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At 30 weeks pregnant, Stella Roberts caught her husband, Tristan Somerton, cheating at the hospital. Clad in a black coat, the tall and striking Tristan held the fragile, radiant woman in a white fur coat close. Her features were perfectly doll-like, and her rosy cheeks were visible beneath her soft wool scarf. Stella clenched her prenatal test slip until her fingers turned white. The cold wind bit at her cheeks, but the sharper chill came from the stab of her own heart. From a distance, Tristan saw her, yet he showed no trace of guilt. His expression was calm and indifferent as he personally opened the car door for the woman. She seemed to notice Stella. She froze, glancing at her with curiosity before turning to Tristan and asking, "Who's that old lady staring at you, Tris? Do you know her?" The wind howled past Stella's ears. She didn't catch the woman's words, but she could read her lips and recognized the words "old lady". It had to be her. Stella let out a bitter laugh. She was only 24, but everything about her made her seem decades older—her plain features, her slightly heavy build lost in a puffy black coat and knit hat, the cumbersome weight of late-term pregnancy, and the deep weariness etched on her face. She could never compare to the young, radiant woman before her. Tristan helped the woman into the car. Stella stood frozen, watching the car disappear. She and Tristan had married because she got pregnant. To a man like Tristan, this forced marriage was a stain on his perfect life. The baby in Stella's womb was nothing more than a tool to compel him. He despised Stella. She had adored him for eight years. Deep down, she had known she didn't deserve him. All she could do was strive relentlessly and study hard, treating him as a model for her own life. Finally, she had succeeded, becoming his assistant and standing close to him. That night had destroyed everything. Not only did it ruin Tristan's image in her mind, but it also mercilessly sh
