My family owed a life debt. To repay it, I signed a marriage contract with Cillian Rafferty, heir to Chicago's notorious Rafferty crime family, and became his wife in name only.

In seven years of marriage, I remained barren. Cillian, meanwhile, had impregnated eighteen different women. Each day was a fresh torment, marked by the arrival of yet another stack of abortion records his men left on my doorstep.

I couldn't bear it any longer. I went to him.

"Let's end our marriage."

He stared at me, his eyes cold. "What's the angle this time?"

Gazing at his composed features, I didn't erupt in the familiar storm of rage. I just shook my head. "There's no angle."

After seven years of honoring that contract, my pride had long been ground to dust.

I had once sobbed at his feet, begging him to consider my family's honor, pleading for a scrap of decency.

But each time, Cillian would just gaze down at me with contempt and ask:

"You're collateral. Do you really think you're worthy of respect?"

Then he would turn and walk away.

That alone should have been enough for me to give up, shouldn't it?

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1

When the next pregnant woman appeared on our doorstep, a bone-deep weariness washed over me.

Not anger, not sorrow—just a profound numbness. In seven years, this scene had replayed itself far too many times.

Cillian arrived moments later. Without so much as a glance at the woman standing aside, he ordered his men to "take care of her."

He strode straight to me, took a red Cartier box from his assistant, and held it out. His tone was uncharacteristically gentle.

"Seraphina, don't be upset."

"Look, any woman can get pregnant with my child, but being Mrs. Rafferty—that's always yours. No one can ever take that away."

His words were a thousand tiny needles, each one pricking relentlessly at my heart.

I glanced at the red box in his hand. I didn't need to open it to know it was another piece of expensive jewelry.

This was his playbook. Every time he knocked up another woman, he'd use these kinds of trinkets to buy my silence.

All of Chicago's high society was laughing behind my back. They called me shrewd, the one who ultimately won in this arrangement. His mistresses tried everything and got nothing, while I supposedly reaped all the rewards.

But they didn't know I'd long grown weary of this life.

I spoke softly, "Cillian, let's end our marriage."

Hearing this, Cillian froze. "End the marriage?" He let out a low, humorless laugh. "Seraphina Callahan, what kind of joke is this? Your family came crawling to us, offering you up to settle their debt. You think you can just walk away now?"

At this, his fingertips brushed my cheek. "You're talented and beautiful; you were always the perfect match for me. Isn't being Mrs. Rafferty enough?"

His words sent me reeling back seven years.

Back then, my father's life had been saved by Cillian's father, the Don of the Rafferty family, Declan. To repay a life debt that money couldn't measure, and to solidify the alliance between our families, I agreed to marry Cillian.

I had carried the weight of that gratitude for seven years, and I had been willing to spend those seven years repaying it. My sole duty was to produce an heir for the Rafferty family.

I knew that a family like the Raffertys needed an heir to carry on the bloodline.

But I was the one who couldn't give them one.

Now that the seven years were over, I had no reason to hold the title of Mrs. Rafferty any longer.

I took out my encrypted phone, found Declan's contact, and sent him a message:

"Don Rafferty, thank you for your protection seven years ago. The Callahan family's debt is paid. I wish to leave the Rafferty family, and I ask for your permission."

Not long after I sent the message, Declan replied.

It was a simple sentence: "Are you certain?"

My fingertips hovered over the screen for a moment, but I still typed back three words: "I am certain."

A moment later, Declan replied again: "Since you have decided, I respect your choice."

As I put my phone away, I met Cillian's questioning gaze. He frowned. "Who are you texting?"

I just shook my head, not bothering to explain. After all these years, he never listened to a word I said anyway.

Seeing that I wouldn't answer, he didn't press, just adding flatly, "My father's 60th birthday is in two days. Be there."

I didn't reply, but my mind was made up.

Declan had always treated me with kindness. Even if I was leaving, I should attend his birthday party. It would be a final gesture of respect.

That afternoon, I went out to choose a gift for him.

I remembered that Declan loved collecting antique watches. The rare pieces displayed in his study were all treasures he had gone to great lengths to acquire.

With this in mind, I drove to a private auction house on the city's west side.

After explaining what I was looking for, the auctioneer enthusiastically presented a limited-edition Patek Philippe. Its craftsmanship was exquisite and its design classic—perfectly suited to Declan's taste.

