I was pregnant with sextuplets, but my husband refused to let me reduce the number of fetuses.

I thought it was because he loved me. What I didn't know was that none of these six children were mine—they belonged to him and his first love.

Stephen Delami had drugged me and swapped out my eggs. The only reason he wanted these children was to harvest their umbilical cord blood—to save Joey Cabrina, his childhood sweetheart, from leukemia.

I stood outside the door, listening.

"If Mrs. Delami finds out the children she's suffering to carry aren't even hers—that she's just a living blood bank—she'll probably break down," his assistant said.

Stephen's voice was ice cold. "So what? She's just a tool."

Three years of marriage, and I just realized—I never knew him at all.

My hands clenched so tightly that my nails drew blood.

I pulled out my phone and dialed my doctor. "Terminate the pregnancy," I heard myself say, voice hollow. "All of them."

***

The morning sickness started right after our honeymoon. At the hospital, the doctor confirmed I was pregnant—with sextuplets.

"Ms. Kingston, your uterine lining is thin. We recommend fetal reduction. Sextuplets are extremely high-risk."

But Stephen refused immediately. "No reduction. The Delami family can afford them all."

His warm palm pressed against my still-flat stomach. "These are our children. I want to keep everyone."

I was deeply touched by what I thought was sincere love. So, I gritted my teeth and decided to carry on.

Things were fine until six months later—one night, I got up to use the bathroom and overheard a conversation coming from the study.

"Joey's leukemia needs umbilical cord blood. Six babies mean better odds. The more, the better," Stephen said, his voice cold and unfeeling.

"But Mr. Delami, this could put your wife's life at risk..."

"She chose to marry into the Delami family. She should've known there would be a price."

I clenched my hands tightly, and my vision blurred with tears.

So this was it. Both the children and I—we were nothing more than tools to him.

"With six cord blood donations from Mrs. Delami's pregnancy, Ms. Cabrina's leukemia will be cured for sure."

Another voice chimed in, "Our CEO only has eyes for Ms. Cabrina. That's why he had Jessica Kingston act as a surrogate—no delay in treatment, and a hope for survival."

"If Mrs. Delami finds out the babies aren't hers—that she's just a living blood bank, she'll lose it for sure."

Stephen's tone was icy. "So what if she finds out? She married into this family—she has to pay her dues."

Others murmured in agreement. "Exactly. Even if she finds out, what can she do? She signed the prenup. Jessica gave up her entire family business just to marry Mr. Delami. No matter how bitter she feels, all it takes is one look from him and she'll fall in line."

They all laughed knowingly. The meaning behind their words was unmistakable—cold and calculated.

I stood frozen in the shadows of the hallway. It felt like all the blood in my body had turned to ice.

I reached trembling hands toward my swollen belly. My nails dug deep into my skin.

I thought, "What did they mean these children weren't mine?"

I had endured violent nausea, swollen limbs, and torturous sleepless nights.

And the mocking, shocked looks from others, being ridiculed as a "breeding pig" by those rich girls in the circle, enduring it all through gritted teeth until now—just to provide umbilical cord blood for Joey?

The conversation in the study continued, but my ears were ringing. I could no longer make out the words.

I knew who Joey was. She was Stephen's childhood sweetheart.

When I first heard, six months ago, that she'd been diagnosed with leukemia, I even volunteered for a bone marrow match. Unfortunately, I wasn't a fit.

I never imagined my kindness would be repaid like this. My womb turned into her lifeline.

Dizziness crashed over me. I braced myself against the wall to keep from falling.

The buzzing in my ears was deafening, but every single word from the study still pierced through loud and clear.

They were still discussing my "purpose."

Stephen's cold, calculated voice made my skin crawl.

Three years of marriage, and I never truly knew the man I slept beside.

I touched my six-month belly—home to six carefully planned blood bags. I was just the incubator.

Joey Cabrina. I knew that name far too well. Stephen even kept their high school photo on his phone.

The night she was diagnosed, he had locked himself in the study and smoked the whole night through. I'd thought he was grieving for a friend.

But now I understood—he was grieving the woman he truly loved. And they were never just friends.

A laugh bubbled up, then dissolved into tears.

