4
Watching their illicit affair unfold on the monitor, my heart remained utterly unmoved, devoid of emotion. Instead, I simply tightened my arm around the male comp- anion’s neck, pulling him closer.
Well, since they’re working so hard, I simply must ensure their every wish comes true, mustn’t I?
The two years of our trial marriage quickly drew to a close. With quiet confidence, I arrived at the County Clerk’s office, having notified Brandon Sterling to meet me
there to formalize our union.
But Brandon rushed in, clutching my medical reports, his gaze fixed on me with utter disdain, as if I were a piece of refuse.
“Skylar Vance,” he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt, “you haven’t conceived! And you still dare to dream of formalizing our marriage with me? Dream on!”
Brandon’s parents, who resided mostly abroad, also rushed back, shaking their heads in disgust.
“They all said you were a woman of great fertility! That’s the only reason we even agreed to let you into our home! But you’re nothing but a barren hen after all
“What a waste of our family’s investment in you, you utterly useless thing!”
In my past life, my in–laws had always despised my humble background, constantly assailing me with mocking remarks, even outright insults and degradation.
In their eyes, I was merely a breeding machine they had acquired, an investment with a projected return, never a living, breathing human being.
And in my past life, behind the wheel of the car that brutally ended my life, it was they who had conspired, concocting the ruthless plot with their future daughter–in-
law, Serena Hayes.
I cast a chillingly resentful glance at them, then simply shrugged, a dismissive gesture.
“Can you blame me for not conceiving?” I retorted, my voice cutting. “Why don’t you blame your precious son instead?”
At my words, Brandon reacted like a dog whose tail had been stepped on, yelping in fury.
He glared at me, his eyes burning with venomous malice.
“Skylar Vance,” he snarled, his voice tight with rage, “since you have no sense of decorum, no respect for my generosity, don’t blame me for humiliating your
With that, he announced, his voice ringing through the quiet office, for all the County Clerk’s staff to hear
“I will not formalize my marriage with this barren hen,” he declared, a theatrical flourish in his voice. “My true wife is someone else entirely!”
A ripple of confusion spread through the onlookers. They began whispering, pointing fingers at me, their faces a mixture of judgment and bewildered curiosity.
At his words, my face remained perfectly impassive, not a single ripple of emotion. I merely asked, a mocking lilt in my voice.
“Oh? And who is this fortunate soul, blessed enough to be taken as Mr. Sterling’s wife?”
Brandon snorted, a contemptuous sound,
“Anyone,” he spat, “would be a better choice than you, a woman who can’t even bear a child!”
With that, he turned towards the entrance of the County Clerk’s office and bellowed, his voice carrying clearly
“Serena! Come here! Come make it official with me!”
As his words hung in the air, the unaware crowd strained on their tiptoes, necks craning, eager to devour this fresh, salacious scandal.
But the very next second, they froze, stunned into a horrified silence, then a collective gasp, followed by a terrified shout.
“A ghost My God, a ghost?”
There, slowly approaching, was Serena Hayes. She clung to her lower back, her gaunt frame draped in a pure white wedding gown.
But her body was skeletal, reduced to nothing but skin stretched taut over protruding bones
Yet, from her slender, reed thin limbs hung a belly that was grotesquely, abnormally large, defying all proportion.
It was as if someone had forcibly stuffed hundreds of basketballs inside her, a monstrous, unnatural mound that had inexplicably siphoned away every last ounce
of nerife–sustaining nuthents.