I examined it for a moment and was just about to raise my paddle when the doors to the auction hall were pushed open.

Two familiar figures strode in. It was Cillian and Ava.

Among Cillian's many mistresses, Ava wasn't the most stunning, but she was the most tenacious. She was the only one who had terminated three pregnancies for him and still remained by his side.

Right now, she was nestled against Cillian, her belly slightly rounded. She was clearly pregnant again.

Cillian's gaze fell on the bidding paddle in my hand. Just as the auctioneer was about to resume, he spoke, his tone commanding.

"We'll take this watch."

As he spoke, he produced his card and handed it to the auctioneer, then turned to me. "Seraphina, just pick another one."

My expression hardened, and I remained silent.

Just then, Ava spoke in a cloying voice, "Seraphina, please, just let me have it. Think of it as the first gift from the baby in my belly to its grandfather."

The auctioneer had already swiped the card, and Ava stepped forward to take the paddle from my hand.

I tightened my grip, about to retort, when she lowered her voice to a whisper meant only for me:

"Seraphina, aren't you curious why you could never get pregnant after seven years with Cillian?"

My heart seized. A cold dread snaked through my gut.

Seeing the color drain from my face, her smile turned smug. "It's because Cillian slipped long-acting contraceptives into your milk after every time we were together."

"For seven years. He never missed a single dose."

Her words hit me like a physical blow. The blood froze in my veins.

"He said only I am worthy of carrying his heir. That Callahan blood is unfit to taint the Rafferty line."

The words "unfit to taint" were a poisoned dart, striking deep into my heart.

Seven years of pent-up grief and rage erupted in that instant.

I couldn't stop myself. My hand flew up to slap her.

But before my palm made contact, a large hand clamped down on my wrist.

Cillian stepped in front of Ava, his brow furrowed.

My eyes traveled up his arm to the faint, puckered scar on his neck from a gunshot. I froze.

Years ago, I was robbed after a dinner party. Cillian had appeared from nowhere and, without hesitation, taken a bullet for me. That was the scar it left.

An agonizing ache squeezed my chest, tight and suffocating. How could the man who once took a bullet for me become this... this monster?

He not only destroyed my chance to be a mother but used it to humiliate me, forcing me to waste seven years of my youth and become a city-wide joke.

Looking at the scene before me, a wave of futility washed over me.

What was the point of fighting over this watch? It would only lead to more humiliation.

I slowly relaxed my hand and said calmly, "Forget it. If you want the watch, take it."

Without another glance at them, I turned and walked away.

On the day of the birthday party, I arrived at the Rafferty family estate on time.

I deliberately avoided the main hall, planning to slip in only when the party officially began, but I didn't expect to run into Cillian and Ava at the entrance.

He was holding her hand as they walked side by side.

The moment they appeared, every eye in the room swiveled toward them—first with curiosity, then with open mockery.

"Cillian brought a pregnant Ava to the party. He's really rubbing it in Seraphina's face, isn't he?"

"She's pitiful, I guess, but she couldn't produce an heir in seven years and still wouldn't step aside. She brought this on herself."

I took a deep breath and walked past them with a blank expression, ignoring the gossip, ignoring them.

When I reached the ballroom, I saw Declan from a distance, seated at the head table. His eyes found me, his expression a complex mixture of regret and sternness.

I gave a slight nod in his direction and found a seat in a quiet corner.

Before long, Ava, holding Cillian's hand, walked directly toward me.

The surrounding chatter slowly faded as all eyes converged on our table, hungry for the impending drama.

Ava stood before me, a hint of unease on her face, her hand resting protectively on her belly. She nudged Cillian beside her, signaling him to speak.

Cillian frowned, looked at me, and after a moment of silence, finally spoke.

"Seraphina, I want Ava to keep this child."

He stared at me intently, probably expecting the hysterical arguments of the past. After all, for seven years, I had been the one to oversee the... arrangements for every woman he knocked up.

He paused, perhaps realizing I wasn't about to explode, and added, "Ava's already terminated three pregnancies for me. The doctor said if she has another abortion, she may never be able to conceive again."

The whispers started again, everyone undoubtedly anticipating the scene I would make.

But I just lifted my eyes, met his gaze calmly, and said one word:

"Fine."