“But you’ve already had seven miscarriages. One more, and you might never conceive again. Your husband... he’s really looking forward to this baby.”
Adriana pressed her lips together. After a long pause, she replied softly, “It’s fine. As long as he has me, that’s enough.”
I stood outside the study, gripping the doorknob so tightly the veins on the back of my hand bulged and trembled uncontrollably.
Before Adriana could notice I was there, I stumbled back to the bedroom, collapsing to the floor in a daze.
All this time, I thought her miscarriages were my fault—that something was wrong with my body.
I even believed Adriana didn’t use contraception because she was desperate to have our child.
But I was wrong.
Her mother had made it clear: whether it was Adriana or her niece Melissa, whoever gave birth to an heir would become the next head of the family business.
To avoid suspicion, Adriana never used birth control. She made me believe she wanted the baby as much as I did. I even felt guilty, thinking I was the one holding her back.
But now I know—all her tenderness was nothing but lie.