He Sold My Parents' Lives for Wealth

Chapter 2

"When I was twelve, I watched my mother die in childbirth with my own eyes. It left me traumatized, and I swore I'd never have children. Chris felt sorry for me, so he gave me your eldest son. As for your daughter? I just wanted both a son and a daughter, to make a perfect little family." Yara stared at Clara, her face twisted with mockery.

Her bright red fingernails lightly dragged across the newborn Noah's forehead, leaving a vivid red mark on the infant's delicate skin. Noah wriggled uncomfortably, letting out a small, whimpering cry.

Clara clenched her fists so tightly her knuckles turned white, her voice trembling. "You have a son and a daughter now. Why did you have to take my third baby?"

Yara let out a contemptuous laugh. "What rich person doesn't want more children? No matter how many you give birth to, they're all mine. Do you understand? Chris Monse told me that you're nothing but a breeding tool for the Monse family!"

She leaned in closer, lowering her voice to a venomous hiss. The words "breeding tool" pierced Clara's heart like a thousand tiny burning needles. She opened her mouth to speak, but it felt as if someone had clamped down hard on her throat.

She couldn't get a single word out. That night, Clara didn't remember how she walked out of Yara's bedroom. That absurd, ridiculous reason was like a blunt, rusted knife sawing back and forth, grinding the fantasy she had clung to for five years into fine dust.

She didn't sleep a wink that entire night.

Early the next morning, Clara came downstairs holding the divorce agreement when her second daughter, Dora, suddenly ran over and bumped into her. She reached out instinctively to catch the little girl, but Dora pulled away in disgust. The divorce agreement fluttered to the ground. Chris's gaze fell on it, and he was just bending down to pick it up when Dora hugged his leg, acting coquettishly. "Daddy, pick me up—" He smiled and lifted the little girl into his arms.

Yara walked over quickly, snatched up the divorce agreement, and slipped it into the stack of documents in her hand. "Chris, these documents need your signature."

Chris took them, signed his name, and stamped his personal seal without even glancing at them. Clara reached out to take back the divorce agreement, but Yara suddenly spoke up. "One of our Filipina maids took sudden leave last night, and we can't find a replacement at such short notice. Why don't we have her stay on for a few days to help out?"

Clara's face turned deathly pale. She whipped her head around to look at Chris. Chris's gaze flickered away from hers, then he gently put his arm around Yara's waist. "Whatever you want. You've always been in charge of the household."

"I can't do this..." Clara blurted out.

Chris cut her off, his voice sharp and stern. "You do the same things at home every day. Just do the same here. What's so hard about it?"

Clara felt a cold chill run through her entire body, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. This man, who had once stood up to thugs for her, who had married her even after his family broke his legs, was now a stranger, cold and unfeeling.

A triumphant look flashed in Yara's eyes. She deliberately shook the documents in her hand, the message clear as day. If she didn't agree, she would never get her hands on that divorce agreement. Clara bit down hard on her lip, and after a long moment, forced out a single word. "... Fine."

"Go to work." Yara pointed toward the kitchen.

In the kitchen, Clara didn't recognize a single one of the high-end kitchen utensils. She touched one of the metal pans, and her finger was immediately burned bright red.

"Oh, for goodness' sake, where did this country bumpkin come from? So clumsy! The seafood congee is ready. Take it to the living room!" the head housekeeper, Mabel Hale, said, standing with her hands on her hips, her voice full of disdain.

The clay pot was scalding hot, but Mabel deliberately didn't give her any oven mitts. Clara gritted her teeth and walked out, her fingers burning with searing pain. The blisters broke, and blood seeped out, but she gritted her teeth and endured it.

She had just reached the living room when a bead rolled under her feet. Her foot slipped, and the clay pot flew out of her hands! The boiling seafood congee splashed out, most of it pouring onto her legs. A few drops of the scalding soup splashed onto the little boy, Liam, who was playing nearby. "Ah—" Liam screamed at the top of his lungs.

"Liam!" Chris rushed over in an instant.

"My God!" Yara jumped up from the sofa as well.

Clara fell to the ground, her legs burning with searing pain. She ignored her own injuries, pushing herself up to crawl over and check on Liam. She had barely reached out her hand when Yara slapped her hard across the face. "Are you trying to burn him to death? Don't touch him."

Chris picked up Liam and shot Clara a fierce glare, his eyes full of blame and anger. "Liam, don't cry. Daddy's taking you to the hospital!" He rushed out the door with the child in his arms, shouting back at Yara, "Watch over Dora!"

Clara knelt on the ground, staring blankly at her legs. A huge patch of blisters had risen on them, but she suddenly couldn't feel the pain anymore. It felt as if her heart had stopped beating. What was she in this house? What right did she have to care about the injured child? What right did she have to ask her husband to even glance at her, covered in wounds?

She pushed herself up off the ground to clean up the mess all around her. But then something heavy hit the back of her head hard, and everything went black.