I thought, "If Stephen wanted to save his precious first love—why did he have to lie to me?

"Why drug me during our honeymoon and implant her embryos into my body? How could he be so cruel?"

I clenched my fists tightly. I once believed the warmth in his hands, the way he covered me with blankets at night, and the porridge he cooked—meant he cared.

The gentle way his hands brushed over my belly—I thought I had married for love.

As it turns out... it was all a lie.

The voices from the study continued, each word piercing into my heart like an ice pick.

"The cord blood from six babies will be enough to last Joey ten years," Stephen said, satisfaction clear in his tone.

His assistant flattered him in return, "Only you could've planned this so perfectly—using Ms. Cabrina's stem cells and your sperm to create embryos and implant them in your wife. Flawless."

Then his voice dropped slightly, "But Mrs. Delami's been having unstable blood pressure lately. Carrying six embryos is putting a lot of strain on her body."

Stephen let out a light scoff. "As long as she doesn't die, it's fine. Joey can't afford to wait for another round of chemotherapy."

"I began shaking all over. My fingernails dug into my palms so deeply I almost drew blood.

So in his eyes, even my life wasn't worth more than Joey's next treatment?"

"How are the six embryos developing?" Stephen suddenly asked.

His assistant answered promptly, "Number 3 is the healthiest—it's AB blood type, exactly what Ms. Cabrina needs. But..." he hesitated, "Mrs. Delami's uterine wall is dangerously thin. Continuing with sextuplets might cause major hemorrhaging."

"Just focus on protecting Number 3," Stephen said coldly.

"The rest don't matter."

My legs buckled beneath me, and I almost collapsed on the spot.

"Mr. Delami, what if Mrs. Delami finds out the truth..."

"Then what?" Stephen sneered. "Her father made Joey sick in the first place. This is just karma."

The assistant suddenly chuckled. "Mrs. Delami really is naive. She's been pregnant for six months and hasn't noticed anything. She actually believes it's possible to get pregnant with sextuplets naturally."

"The less she suspects, the better," Stephen said lightly.

Then, Dylan Howie, the secretary, suddenly lowered his voice. "Mr. Delami, what do you think Mrs. Delami's reaction would be if she found out the prenatal medicine you've been giving her every night is laced with hormones that stimulate embryo growth?"

"Come to think of it," the secretary sneered, "her belly's so bloated she can barely walk without gasping. At that charity gala, the other society ladies were laughing behind her back, calling her a sow."

Stephen actually chuckled at that. "She's never been presentable to begin with. If it weren't for Joey, I wouldn't even touch her."

One mocking word followed another. Every syllable sliced into me like a blade.

I staggered back a couple of steps, my face drained of color.

I thought, "He hated me that much?"

When I was vomiting so violently I was bringing up bile, I bit down on a towel, so I wouldn't wake Stephen.

When my legs were so swollen I couldn't fit into any shoes, I held onto the wall and hobbled to the hospital.

When I was hospitalized with placental bleeding, I sweated through the pain, afraid he'd find me bothersome—so I didn't even dare ask for a second painkiller.

All that agony—I endured it because I loved him. I was willing to suffer for him. But in their mouths, all my pain was simply because I had a "strong constitution" and could "handle it."

I still remember our honeymoon, when Stephen placed a gentle hand on my flat stomach and said, "I can't wait to have our own child."

I thought he was looking forward to our future. I had no idea he was already planning this betrayal.

"If she can't eat, give her a nutrient drip. Don't delay fetal development." He'd been saying that a lot lately.

Every time I saw the cold fluid dripping into my veins, and he looked at me with what I thought was concern—I now knew it was never for me.

Only for the children—his and Joey's.

I closed my eyes, wiped the tears off my face, and pulled out my phone. "Doctor," I typed, "schedule a termination surgery for me. As soon as possible."

By the time I steadied myself against the wall and walked out of the corridor, the voices from the study had ceased.

In the living room, only Stephen and the butler remained. Stephen was looking down at his phone.

When I made a sound with my footsteps, he quickly tucked his phone away. An unnatural expression flashed across his face.

