My Husband Fed Me Birth Control for Five Years

Adrian’s gaze slid to Layla.

“Go back first,” he told her coolly. “I’ll look for you later.”

Layla lowered her head with a shy smile, her cheeks faintly pink.

“Okay. I prepared a gift for you,” she said softly. “You have to come, alright?”

With that, she left the private room.

I slipped back into the hallway fast and pressed myself into the shadows. Only after Layla was gone did I edge up to the doorway again.

From inside, Adrian’s voice drifted out, cold and flat. “I’m still young. I don’t want kids. If there’s a kid, wouldn’t it be inconvenient to come out and have fun?”

His friend’s expression turned knowing, as everything had just clicked.

“So that’s your new favorite?" he teased. “She’s got a good body, Adrian. Looks like a good time. Bet she’s fun in bed, huh? No wonder you don’t feel like looking at Brooke anymore.”

“People are like that,” another guy laughed. “Once you’re used to steak and lobster, you can’t go back to plain home cooking. You just can’t adjust.”

Adrian lifted a brow, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. “You should’ve said that earlier.”

His friend snorted. “Earlier? And what would that change?”

Adrian took a sip of his drink. “If you’d said it earlier…”

His friend burst out laughing, slapping the table. “Then you’d have played to your heart’s content before getting married, of course!”

“Drink, drink!” someone shouted. “Enough of this depressing stuff.”

...

I don’t even know how I left.

By the time my mind caught up, I was already standing at a street corner, soaked through to the bone.

Tiny snowflakes mixed with rain, drifting down cold and quiet, snuffing out the last bit of warmth still lingering in my chest.

In that daze, I almost saw it. A twenty-year-old Adrian is standing in front of me again, smiling the way he used to.

“Brooke, why aren’t you home again?” he asked gently. “I’ll worry.”

“Don’t be afraid. From now on, I’m your family. Between us, there are no secrets.”

Without thinking, I reached out, wanting to fall into his arms and spill everything.

My body lunged forward.

And my hands closed on nothing but air.

The figure dissolved.

A horn blared. A driver rolled down the window and cursed at me.

“Are you trying to die? Watch where you’re going! Damn it, what a nightmare!”

...

By the time I stumbled home in a trance, it was already one in the morning.

That unfamiliar number sent another message.

This time, it was a video.

The background was a hotel’s floor-to-ceiling window. Two figures were tangled together, bodies pressed tight.

In the recording, Layla’s breath came in broken gasps as she asked, her voice sticky and coaxing, “Adrian… who do you love? Look at me.”

“It’s you,” the man answered hoarsely.

“No,” she pouted. “I want to hear you say my name.”

“Layla… I love you…” Adrian growled haughtily.

“You little vixen,” he then murmured. “How do you come up with so many ways to torture me?”

Then she whispered, almost coyly, “Adrian… should I give you a baby?”

His breathing grew heavier.

“Okay,” he said. “Whatever you want. Anything.”

The video cut off abruptly.

Right after that, a single line of text popped up beneath it:

[Do you know why you only got pregnant once in five years? Because the pills Adrian gave you were birth control. I bought them myself. He wouldn’t let you get pregnant, but he’ll allow me to carry his child. You lost, Brooke.]

It was like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head, bone-deep and stabbing cold.

...

Slowly, I pushed myself up and walked into the study, one step at a time.

I took down a glass bottle from the bookshelf.

Inside were a thousand little paper stars, each one folded by his hands.

Adrian gave me that gift on our first wedding anniversary. He said I didn’t need expensive luxury goods to avoid spending money; he would only give me his sincerity.

On every star, he’d written a sentence.

He told me, “Each day we’re together, I’ll drop one star inside. When we’re old, we’ll sit in rocking chairs, open them, and relive our youth.”

I don’t know when it started, but the number of stars stopped changing.

I picked up a few at random and unfolded them.

With those words, it felt like he loved me all over again, if only for a brief moment.

[Bought Princess Brooke a necklace today. A master of national treasure-level handcrafted it, but I told her it only cost $1 million. Decades from now, when she reads this note, she’s not allowed to be mad at me.]

[Brooke said I look good in casual clothes. I’ve decided I’m wearing casual clothes to work from now on, and no employee is allowed to wear a suit.]

[My birthday came. Brooke dressed herself up as a gift and gave herself to me. I’m so happy. This is the happiest day of my life.]