Chapter 1

My wife Eva was lying on my operating table, pregnant with her first love's child for the eighth time.

This time, I didn't lose control like the previous seven times.

Instead, I calmly sutured her wounds and explained the post-operative precautions.

Having performed abortions for Eva so many times, I'd long become the laughingstock of the entire hospital.

After the surgery, Eva grabbed my sleeve and sobbed, "George, this time Chris was drugged with an aphrodisiac. I had to help him... Don't worry, you're my husband. I'll only have children for you."

I shook off her hand and walked out of the ward.

Before our marriage, we'd signed an agreement.

I would give Eva eight chances to make mistakes. Now those chances were used up.

The agreement was now in effect, and her billion-dollar fortune would transfer directly to my name.

Like the previous seven times, I came to her ward carrying that white medical box.

When Eva saw me, she immediately pushed herself up to sit.

Her tone carried undisguised urgency.

"George, did you extract the cord blood?"

This was the only question she asked after each surgery.

Chris had a hereditary blood disease.

She claimed she was thinking of me.

But the truth was simply to extract cord blood from the unformed embryo—to have a constant, sufficient supply for Chris.

I said nothing, simply setting it down gently in the exact spot she'd specified.

Before her eighth abortion, we'd once had a child of our own.

Back then, to find a match for Chris, she hadn't hesitated to induce labor on her three-month pregnancy—all for that slim possibility of compatibility.

When I discovered the truth, we had a terrible fight.

In the heat of our argument, I rushed out and got into a car accident that nearly crippled my right hand.

After nearly three years of grueling rehabilitation, I finally stood in an operating room again.

She'd held me then, trembling and sobbing, choking out a vow: "George, never again. We'll have our own child."

I believed her. But in the end, my trust was misplaced.

Seeing my silence, clear impatience flashed through her eyes.

A young nurse, reading the room, quickly spoke up: "Eva, don't worry. Everything you asked for, George has already arranged."

Only then did her expression relax slightly, showing a hint of relief.

After several consecutive surgeries, I was utterly exhausted.

I didn't want to play along with this charade anymore and turned to leave.

But she suddenly called out, her eyes reddening instantly.

"I'm sorry, George. I swear this is the last time. Once I've recovered, we'll have a baby right away, okay?"

My steps halted.

A baby?

After eight abortions, her uterine wall was already as fragile as paper.

Without my years of desperate effort to treat her and perform her surgeries, she would never be able to become a mother again.

Just then, the ward door crashed open!

Chris burst in, face flushed, swinging his fist at me.

"You bastard! She's your wife and you had the heart to perform this kind of surgery on her! How many times has it been? Do you realize you're committing a sin?"

I adjusted my crooked glasses and raised my own fist.

Before I could fight back, a dull pain shot through the back of my head.

I turned around—Eva had grabbed the cup from the bedside table and smashed it against my head.

Warm blood gushed from the back of my skull.

She jumped out of bed, spreading her arms to shield Chris protectively behind her.

"Enough! George, how long are you going to keep this up? Why did you hit Chris? You know perfectly well Chris has underlying health conditions—emotional stress affects his condition! Do you have any medical ethics at all? Hitting a patient—do you even deserve to be a doctor?"

The accusations rained down like hail.

I covered my bleeding head, my eyes burning painfully.

But what hurt more was my heart, torn bloody by her.

My throat tight, I forced out each word: "He hit me first."

What I got in return was an even more self-righteous rebuttal.

"So what if he hit you? You removed the child from my belly, but it was also his flesh and blood! You killed his child."

But I remembered—every single time, it was she who knelt before me begging for the surgery.

Looking at her righteous face, I suddenly didn't even have the energy to argue.

After all, she'd performed this gaslighting routine too many times.

Blood dripped continuously through my fingers. The young nurse beside me turned pale with fright.

She quickly wheeled over a wheelchair: "George, you're badly hurt. Let me take you to get bandaged!"

Just as I was about to sit down, Chris suddenly groaned and collapsed softly into Eva's arms.

The wheelchair that had just been brought over was immediately seized by Eva and pushed in front of Chris.

"Chris, sit down quick! I'll take you to see a doctor!"

The young nurse tried to intervene, looking distressed.