"Jessica?" Stephen looked at me, raising an eyebrow. His eyes landed on the phone gripped tightly in my hand.

"Still awake this late?"

I stared at his hypocritical face, swallowing down the nausea in my throat. "Just getting a glass of water from the kitchen," I said calmly.

"I had the butler make some bird's nest soup. Eat a little before bed," he said in a strange tone of forced warmth. "It's good for the babies."

Once, that kind of "concern" would've touched me. Now, it just felt ironic.

"No, thanks. I'm not hungry." I declined flatly and turned toward the stairs.

Stephen suddenly stopped me, his warm palm resting on my six-month-pregnant belly.

"Come to the hospital with me tomorrow. Joey's heard that you're pregnant with sextuplets. She's been wanting to meet you."

His palm pressed against my swollen belly, his voice dripping with false tenderness. "You two used to get along, didn't you?"

My entire body stiffened, bile rising in my throat.

"Of course." I forced a smile, enduring his touch as his fingers traced my stomach.

The butler cleared his throat. "Mr. Delami, Dylan just reminded me—there are some urgent documents from the company that need your signature."

Stephen withdrew his hand, pausing at the door. "Don't wander tonight. You're too precious now."

Only after they'd left did I dare to slump against the railing, cold sweat running down my back.

Once the house quieted, I curled up on the couch. My fingers moved on their own, unlocking my phone.

I'd never snooped through Joey's Instagram before—but something compelled me to open it now.

Sure enough, the evidence stabbed me straight in the eyes like a dagger out of nowhere.

She had just posted, half an hour ago.

In the video, Stephen was carefully supporting Joey's neck as he fed her a pill.

His fingertips gently brushed the corner of her lips, his gaze so tender it was almost dripping.

The caption read, "Thank you, Stephen, for taking care of me day and night. Even feeding me medicine yourself—so thoughtful."

My finger kept scrolling uncontrollably. More intimate pictures followed.

Stephen holding Joey while they watched the sunset. Stephen brushing Joey's hair. Stephen kissing her forehead...

All those pictures were time-stamped during nights he had claimed to be working overtime.

My stomach turned violently. I ran to the bathroom and dry-heaved.

When I looked up, the woman in the mirror had red, swollen eyes, dark circles smeared beneath them, and lips torn and bleeding from being bitten too hard.

That worn-out, exhausted pregnant woman... was me?

I didn't sleep a wink that night. The next morning, I went to the hospital alone.

The sharp smell of disinfectant in the hallway made my head spin again.

"Ms. Kingston," the doctor said, pushing up his glasses, a grave tone in his voice, "your uterine wall is down to less than 2 millimeters thick. Carrying sextuplets has put tremendous stress on your body. If you insist on a full termination, the risks are extremely high. Does your husband know? You might consider selective reduction first."

I clutched the exam report tightly, just about to respond when something familiar caught my eye at the end of the corridor.

Stephen was pushing a wheelchair. Joey, wrapped in a beige shawl, was leaning weakly against his chest.

Sunlight poured in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. He bent down to tuck her loose hair behind her ear, fingers lingering on her pale cheek with deep affection.

That look—I knew it too well. Love. Longing.

"Doctor, go ahead with the termination," I heard my own cold voice say. "All of them."

I wiped away tears I didn't even know had started falling and stepped out of the exam room.

Joey suddenly called out to me, "Jessica!" Though weak, it was laced with satisfaction. "Stephen said you were carrying sextuplets. I thought he was joking! And him—how could he let you come to your checkup alone?"

Stephen finally seemed to notice me. His expression froze.

Joey reached out, her cold fingers pressing lightly against my belly. "Such a big bump. Stephen, seriously—you've no pity, letting Jessica carry so many at once."

She playfully thumped his chest. And he—he actually clasped her wrist and chuckled lowly. "Didn't you always say you loved kids? Soon you'll have a whole pack of them running around you."

My stomach lurched again. I doubled over and dry-heaved.

"Jessica!" Stephen rushed to support me, his warm hand through the fabric of my clothes made my skin crawl.

"I'm fine." I wiped my mouth and forced myself upright. "Just morning sickness."

He frowned as he scanned my pale face, then reached out to touch my forehead. "You've lost so much weight. Have you not been eating properly?"

