Chapter 1

Nights spent on baby duty. I glanced at Scarlett’s phone, the screen still glowing, revealing a distress post:

“OMG, my fertility is out of control! My second baby isn't even three months old, and I’m pregnant again…”

My initial thought was, *Wow, how reckless can you be?*

Then I looked closer. Wait, was this post… by my own wife?

But ever since our child was born, she’d rejected my advances, claiming she hadn’t recovered yet.

I kept my poker face, started digging, and the more I dug, the greener my head got. I was being cuckolded.

Not only was the kid not mine, but even her parents were fakes!

After feeding our son his night bottle and coaxing him to sleep, I was exhausted. The moment my head finally hit the pillow, my mind snapped wide awake.

I turned to see Scarlett sleeping soundly beside me, letting out tiny snores like a little piglet.

Smiling, I tried to gently move her phone from by her head.

In the dark, the faint glow of the screen was blinding. As I went to lock it, my eyes snagged on the open app. It was a distress post:

“OMG, my fertility is out of control! My second baby isn't even three months old, and I’m pregnant again…”

I mumbled to myself, *Wow, how careless could someone be?*

Because I knew, since our kid was born, Scarlett and I hadn't had any intimate moments.

During her pregnancy, I’d been extra careful, terrified of hurting her or the baby, so I’d always taken care of things myself.

Finally, Scarlett’s six-week postpartum check-up came back normal. But she kept saying she needed more time to recover, and I respected that.

But then I looked closer. This wasn't some random post Scarlett had scrolled past; she’d posted it herself!

Below the post, the comments were brutal:

“‘Fertility out of control’? More like no birth control!”

“Then have it! Hope you have octuplets!”

“Can’t you just use a shoe? Do you *have* to leave something inside?”

“Everyone chill, the blogger’s husband drives a Cullinan! With that kind of money, she can have as many as she wants!”

The insults were endless, each one nastier than the last.

But for me, at that moment, nothing was more chilling than realizing the poster was my own wife, Scarlett.

And we had two kids already.

Looking at my sleeping wife, my whole body trembled uncontrollably. My phone almost slipped from my grasp.

Right then, only one thought echoed in my mind: *My wife is pregnant.*

Fighting down the panic, I forced myself to tap her profile picture and enter her page.

What greeted me, besides a flood of ostentatious posts, was her constant bragging about her daily life.

And a black Rolls-Royce Cullinan was another ultimate target of mockery in those posts.

Given our current financial situation, a Cullinan was clearly more than just “a bit out of reach.”

In one photo, Scarlett, in a short skirt and black stockings, had her long legs provocatively crossed in the back seat.

The caption read:

“A woman who is loved is the happiest.”

Great. My cuckoldry even came with a Rolls-Royce Cullinan.

I remembered how, to marry Scarlett, I’d built my life from scratch, working tirelessly for three years.

For three years, I hadn’t taken a single day off. Every day, I was either at the office or meeting clients. That's how I finally bought a car and a house, achieving a comfortable, middle-class life.

And to earn her parents' respect and prove I was worthy of their daughter, I’d poured most of my savings into the dowry, just so I could stand tall and propose at their home.

After enduring numerous tests and challenges from her family for six months, I finally won her hand.

Two kids in three years—that was my limit.

Before this, I’d even been proud of my impeccable aim.

But now, I had to wonder, *Are these kids even mine?*