Tired of Being My Husband's Substitute, I Ran Away

Franco ignored Jerissa's outburst and turned back to the doctor.

"What's the success rate of a single embryo transfer? I've read the reports—women suffer a lot during the procedure."

The doctor adjusted his glasses. "With the current medical standards and Mrs. Alba's physical condition, there should be no problem. I'll prescribe her ovulation-stimulating hormones. The operation can be scheduled for the day after tomorrow."

Jerissa sat rigidly in the chair, a chill seeping into her bones.

Is he worried about hurting me now?

What was this—compassion? Charity?

It felt absurd, like an executioner raising his blade only to pause and ask gently, “Are you afraid of pain?” Cruelty wrapped in false kindness.

She lurched to her feet and staggered toward the door.

"Jerissa!"

Franco caught up in two strides, gripping her wrist hard. "What are you doing?"

She shook him off with force. "Franco, what makes you think I would ever bear a child for you and another woman?"

Ignoring her anger, he replied indifferently, "Because you're my wife. Bearing children for the Alba family is your duty."

The words struck like a thousand ice-needles piercing her skull.

Glancing at his watch, he added impatiently, "Stop making a scene. I'll provide my sample now. Juliette's surgery should be finished soon—I need to be there when she wakes up. Take your medication and go home. Don't wander around."

Without hesitation, he turned and walked away, his back straight and unyielding, not a trace of reluctance in his stride.

Jerissa stood frozen in place, her vision blurring.

So this was her role. Not only a substitute... but a tool.

No... She was worse than that.

Even a tool for childbirth could at least give life connected to itself. But she? She was nothing more than a vessel, a container for Franco and Nicole’s so-called “love crystallization.”

Her chest tightened. Instead of going home, she flagged down a taxi and headed straight to the sanatorium.

Through the glass window of the ward, she gazed at her sleeping mother. The sterile light cast gentle shadows across the room, and Jerissa’s vision blurred as her eyes turned red.

“Mom,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

"Don't we look alike? You loved a man who never loved you. I married one who only ever saw me as a substitute. And now he wants me to carry a child for him and another woman. Loving someone who doesn't love you... it's the most painful thing in the world."

Tears streamed down her cheeks. She wiped them away, her eyes slowly hardening with resolve.

"But it's alright, Mom. We won't waste our lives here. Once I divorce him, I'll take you away to a place where no one knows us. Somewhere with the best medicine, where they can cure you. We'll live well—better than well."

When she returned home from the sanatorium, the first thing she saw was servants clearing out her belongings from the master bedroom.

She frowned. "What are you doing?"

The housekeeper looked uncomfortable. "Sir said… the master bedroom needs to be emptied for Miss Juliette. Your things will be moved to the guest room."

"Juliette?" Her voice dropped, cold and sharp. "She just had surgery. Why isn't she in the hospital?"

The answer came moments later, in a message from Franco.

[Juliette's operation was a success. The doctor recommended rest. Our home has a better environment and a medical team available. You'll stay in the guest room for now.]

Jerissa suddenly understood.

Nicole had once been ill like this—ill until the end.

And now, with Juliette's surgery behind her, her frailty and her resemblance to Nicole made her the perfect patient for him to guard over, day and night.

Franco's selfishness had never bothered to hide itself.

She laughed suddenly, a low, bitter laugh that carried no joy.

Her phone buzzed again. This time it was her father.

[The overseas shares are now in your name. The divorce papers are ready. Tomorrow, someone will present them to Franco under the pretense of a cooperation agreement. Once he signs, you'll be free.]

Her grip tightened around the phone. For the first time in what felt like forever, the fog in her chest began to clear.

This farce—would finally end soon.