That fake concern nearly made me laugh.

As I looked at him putting on his dutiful husband act, all I could think of was the video from the night before—when he fed Joey medicine with that same gentle gaze.

"It's nothing. I'm used to it." I stepped back to avoid his hand.

"You go ahead and keep her company. I'll head home first."

I went straight to the baby's room when I got home.

Six pristine white cribs were neatly lined up, each one holding tiny clothes I had sewn by hand.

I had stayed up countless nights stitching those pieces, thread by thread, pouring my hopes and dreams for the future into every seam.

Now, they were meaningless.

As night fell, Stephen came home unusually early that evening.

"Some friends and I are going on a last-minute road trip—camping in the countryside. You want to come?" he asked casually, eyes still glued to his phone.

I noticed his thumb sliding quickly across the screen. He was clearly texting someone.

I stirred my soup, hiding my icy expression.

"How long will you be gone?"

"Three days, two nights."

I gently set the spoon down and gave him a perfect, polished smile. "I'm pregnant now. It's not convenient to travel. Better I stay home and rest. You all have fun."

"Stephen seemed relieved. He came over and tousled my hair. "You've been working too hard lately. Just rest up."

His hand was warm and dry. That gesture used to make me feel so safe. Now it just made my stomach turn."

***

The next evening, Stephen left with his luggage.

He was acting oddly today. Not only did he personally inspect the house's entire security system, but he also told the butler to report to him daily about my status.

Right before leaving, he stopped at the doorway and turned to look at me. That look in his eyes—it was so complicated it made my heart tremble.

For a moment, I almost thought he'd seen through my plan.

"Jessica," he said in a low voice, "If anything happens, call me right away."

I stood at the floor-to-ceiling window, watching as his car disappeared into the dusk.

Just then, my phone buzzed with a message from the hospital. "Your procedure is scheduled for tomorrow at 9 a.m. Please be ready, and remember to bring a family member."

I replied immediately, "I'll sign the consent myself. I'll be there on time."

There was a long silence from the other end before another message came. "Ms. Kingston, the risk of terminating sextuplets is extremely high. We must have a legal guardian's signature."

My fingers hovered over the keyboard before replying, "My husband is overseas on business. My parents don't live here. I'll assume full responsibility."

Tomorrow, it would all be over.

Soon after, my feed was flooded with posts from Stephen's friends.

The guys were laughing and having a blast.

But the one that pierced through me was a photo—Stephen standing in a corner, arms wrapped around Joey, their faces close, practically whispering sweet nothings like a couple madly in love.

Later that night, Joey uploaded a video.

A group of them, clearly tipsy after drinking, were chatting lazily by the fire.

Suddenly, they burst into a round of suggestive laughter.

Someone shouted. "Stephen's really something. He got his wife willingly acting as a blood bank and got the girl. Genius!"

"Right?" another chimed in, "Basically a free surrogate—no fees involved. Bait and switch. Brilliant!"

Stephen didn't deny it. He simply raised his glass with a smug smile.

My grip on my phone tightened until my knuckles turned white. So everyone knew. I was the only one left in the dark.

"I'd pay to see Jessica's face when she finds out all six babies she's carrying are actually Joey's.

"It must be priceless."

Although the video was blurry, I could clearly see the curve of Stephen's smile at the corner of his lips.

My life meant nothing to them.

"Stephen, let's place our final bet."

I whispered into the empty room, "Let's see who loses this time."

The next morning, lying on the operating table, the procedure was even more painful than I'd imagined.

As the cold instruments entered my body, I bit down on my lip, not letting out a single sound.

Once all six embryos were extracted, I asked the doctor to run DNA tests.

The results came back, and none of them were biologically mine.

"Would you like to see them?" a nurse asked softly.

"No need," I closed my eyes. "Just prepare six specimen jars."

Three days later, Stephen and his friends were packing up to return to the city.

At the same time, a deliveryman rang the bell at Joey's house.

"Ms. Cabrina, a package for you."

Just then, Stephen's assistant burst through the door in a panic. "Mr. Delami! Mrs. Delami's been in a car accident! She's in emergency care right now!"