He Sold My Parents' Lives for Wealth

Chapter 1

On the fifth day after giving birth to her third child, Clara Monse saw her husband, Chris Monse, for the third time in five years—he had been building his business empire in Europe all that time.

This time, she did not cry or make a scene, unlike the previous two times when her children had been taken away, when she had begged on her knees, heartbroken and hysterical.

She held out the newborn baby to him, her calmness taking Chris by surprise. "Not going to fight me this time?" he asked.

Clara lowered her eyes and spoke softly. "Chris, your company is growing bigger and bigger. I trust you with the baby."

Chris's gaze drifted toward the window, his voice thick with emotion.

"I'm swamped with work in Europe. I won't be staying this time. Please take care of my mother for me."

Clara had just opened her mouth to say, "Mom, she—" when Chris stood up and cut her off.

"She has Alzheimer's. She won't even remember me if I see her. I won't go visit her."

He leaned down and pressed a cool kiss to her forehead, then picked up the baby and left.

The door clicked shut. Clara swallowed the words "She is already dead" that had been on the tip of her tongue.

She slowly pulled the divorce agreement out from under her pillow and murmured to herself.

"Five years. You've come to see me three times. This time, it's my turn to go to Europe to see you. If the rumors are true, I won't keep propping up the Monse family for you anymore. And I won't wait for you, either."

Two days later, Clara closed down her hot pot restaurant.

It was her first time boarding an ocean liner, and she had no idea that this iron-hulled vessel would reek of fish and sweat, or that the rocking would be enough to make her want to die.

Her stomach churned violently, until she had thrown up even the bile in her stomach. As she drifted in and out of consciousness, the past flashed before her eyes like a flickering lantern show.

At sixteen, her family went bankrupt. Her parents were hounded by debt collectors until they jumped off a building and killed themselves.

Chris had saved her from the thugs, and even after his family broke his legs in protest, he still insisted on marrying her.

At seventeen, she gave birth to their eldest son after a difficult labor and severe hemorrhaging.

In the weeks right after she gave birth, he bought a plane ticket and boarded a flight to Europe, saying he was going out to make his fortune, to give her and their son a good life.

In those five years, he had only come back three times. They had made love again and again through the night, as if he were completing some kind of task.

And every child she gave birth to was taken away from her without exception. Her only reasons for taking care of her mother-in-law, Eleanor Monse, who had Alzheimer's disease, and keeping the Monse family's hot pot restaurant afloat, were his promises: that one day he would return home in glory, and they would be a whole family again.

Until half a month ago. A friend who had just returned from Europe let it slip by accident. Chris had another woman, and two children who called that woman "Mummy."

When the news spread, she did not cry. She only wanted to see with her own eyes if the man who had once risked his life to save her had really started a second family.

Fifteen days later, at dusk, the liner docked. Clara asked around all the way until she finally found the imposing, palatial villa.

She was just peering through the gates when she heard the honk of a black Bentley behind her. Chris got out of the car, supporting a woman dressed in an exquisite Chanel suit. The woman looked Clara up and down, her gaze sharp and piercing.

"You—who are you looking for?" she asked in a crisp foreign accent. The smile on Chris's face froze for a split second, then returned to normal just as quickly.

"Yara, this is Clara, the nanny from back home. My mother sent her here to visit. She'll stay for a few days, then leave." He put his arm around the woman, his tone casual and unconcerned.

Clara's body swayed when she heard the word "nanny." It felt as if someone had clamped down hard on her vocal cords, robbing her of the ability to speak.

The woman smiled. "Oh, a nanny. Go barefoot. Don't dirty my carpet."

She walked barefoot into the resplendent, gilded living room, and saw two children come flying into Yara's arms, clinging to her and acting coquettishly.

Then the little boy wrinkled his nose. "Mummy, why did you bring a beggar in here?"

Clara tugged nervously at her crumpled clothes, her heart clenching painfully in her chest.

Yara laughed. "Don't be silly. Mabel! Take her to wash up thoroughly and get changed into clean clothes."

As the hot water poured over her body, Clara realized she was shaking all over, from head to toe. So the rumors were all true. He had built a second family behind her back, and the children she had carried for ten months and given birth to didn't even know she existed.

She changed into a clean nanny's uniform, and saw Chris leaning against the door, smoking a cigar and waiting for her.

Clara's voice trembled as she asked, "Aren't you going to explain this to me?"

He blew out a smoke ring and spoke slowly, in a lazy drawl. "She's the daughter of a multinational corporation CEO, Yara Lopez. This is all just an act for the sake of my business. Once I'm firmly established here, I'll come back home to you, just like I promised."

She took a deep, shuddering breath and asked, "Does this act for business include my three children, too?"

Chris's hand froze in mid-motion, and ash fell onto his trousers. "What could you give them if they stayed with you back home? End up dead just like your parents because of one failed business deal?" His voice hardened, turning cold and sharp.

"I love you, Clara. I swear, I've never changed my mind about you." Chris's voice softened again, turning gentle and coaxing.

For five years, this had been the one thing she had wanted to hear more than anything else in the world. But now, when it fell on her ears, it felt like a thousand tiny needles piercing straight through her eardrums. As their eyes met, she saw the guilt in his gaze—but more than that, she saw unshakable certainty.

He was certain that she would never reveal her true identity, that she would never embarrass him. So he didn't even bother to tell her to "watch what you say."

He only said, "I'll take you to see the baby. Yara treats all three children like her own. You should thank her."

Thank her? Thank the woman who had stolen her husband and her children?

"Once you've seen the baby, go back home in a few days. My mother and the family restaurant need you looking after." Chris's voice weakened, losing its earlier confidence.

She was pushed into the bedroom, and saw Yara Lopez holding her newborn baby, feeding him with a bottle. "Oh, Sweetheart, is the milk Mummy's feeding you nice?" Yara cooed down at the baby.

Her breast milk hadn't even dried up yet. The physical ache in her chest was nothing compared to the pain in her heart, not even one ten-thousandth of it. Clara bit down hard on her lip, holding back her tears with every ounce of strength she had.

Just then, Chris's phone rang. He stepped out of the room to take the call.

The moment the door clicked shut, the gentle, loving look on Yara's face vanished instantly, replaced by a cold, sneering scowl.

Clara realized it in a flash—this woman knew exactly who she was.

Sure enough, the next second, Yara spoke in a cold, sharp voice. "I thought you'd spend the rest of your life being a stupid widow waiting for him, Mrs. Clara. Why don't you guess why Chris gave all three of your children to me?"