No More Sacrifices，The Heiress He Never Appreciated

Eight months pregnant, I found a will inside the safe in my husband's study. All of his corporate shares, luxury estates, along with ten private jets and five private islands. Every single bit of it was to be unconditionally gifted upon his death to Chloe Vance—the underprivileged college student he had been sponsoring. Yet when we got married, he insisted on a strict prenuptial agreement. I didn't get a single dime. Back then, he had looked at me with cold indifference and said, "You're capable and independent. Money would only taint our love." Seven years of marriage, and my name wasn't even on the deed to our home. "Who gave you permission to touch my things?" Julian's voice was ice-cold, his brows knitted with pure fury. I didn't cry. I didn't scream. "The passcode was Chloe's birthday." He snatched the documents from my hands, changed the passcode right in front of me, and locked the safe. "It's just a passcode. Can you stop making a scene?" I looked at him calmly. "I want a divorce." He didn't take me seriously at all. He just locked the study door and told me to get lost, warning me never to touch his belongings again. I nodded, turned around, and booked an appointment for an abortion. I won't touch his things ever again. And the child in my belly—I don't want it anymore either. "Mrs. Sterling, are you certain you want to proceed with the procedure? You're quite far along. It carries significant risks to your health." The doctor's gentle warning sent a sharp pang through my heart. I bit down on the tip of my tongue, fighting back the rising tide of emotion. "I'm certain. Please schedule me for next week." The confirmation text arrived shortly after. Clutching my aching lower belly, I headed straight to a law firm I was familiar with. David, my attorney, handed me a cup of warm water. "Mrs. Sterling, there is no need for you to walk away empty-handed. Under marital property laws, you are entitled to at least half of the assets acquired during the marriage." The steam rose from the cup, making my eyes sting. Before Julian married me, he had legally protected every last cent of his assets. Even after our wedding, all of his income was funneled through corporate proxies and trusts. Nothing was held in his personal name. On our wedding day, he had made it abundantly clear. He would never let a piece of paper force him to hand over half of everything he had worked so hard to build. At the time, I thought he was just bitter because his father had pushed him into the marriage. I understood how difficult his journey had been, how hard he had fought for his position. So I was obedient. I asked for nothing. I even willingly signed a postnup waiving all claims. It was only when I saw that will that the truth finally hit me. The things he refused to give me... He had already figured out how to legally hand them over to someone else. It wasn't that he didn't believe in marriage. It was simply that I wasn't the bride he had envisioned. I took a small sip of warm water, my voice hoarse with suppressed agony. "That won't be necessary, David. I don't want his money. I just want out." As he drafted the paperwork, my hands wouldn't stop shaking. It wasn't heartbreak anymore. It was pure, burning rage. Seven years of marriage. Seven years of being treated like an absolute fool. He was ready to leave an empire to Chloe Vance. Yet in all these years, the only gift he ever gave me was a secondhand watch. A cheap piece of junk that didn't cost more than ten dollars at a thrift store. Even when I took a severe fall during my pregnancy and nearly lost the baby... He was busy spending the day with Chloe at Disneyland for her birthday. And the cruelest joke of all? He had made me design their wedding outfits with my own hands. Two months ago, Julian brought home a set of measurements. I was bedridden, fragile, fighting desperately to keep the pregnancy viable, but he forced me out of bed to sketch. He had acted so nonchalant: "A close friend is getting married. Design the best bespoke bridal wear you can." The groom's measurements matched his down to the millimeter. And embroidered onto the train of the bride's gown were the initials "CV"—Chloe Vance. David handed me the divorce agreement and gently urged, "Mrs. Sterling, at the very least, don't walk away from your own earnings..." A bitter smile touched my lips. Over the years, Julian had never contributed a single cent to our household. Every grocery run, every utility bill, had been paid for by my freelance design work. To him, I was probably just cheap and convenient. A live-in maid and companion who cost him nothing and willingly sacrificed everything to keep a roof over our heads. When I got home to sign the papers, a sharp cramp tore through my lower abdomen. I held my stomach. The baby was kicking frantically. My fully formed little boy seemed to be either comforting me or protesting the pain. Tears spilled freely down my cheeks. I'm sorry. Mommy failed to protect you.The next day. With David's help, I secured a small rental apartment. I didn't care about the square footage, the price, or the neighborhood. My only requirement was immediate move-in. By the time the lease was signed and I returned to that cold, empty mansion, dusk had fallen. Being eight months pregnant made every single step feel like a marathon. Yet, pushing through the dull ache in my back, I went into the kitchen and cooked dinner. It was only after I set the plates on the dining table that I realized every dish was something Julian loved. Over the past seven years, his preferences had become etched into my memory. A biological reflex. So deeply ingrained that I had completely forgotten what I liked. I sat in the chair, telling myself this was just for closure. I wanted us to part ways with some shred of dignity. I reheated the food eight times. It wasn't until three in the morning that the front door finally clicked open. A wave of sweet jasmine perfume hit me immediately. Chloe's signature scent. The dark purple hickeys on his neck were