Chapter 1

When my wife went into labor, she insisted on having her childhood crush in the delivery room.

Even though I was upset, I reluctantly agreed.

Yet the moment the baby was born, she cradled him in her arms and showed him to him first.

Standing beside the bed, her crush looked at the newborn and asked, "Who do you think he looks like?"

Without a second of hesitation, my wife replied, "He definitely looks like you."

My heart turned to ice. The child I had spent months celebrating wasn't mine.

I could feel the sympathetic, uncomfortable stares of the doctors and midwives burning into me.

Seeing my reaction, my wife scrambled to cover it up:

"Babe, I was just kidding! Don't take it seriously."

I sneered. "Congratulations to you both. I wish your little family all the happiness in the world."

The moment the words left my mouth, the room fell dead silent, save for the rhythmic beeping of the monitors.

Everyone's eyes snapped toward me.

Shock, confusion, and even a few eager glances waiting for a scene.

Every nurse and doctor in the maternity ward knew me as the model husband.

From Chloe’s very first ultrasound all the way to delivery, I had waited on her hand and foot.

I could recite every lab result and prenatal precaution from memory.

They probably assumed I was just lashing out in jealousy over her close bond with her best guy friend.

Chloe went on the offensive before anyone could say a word. Ignoring the nurses trying to hold her back, she grabbed the plastic water pitcher from the bedside table and hurled it straight at me.

"Leo, are you insane?!"

"I just went through hell to give you a child, and you're standing there giving me an attitude?"

"If it weren't for you, would I have had to suffer through all of this?"

She rattled off accusations like gunfire, every syllable heavy with venom.

After years of trying to conceive with no luck, the specialist told us IVF was our only option.

Truthfully, rather than watch the woman I loved suffer, I would have gladly chosen a child-free life.

She was the one who insisted on having a baby, swearing she wouldn't let anyone look down on her.

It was her PCOS that made conceiving difficult, yet behind closed doors and among friends, she constantly insinuated that I was the broken one dragging her down.

To spare the feelings of a pregnant woman, I had swallowed all her baseless blame and verbal abuse.

A sharp burn stung my elbow. I looked down and saw my skin turning an angry, scalded red from the warm water.

In Chloe's eyes, I was merely her doormat. A loyal dog expected to obey without question.

Whenever she was in a bad mood, no matter where we were, she never hesitated to hit me or tear me down.

And only after she vented her rage would she smile sweetly and say:

"Men who spoil their wives get rich."

"You should thank your lucky stars you have a woman who brings you good fortune. Otherwise, your startup would've never gone public."

With one flippant remark, she claimed every ounce of my success as her own, erasing every sleepless night and sacrifice I had made over the years.

This time, she lashed out because I had hit a nerve. Her fury was nothing more than panic and guilt.

"Chloe, he's not worth getting worked up over," Ashton said smoothly, comforting her while shooting me a smug, provocative smirk.

Ashton. Chloe's childhood friend, and the one that got away.

How close were they? Close enough that when she went into labor, she threw a fit demanding Ashton be right there holding her hand.

I truly had been a pathetic husband.

I pulled out a paper towel, calmly wiping the water off my shirt, and looked up.

"You couldn't even deliver a baby without him by your side. As your husband, how could I stand in the way of your true love?"

"Tell you what, I'll send over the divorce papers later. Consider it my baby shower gift."

I placed Chloe's phone back on her bedside tray. Her eyes widened in shock, rendering her speechless.

She honestly believed that giving birth gave her ultimate leverage, that I would fall to my knees in gratitude and apologize like I always did.

As I walked past Ashton, I patted his shoulder and said pleasantly, "I hope you two grow old together."

He stared at me, completely stunned, unable to tell if I was being serious.

He had only intended to humiliate me a little. He never expected me to hand him the whole prize on a silver platter.

"Leo, what... what are you talking about? Chloe and I are just friends. It's not what you think!"

"If it bothers you that much, I won't come around anymore, okay?"

Chloe couldn't bear to see Ashton humble himself. Her teeth ground together audibly, and her eyes flashed with pure malice, as if she wanted to rip me to shreds with her bare hands.

I clenched my fists. A wave of bone-deep exhaustion washed over me.

If she weren't glued to the bed right after giving birth, she would have lunged at me and slapped me across the face already.

"If it weren't for me, you wouldn't even have a son to carry on your name! Trying to throw me away now that I've done the work?" she shrieked, her eyes bloodshot.

"If you don't apologize to Ashton right this second, don't you ever think about seeing your son again, you pathetic loser!"

Ashton lifted his chin, clutching the infant against his chest with a look of pure triumph. I let out a cold laugh.

What kind of man gets cuckolded right in front of his face and falls on his knees to apologize?

Chloe waited with her head held high, dead certain that I couldn't live without her. That arrogance drove every word out of her mouth.

For seven years, I had tolerated her temper, indulged her tantrums, and smiled through her constant disrespect.

And in return, she called me a loser.

A doormat gets discarded in the end.

I slipped off my wedding band, flicked my wrist, and watched it trace a clean arc through the air before dropping straight out the open window. A chill spread across my lips.

"Keep the boy. Let him cry at your funeral instead."