed Ms. Selena down the stairs!" I scrolled up, my thumbs stiffening against the glass.

The rumors were written with terrifying detail. Anyone reading them without context would instantly believe I was a unstable monster.

Even several senior executives whom I had personally hired and mentored were dropping agreeing emojis in the thread. I checked the group settings. The admin was Selena.

She wasn't even trying to hide it anymore. Taking a slow, deep breath, I turned off the screen.

Her strategy was glaringly obvious: paint me as a hysterical, postpartum lunatic in front of the entire company, giving them a righteous excuse to strip my authority, cast me out of the business, and purge me from both the Ellington and Barrington families.

The next morning. Dave walked into the dining room and slid a legal document across the table toward me. "Sign it, Julia.

It's for your own good." He pulled out a fountain pen. "This stock transfer agreement ensures you get a generous lumpsum payout.

Given your awkward position right now, having this cash means you won't suffer down the road, no matter what happens." I looked up at him, a faint, bitter curve touching my lips.

I had lived a smooth, privileged life for twentyseven years. If it weren't for him and Selena, I wouldn't be suffering a single ounce of pain today.

Seeing me remain silent, he nudged the pen closer. I recognized that pen instantly. It was a vintage Montblanc I had spent months sourcing for his twentyfifth birthday.

Back then, he held it like a sacred artifact, calling it his "lucky charm" after using it to sign his first tenmilliondollar contract.

Now, he was handing it to me so I could sign away my life’s work. "Fine," I said softly, picking up the document. "I'll sign. On one condition." Dave’s brows furrowed tightly.

I paused, letting the silence stretch between us. "I want this pen back." He visibly blinked, entirely stunned.

He had clearly braced himself for a massive financial demand, or perhaps an ultimatum forcing Selena out of the estate. He never expected me to ask for an old pen.

Without a second thought, he handed the cap over. "Sure. It's yours." I gripped the cold metal of the pen, feeling the crushing weight of the irony. I was just like this pen to him.

Irreplaceable when useful; completely disposable the moment something shiny came along.

I signed my name cleanly at the bottom of the document, capped the pen, and slipped it into my pocket. "Since you're giving me a gift," I murmured, "I should prepare a grand gift for you in return." Dave smiled, a smug, knowing look settling over his features. "Tomorrow is the official merger ceremony between Ellington Group and Barrington Corp.

Your blessing is enough." He smoothed his tie. "However, you'll need to publicly announce your retirement from company operations at the event.

It’s better for everyone’s image." I smiled, nodding gently. "Don't mention it. I've been preparing this gift for a very long time." Dave left the room entirely satisfied.

I watched his retreating figure through the glass doors, the smile on my face slowly chilling into ice.

He, Victoria, and Selena... if none of them could tolerate my existence, then I had no reason to offer them a shred of mercy.

I went upstairs, pulled out a secure burner phone, and dialed a number. "Is the portfolio ready?" "Everything is locked and loaded," a smooth, steady male voice replied through the speaker. "And the conditions you requested for tomorrow will be executed down to the last detail." …… The following afternoon, the grand ballroom hosting the EllingtonBarrington Merger Ceremony was packed with press and highsociety figures.

I arrived dressed in a sleek, tailored black suit. The moment I stepped through the doors, every eye in the room pivoted toward me like sharp needles.

The Marketing Director—a man I had personally promoted twice—was the first to jog over. His face wore a wide, practiced grin. "Vice President! Right this way, please.

We reserved a special seat for you." He led me past the velvetdraped VIP tables, guiding me all the way to the farthest back corner of the room—a tiny, wobbly table set up directly beside the maintenance and janitorial closet.

Soft snickers erupted from the surrounding tables. At the front row, Selena glided in, her arm wrapped tightly around Dave’s as she took the seat that used to belong to me.

Dave adjusted his lapel, stepped up to the podium, and cleared his throat into the microphone. "Today marks the official merger of Ellington Group and Barrington Corp," his voice boomed over the speakers. "Furthermore, I have one important announcement to make—due to health reasons, Ms.

Julia Ellington will be stepping down from all operational roles within the firm, effective immediately." The crowd fell silent for a beat before erupting into polite applause.

Several senior executives near the stage immediately seized the opportunity to throw mud. "Remember that international tech investment two years ago?" one manager loudly chimed in. "Julia’s impulsive decision cost the company nearly ten million dollars!" The head of marketing nodded fervently. "Well... what do you expect from a..." He intentionally dragged out the words, "...knockoff heiress?

Her vision was always limited." A wave of cruel laughter rippled through the room. Yet I remembered that deal vividly.

Dave was the one who insisted on pushing the contract through against my warnings; when it tanked, he quietly shifted the paper trail to put my signature on the loss. "With Ms.

Selena taking over, things will finally run smoothly," another director added.

Selena sat in the front row, covering her mouth as she let out a delicate giggle, the triumphant malice in her eyes impossible to hide.

Victoria sat beside her, completely motionless, allowing the entire room to drag me through the dirt without uttering a single word of defense.

My hand dipped into my pocket, my fingers closing tightly around a sleek silver USB drive. My nails dug into my palm until it throbbed with pain. Good. Pain was useful.

Pain kept my memory sharp so I would remember every single face, every snicker, and every word spoken in this room. I took a firm step forward.

My voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the microphone chatter with eerie clarity. "Are you finished?" I asked, looking up at the stage. "Because it's my turn." Dave saw the flash drive in my hand, his expression subtly shifting. "Julia, what are you doing?" I put on a pictureofinnocence smile. "I just felt so sentimental about leaving the company.

I put together a quick slide deck as a little farewell keepsake." Dave relaxed slightly, lowering his tone. "Look, as long as you behave yourself today, I'll make sure you're taken care of financially." Without waiting for his permission, I walked directly to the technician's AV station and plugged the drive straight into the master console.

The massive LED screen behind the podium flickered to life. Dave’s pupils contracted violently. He spun around, frantically reaching to yank the drive from the computer. "Julia!

Are you out of your mind?! Why are you casting private photos of Selena and me?!" I dodged his reach effortlessly, my smile growing cold. "Don't be impatient, Mr. Barrington.

I promise the next slide won't disappoint you." The screen flickered again. A highresolution image of an official marriage certificate filled the massive display.

In the photo, Selena was wearing a white dress, her arm linked with a middleaged, unfamiliar man. The registration date stamped at the bottom was from three years ago.

Dave whipped his head around toward Selena, his eyes suddenly bloodshot, pulsing with red veins.

A heavy, suffocating silence gripped the ballroom—followed immediately by Dave’s deafening roar.