99 Miscarriages, Just Her Background

After the two left, the crew members began to gossip in whispers.

"Mr. Walker really treats Vivian Hart well, even ignoring his original wife like it’s nothing."

"If it weren't for Ethan dumping 99,999,999 dollars on her, how could she, a stiff-faced actress, have made it this far?"

Vivian Hart, Hart...

99,999,999...

If it weren’t for them, I probably would still be in the dark.

What lucky number, what lasting love — it was all just Ethan's obsession with Vivian Hart!

And I, for him, had been pregnant 99 times. I was the joke.

My vision went dark as I lost too much blood, falling into unconsciousness.

When I woke up again, I had been brought to the hospital by a kind stranger.

The doctor looked at my report, hesitant to speak.

I calmly said, "Doctor, just tell me, I can take it."

The doctor sighed, his face heavy.

"To save your life, we had to remove your uterus."

"Ms. Quinn, you will never be able to get pregnant again."

I gently touched my flat stomach, feeling no strong emotions.

Aside from not being able to have children, my right leg had a compound fracture.

I didn't return home, instead staying in the hospital for a while.

During this time, Ethan never sent a single message.

Instead, I saw photos of him and Vivian Hart on the entertainment headlines.

The trending headline was eye-catching: "Married CEO Spends 3 Hours in a Car with Popular Actress, Allegedly Flirting."

Back at home, Ethan was sitting on the couch, flipping through documents.

Hearing me open the door, he didn’t even look up, saying, "I had the maid make you some chicken soup; it’s on the table."

I nodded and walked upstairs without a word.

Seeing my lack of reaction, he slammed the contract shut, frowning.

"Why aren’t you talking? Still thinking about this miscarriage?"

Ethan picked up the bowl, pretending to feed me.

I merely took the soup, with no intention of drinking it.

"You've had 99 miscarriages already, why are you so upset this time?"

Ethan's patience was exhausted. He never expected me, the always gentle and obedient wife, to reject him.

Our eyes met.

He seemed to sense something was off.

Ethan rarely spoke to comfort me, "Don’t be sad, we’ll have children."

He reached out to hug me, but I subtly avoided his touch.

Ethan didn’t know, we had no future, let alone children.

I turned to go upstairs, intending to pack my things.

Just as he was about to stop me, his phone rang with a special ringtone, unlike the usual system notification.

And after all these years of marriage, he had set my calls and messages to Do Not Disturb.

He looked at me, hesitating for a few seconds,

then immediately answered the call.

I vaguely heard a familiar female voice on the other end, it was Vivian Hart.

But I had no intention of asking. I just continued packing my things in silence.

Only to unexpectedly find a few lace nightgowns among his usual suits and shirts.

I quietly took the inconspicuous file that was hidden under his computer.

It was the divorce agreement I had long discussed with the lawyer, already signed by Ethan.

A few days ago, I asked Ethan’s secretary to sneak this agreement in with company files.

Years ago, I saved Vivian Hart from a powerful man at a company banquet.