vivid, layered over faint, older bruises. He was slightly tipsy. When his eyes landed on the beautifully arranged, steaming hot dishes on the table, his brow furrowed in utter annoyance. "What?" he sneered. "You think doing this is going to make me feel sorry for you?" He brushed past me and walked straight toward the stairs. He didn't even look at me. As he walked by, a sudden realization struck me. The wedding band I had custom-designed for him was gone. There wasn't even an indentation left on his ring finger. "Julian." My voice was rough, flat, completely devoid of emotion. "The divorce papers are in the study. If everything looks fine, just sign them." He stopped in his tracks, turning around to glare down at me with heavy disdain. "Rachel, you want a divorce over a goddamn piece of paper?" "I'm not even dead yet." He let out a scoff, completely ignoring the fact that I was heavily pregnant. He pulled out a lighter and lit a cigarette. "Don't forget how you ended up carrying my last name in the first place." "Chloe's heart is weak. That will was nothing more than a symbolic gesture to give her peace of mind and wish her well." He remembered every fragile detail about Chloe's health. Yet he seemed completely blind to my swollen belly, so large that I couldn't even see my own feet. Love and indifference were divided by an ocean. He seemed to have forgotten. Ten years ago, when his ruthless stepbrother kidnapped him during the family succession war... I defied my own family, tracked him down through sheer desperation, and found where they were keeping him. In that life-or-death moment, I threw myself in front of a blade to save his life. Holding me in the hospital room, he had sobbed and sworn an oath: "I will take back Sterling Enterprises, and I will give you the life you deserve." "If I ever betray you, may lightning strike me dead." He did take back his family's empire. Except the life of luxury went to someone else. All I received was a shotgun wedding stripped of all romance. A rented bridal gown. And a cold, calculated prenup. I let out a soft laugh, though my eyes burned with tears. "So, do you even remember that you owe me your life?" Julian's face went frighteningly dark. After a long silence, he let out a patronizing chuckle. "It's been a decade, and you're still holding onto that? You really think I owe you?" "How much do you want? Is a million dollars enough to settle the debt?" I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. So, in his eyes, the life I gave him was worth exactly one million dollars. The final ember of hope inside me died right then and there. Suppressing the tremors in my chest, I spoke quietly. "Keep your money, Julian. I just want a clean break." With that, I turned around and headed toward the guest room. Behind me came his furious, venomous roar: "Fine! You want to play tough?" "Don't you dare come crawling back on your knees begging me to take you back!" Begging? In these seven agonizing years, I had already cried every tear I had for him.I hadn't even drifted off to sleep when the violent slam of the front door shook the house. The divorce agreement had been ripped to shreds and tossed into the trash can. I genuinely couldn't understand. If he didn't love me, why refuse to let go? Suddenly, my phone vibrated on the nightstand. A message from Chloe popped up on SnapChat, accompanied by a photo of Julian holding her tightly in his arms. [Rachel, why is he always so clingy? Did you two get into another fight?] I scrolled up. The chat log was an endless gallery of their intimate moments. Julian drying her hair, Julian cooking breakfast for her. Julian even allowing her to plaster childish, pastel stickers across the dashboard of his limited-edition sports car. She treated our chat like a diary. Dumping every single private, affectionate moment with my husband right into my face. Another message popped up. A picture of Julian asleep, his arm wrapped protectively around her waist. The silk pajamas he wore were the ones I had bought for him with my own money. Her caption read: [Rachel, he only made that will to cheer me up. It doesn't even have any real legal power, so please don't fight with him over it.] [Did you know, though? He's been sponsoring me since middle school, long before he even met you.] [The first time he saw you, he told me your dimples looked just like mine.] [I really hope the baby inherits those dimples. It would make him so happy.] That final sentence made my stomach violently churn. A wave of pure revulsion crashed over me, sending me scrambling into the bathroom. I knelt before the toilet, heaving until tears streamed down my face. Gripping the edge of the sink, I stared at the faint dimples on my pale reflection. A heart that I thought was completely numb felt as though it were being ripped apart by jagged glass. So that was it. He chose me back then only because he needed a shield to protect the underage Chloe Vance. I just happened to show up, looking faintly like her—a convenient, disposable substitute. My vision blurred. Wiping my face with the back of my hand, I typed a reply: [You love picking up trash? Be my guest. Secondhand garbage suits you perfectly.] A second later, Julian's call lit up my screen. Years ago, whenever Chloe posted subtle, flirtatious stories with him on Ins and I dared to leave a like, he would react exactly like this. He would call instantly to berate me for being petty. Back then, I would frantically apologize, crying that I hadn't meant to upset her. Now, I blocked his number without a second thought. Then, I deleted every single piece of contact info linked to him. Once my breathing stabilized, I called the moving company. I packed light. Just my clothes and my design portfolio sketches. Every single thing tied to him—including my wedding ring—was left behind on the dresser. Before walking out, I took one last look at the sprawling penthouse. When I first moved in, I believed it would be the sanctuary of our shared future. Only now did I see it for what it truly was: a gilded cage built to keep me in line. Now, I