His One True Love

"Wendy Moore, age twenty-one, graduate of Gaiara University, no prior romantic or s****l experience, in good health..." The man across from her closed the file, his brow slightly furrowed. "Are you certain you want to sign the contract?" Wendy twisted the hem of her dress, her delicate, youthful face taut with anxiety. "Yes, I'm certain. I really need this money." "How much are you asking for?" She hesitated, then whispered, barely audible, "T-ten million dollars." The man's frown deepened. "For the ten months from conception to delivery, you must remain within this property and have no contact with the outside world—for confidentiality. Can you comply?" Her fingers clenched until the knuckles turned white. She took a deep breath and whispered, trembling, "I... I can agree. But I have one condition." "Speak." "Immediately after I conceive, transfer ten million dollars to the account I specify. I need it urgently." Hmph. Another girl who only cares about money. A flicker of disdain passed through the man's eyes. "Fine. No problem. Prepare yourself—your benefactor arrives tonight at eight. He's not easy to please. You'd better conceive within a month, or that ten million might vanish." ... It was nearly eight o'clock in the evening. Wendy had been cleansed and brought into a dark room in the villa—pitch black, not a trace of light. The silence was so thick the ticking of the wall clock echoed like a drum. After what felt like eternity, the door swung open. From the darkness stepped a man—his form barely visible. She tried to hug herself, but a strong hand seized her, hurling her onto the bed. "Ten million? Quite a price." His voice, cold and mocking, cut through the stillness, slicing into her heart like a blade. She squeezed her eyes shut, biting her lip until it bled. "If you're going to do it—do it. Don't talk." The man let out a contemptuous snort and loomed over her... Pain...! She bit down hard, head thrown back, tears streaming from the corners of her eyes as she slowly closed them... If she could survive this night, the Moore Corporation would be saved. Her father wouldn't go to prison for unpaid debts... Forcing herself to endure, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed her soft lips close, and whispered in a naive yet alluring voice: "Take me—ruthlessly..." He whispered against her ear, icy and dark: "Don't you dare regret this." ... All night, Wendy nearly died. Her body ached beyond bearing, as if shattered—she couldn't move a single finger. Sunlight pierced through the curtains, stinging her eyes. The man was gone. A maid entered, speaking in a cold, mechanical tone: "Until you give birth, the master will come every night. If you're not pregnant within a month, pack and leave." Wendy clenched her fists. She *would* get pregnant. She *would*. Seven nights—relentless, forced intimacy, like hell itself, worse than death... A month later, she was confirmed pregnant. "Ten million dollars has been transferred to your designated account by the master. From now on, rest and focus on the baby." Wendy didn't know whether to cry or laugh. Desperately, she grabbed the maid's hand. "I want to call my father—just to check if he's safe. Did he receive the money? Please, help me… I promise I'll say nothing! I swear… please…" Perhaps the middle-aged maid was moved by her desperation. Her brows twitched, and she relented. "I can send a text for you. But only once!" ... Ten months later, Wendy lay on the birthing bed, drenched in sweat. Shrill cries filled the room as the doctor calmly urged: "Push harder! Harder! The baby's head is almost out!" Gritting her teeth, Wendy gave one final push—and the baby was born. A sharp infant cry rang out. The doctor swiftly placed the newborn into an incubator. "Take it away." Lying on the bed, soaked in blood, Wendy's face was streaked with tears and sweat. Weakly, she pleaded, "Please… let me see my child just once..." But her plea was ignored. The baby was carried off in the incubator. She didn't even know if it was a boy or a girl... Outside the villa, a black, luxurious limited-edition Maybach waited. Inside, the man gazed at the wrinkled, blood-streaked infant in the incubator, a faint frown on his brow. "Mr. Fields, the baby looks just like you." His voice was icy, low. "Where do you see the resemblance? Take it to the hospital." "Yes, sir." On the bed, Wendy struggled to her feet, staggering to the window. All she saw was a fading black silhouette of a car. ... The day after giving birth, before she could even recover, Wendy rushed back to the Moore residence. Standing outside, she rehearsed excuses for her ten-month absence. Taking a deep breath, she reached for the doorbell—only to find the door ajar. She pushed it open. The living room was empty. Strange. No one home? Even if her father was at work, Annie and Grace should be here. As she turned toward the stairs, two familiar figures appeared in the upstairs hallway— The man's hand playfully pinched the woman's shapely backside. She punched his chest lightly, cooing, "You're so mean! When will you marry me? You're not still thinking about Wendy Moore, are you? She vanished without a word for ten months..." "How could I? I was only with her because she's the Moore heiress. Compared to you, she's dull. Especially in bed—she never had half your moves." The woman melted into his arms, pouting, "Hmph, you've left my legs sore ever since." Downstairs, Wendy's face went deathly pale. Her eyes burned with icy fury as she stared at the couple shamelessly entangled. The man whispering such suggestive words to her stepmother's daughter? None other than her boyfriend—Brad Howell. She'd only been gone ten months, and he'd already hooked up with Grace Scott! Scoundrel! Vixen!