Phoebe couldn't understand it. How had their relationship come to this?

From the moment she and Nathan met, fell in love, and eventually married, they had always been the couple everyone envied.

When he proposed, holding her hand tightly, he had promised her with such solemn sincerity, "They say men change after marriage, but don't worry, Phoebe. Even after we get married, I won't change. I'll spoil you, indulge you, and make sure you'll always be the princess in our fairy tale."

And after they married, he had kept his word. He treated her with the same devotion as when he had first pursued her. Every day, he sent her flowers and often surprised her with thoughtful gifts. Whatever she wanted appeared on her bedside table the next day without her even needing to ask.

It was as if he could read her mind.

Even her closest friends, the ones who always viewed things with a skeptical eye, praised him, calling him a one-in-a-million husband.

But this one-in-a-million husband had still cheated on her.

Was it really, as Clara had claimed, because her body had changed after she became pregnant? Had her weight gain and stretch marks made her less desirable?

Phoebe lowered her head, gazing at her swollen belly. Faint stretch marks curled across the taut skin.

Ugly. They were ugly. Yet before the pregnancy, she had a slender waist and pale, flawless skin, just like Clara. Her stomach had been flat, without the heavy roundness or the unsightly lines marring her body now.

How ironic. She had been willing to sacrifice her figure and endure all the discomfort of pregnancy to give Nathan a child, and in return, he betrayed her.

"Madam, this is fresh black-bone chicken soup with fish maw. Your mother-in-law said it's good for the baby. Please drink it while it's hot," the housekeeper said, carrying a tray toward her.

Alongside the steaming bowl of soup, there was a plate of shelled walnuts and a heaping dish of grapes.

Her mother-in-law had heard that eating grapes during pregnancy would give the baby large, beautiful eyes, while walnuts were said to boost brain development. Determined to have a smart and adorable grandchild, she had instructed the housekeeper to ensure Phoebe ate them every day. If she didn't, the phone calls would come immediately.

"If you didn't know better, you'd think I was forcing poison down your throat," her mother-in-law had once said, her voice half-joking but sharp beneath the surface. "I'm doing this for my grandson. You're not a young girl anymore, you're a mother-to-be. You can't be selfish. It's not just about your preferences now. You need to think about the baby. I'm doing this for your own good. Don't act like I'm trying to hurt you."

Those words echoed relentlessly in Phoebe's mind. Before, no matter how much she disliked the food, she would have forced herself to eat it just to avoid conflict.

But now—

"Take it away," she said, turning her face to the side. "I'm not hungry."

"Even if you're not hungry, you should still eat. Your mother-in-law had this flown in from overseas. It's organic and supposed to be good for the baby," the housekeeper insisted, pushing the tray closer to her.

Just then, Phoebe's phone vibrated again. Another message from Clara.

She had sent an address, followed by a taunting question. [Hey fatty, dare to come?]

Phoebe tightened her grip on the phone.

There was nothing holding her in this house anymore. She might as well go and see for herself.

She drove in silence, following the address Clara had sent. It led her to an auction house.

Frowning, she wondered why Nathan would choose a public place like this to meet his mistress. But before she could think further, she spotted Clara stepping into the front row, arm-in-arm with an elegant woman draped in expensive jewelry.

That woman was Bethany Marshal—Phoebe's mother-in-law.

"Clara, if you see something you like, just say the word. I'll buy it for you," Bethany said, holding Clara's hand with a motherly warmth Phoebe had never witnessed before.

"Mom, why are you so kind to Clara but always cold and sharp with Phoebe?" Nathan asked with a sigh. "Phoebe is your daughter-in-law, and she's carrying your grandchild. Can't you treat her better?"

"Because Clara doesn't stir up trouble and turn you against me like Phoebe does," Bethany snapped, her face darkening.

"Mom, I've told you many times, Phoebe never—" Nathan tried to explain, but Bethany had no patience to listen.

"Enough, Nathan," she cut him off. "We came here to shop and enjoy ourselves. Can't you stop mentioning Phoebe? It's killing the mood."

"Alright, alright. I won't bring her up," Nathan said, raising his hands in mock surrender. With a light smile, he added, "Today, I'm just here to serve Her Majesty and Her Royal Highness. I'll pay, I'll swipe my card, and I won't say another useless word."

The phrase "Her Royal Highness" pierced through Phoebe. Once, she believed she was the only princess in Nathan's heart. Even if he had betrayed her now, at least the love he once gave her had felt irreplaceable.

But it was never irreplaceable. Anyone could be his princess.

She took a deep breath, willing herself not to cry. Without a word, she turned to leave.

At that moment, Nathan saw her.

"Phoebe? What are you doing here?" His face turned pale, and his eyes darted toward Clara, betraying his discomfort. "When... when did you get here?"

Phoebe met his gaze calmly. "Shouldn't I be asking you that? Didn't you say you had urgent work at the office?"

"Nathan came to meet a client here. What's the problem?" Bethany interjected, her tone sharp and impatient. "You're pregnant. Stop being so suspicious and focus on taking care of the baby."