was finally free. By the time I finished unpacking and cleaning the little rental, night had fallen. I planted a few small potted herbs on the tiny balcony. It was cramped, but for the first time in years, it felt like home. Just as I lay down to rest, my phone rang. It was an unknown number—Julian's executive assistant. The moment I answered, Julian's frigid voice cut through the receiver. "Rachel, what the hell are you playing at? I've told you a hundred times, Chloe's heart can't take stress!" "Do you have any idea what kind of state you put her in with that message?!" "Get your ass back home right now and I'll let this slide. Just carry my heir to term like you're supposed to." My fingers tightened around the phone until my knuckles turned white. Even after I walked out, his immediate, burning concern was still Chloe Vance. My safety, my body, my mental state... None of it had ever crossed his mind for a single second. "Rachel! Talk to me! Did you hear what I said?!" "Come back right—" I ended the call and blocked the number. Smooth, swift, decisive. Just as he wished, I would never upset Chloe Vance again. And I would never let them poison my life again.Before the scheduled procedure, the clinic required a final ultrasound. The technician turned the monitor toward me, pointing out the baby's tiny hands and feet. "He's completely healthy," the doctor said gently. "Are you absolutely certain you want to terminate?" "At thirty-two weeks, an induction carries severe risks to your body. And... at this stage, the fetus can feel pain." I reached out, my trembling fingertips touching the little outline on the screen. It felt as though an invisible hand had gripped my heart and was crushing it slowly. This was my flesh and blood. A living, breathing human being inside me. I closed my eyes, the agony tearing through the darkness behind my eyelids. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "I... I need a moment to think." The doctor nodded sympathetically and handed me some pamphlets on late-stage care. Walking out of the clinic, a chill settled deep into my bones. I looked up, only to freeze. Julian stood by the hospital exit, dressed in a sharply tailored designer suit. Imposing, aloof, radiating the aura of a man who controlled everything and everyone. He marched over and gripped my wrist with bruising force. "You've had your little tantrum for a week. That's enough." Seeing my silence, he rubbed his temples in frustration, his tone dropping to a begrudging explanation: "The will was never officially notarized. It holds no legal weight." "Chloe has a congenital heart defect. I just wanted to give her something meaningful to ease her mind and wish her a long life." Such a hollow, pathetic excuse. It was so absurd that tears blurred my vision. I forced a cracked voice through my throat: "To wish her good health, you couldn't buy her a good-luck charm? What about me, Julian? What do I get?" He choked on his words, momentarily stunned. I ripped my wrist out of his grasp. Seven years of swallowing humiliation and agony erupted like a shattered dam. "The year we got married, I was hospitalized for a bleeding stomach ulcer! You ignored my calls, claiming you were stuck in late-night board meetings! But Chloe posted photos of you walking the runway front row with her in Paris!" "On our third anniversary, you said you were away on a business trip! I saw on her Ins that you stood in line for three hours just to buy her a specific brand of iced boba!" "Every single prenatal checkup, you were 'too busy,' but you always had time to take her to private art galas, buy her Birkins, and celebrate her birthday!" "When I slipped and nearly bled to death from a miscarriage scare, you were holding her hand watching the fireworks at Disneyland! What am I to you, Julian? A goddamn dog?!" Every single memory had once been a dagger driven into my chest. Yet screaming them aloud, I realized the wound had already scarred over, sealing in years of rotting pain. Julian's composure completely shattered. For the first time, genuine panic flickered across his dark eyes. "You... you knew all of that?" How laughable. Even now, he genuinely believed he had played his double life so flawlessly. I forced a smile, even as tears poured down my cheeks. "Julian, I chose to stay quiet, but I was never blind." "I played the fool because I kept lying to myself that the boy who once loved me would come back." I dug my nails into my palms until I felt the skin break. The smile on my face widened into something broken. I wiped the tears from my cheeks with rough, aggressive swipes. "Right up until I saw that will, I could still lie to myself. But now? I can't even pretend anymore." A wave of guilt passed over his features. The exact look of remorse I had spent seven years praying to see. Too little. Too late. I looked him dead in the eye, enunciating every word: "I am keeping this baby." "But he will have nothing to do with you, and nothing to do with the Sterlings." With that, I walked right past him. He reached out, his hand hovering in midair, desperate to grab my shoulder. Yet he didn't dare touch me. After deciding to keep the child, I returned to my apartment and focused entirely on resting. A week later, David called with bad news. Julian had flatly refused to sign the divorce papers. "Mrs. Sterling, if you want this marriage dissolved, your only option is taking him to court." "His legal team made it clear: if you file a lawsuit, Mr. Sterling will use every resource at his disposal to take full custody of the child." David sounded deeply troubled over the phone. I placed a hand on my swollen belly and fell silent. Because I knew Julian wasn't bluffing. He had the money, the power, and the ruthlessness to make it happen. And I... aside from this unborn life and the hollow title of Mrs. Sterling... had nothing. David warned me that if Julian chose to drag out the litigation, the case could stall in family court for years. I took a deep, steadying breath. "I won't let my son be born under that kind of shadow." "I will make him sign."