"Mom, stop blaming Phoebe," Nathan said, trying to soothe her. "If she doesn't feel secure, it's because I haven't done my job as a husband. If I'd given her enough reassurance, she wouldn't need to be suspicious."

As he spoke, he gently cradled Phoebe's hand and placed it over his heart. "Phoebe, I really did come here for business. The client is upstairs. If you don't believe me, I'll take you to meet him."

His eyes held hers, deep and unwavering. "When we married, I promised to love and cherish you forever. I swore I'd never lie to you, and I meant it. I will never break that promise."

Phoebe wondered how he did it—standing there in front of his mother, his wife, and their unborn child, speaking such bold-faced lies without a trace of guilt. Wasn't he afraid of the consequences?

"Then who is she?" Phoebe asked, turning her eyes toward Clara.

"She's Nathan's cousin," Bethany said smoothly. "Her family moved abroad years ago, so you wouldn't know her." With a sudden smile, she added, "By the way, Nathan, Clara just returned from abroad and doesn't have a place to stay. Why not let her live at your place for a while?"

She paused deliberately, then turned to Phoebe with a saccharine smile. "Phoebe, you don't mind, do you?"

"Mom, stop joking around. Phoebe needs to focus on her pregnancy, she doesn't have time to take care of a cousin," Nathan said, noticing the change in Phoebe's expression. He was quick to refuse on her behalf.

But the next second, Phoebe smiled. "I don't mind. Let her move in."

And just like that, Clara moved in.

That evening, the housekeeper came in again with a tray. The same three things as always: soup, walnuts, and grapes.

Phoebe had had enough. With a swift motion, she knocked the tray to the floor. "How many times do I have to say it before you understand? I don't want to eat these!"

Nathan rushed over, his face tense as he pulled her into his arms. "Phoebe, are you okay? Did the soup burn you?"

She shook her head, saying nothing.

Seeing that she was unharmed, he exhaled in relief. His gaze turned cold as he glared at the housekeeper. "If she doesn't want to eat it, don't force her! How useless can you be? You can't even take care of a pregnant woman properly!"

"Phoebe, are you having trouble with your appetite? Why don't I make you some soup?" Clara sauntered over, her voice sweet and artificial. "Tomato and beef brisket, nourishing and good for the baby."

Phoebe didn't bother to glance at her. With her eyes lowered, she said quietly, "I'm tired. I'll go rest. You all go ahead and eat."

Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked away.

She fell into a heavy sleep, but the sharp ring of a phone shattered the silence, dragging her awake. Frowning, she reached for the phone. She was sure she hadn't set an alarm.

As confusion set in, a message flashed across the screen. It was from Clara, as sharp and mocking as ever.

[Hey, fatty, dare to come to Nathan's study?]

Phoebe stared at the message for a long time before finally pushing herself out of bed and heading to the study.

The door was slightly ajar. As she approached, the sound of Clara's soft, teasing laughter drifted out.

"Master, stop working, pay some attention to me."

"Cut it out," Nathan's voice was low and harsh. "This is my home, not somewhere else. What if Phoebe sees us?"

"She's already asleep. She won't know," Clara said as she caught his hand, guiding it down her body. "Master, I miss you so much. I can't wait any longer..."

His breath grew heavier. With a swift motion, he pushed her onto the desk and reached for her nightgown. But then, he hesitated.

"Wait," he said, his tone shifting. "This nightgown... it looks familiar. Isn't this Phoebe's?"

Clara smiled seductively, pressing his fingers to her lips. "That's right. It's hers. But she can't fit into it anymore."

A low chuckle escaped him as his hand tightened around her slender waist.

At that moment, Phoebe remembered. Before her pregnancy, Nathan had always loved her slim figure. Whenever things got heated, his hands would cling to her waist as if he couldn't let go.

But now, with her body changed, heavy with their child, he was gripping someone else's waist instead.

He said he cared about her. Yet here he was, just as easily, wanting another woman.

"Ah... Master, I love you so much. Do you love me?" Clara moaned softly, the words exaggerated and sweet. Through the narrow gap in the door, she must have spotted Phoebe outside. Her arms curled around Nathan's neck as she pushed further. "Do you love me more, or do you love Phoebe more?"

"Don't ask questions you don't want the answer to," he said coldly. "Of course, I love Phoebe the most. She's my wife, my one true love."

Hearing that, Clara's eyes burned with resentment. She cast a venomous glance toward the door, unwilling to concede defeat.

"But tell me this, Master," she whispered. "Do you enjoy doing me more, or Phoebe?"

Nathan laughed softly, his movements growing rougher. "Obviously, it's you. A body like yours is made for carnal pleasure."

A triumphant smile spread across Clara's face as her voice rose in satisfaction. Meanwhile, outside the door, tears blurred Phoebe's vision.

'Why am I crying?' she wondered bitterly. 'You let Clara move in, didn't you? Wasn't it because you wanted to see whether Nathan still had any feelings left for you? Wasn't it because you wanted to know if he would dare to touch his mistress under your roof? Well, now you have your answer. Congratulations, Phoebe. You finally know the truth.'