Chapter 1

Angela's POV

News of the appointment for the abortion reached my husband, Jared Dickson, that very evening. Within the next half hour, the sound of his heavy, hurried footsteps approached me.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Angela Baxter? Did you think that you could just decide to abort the baby on a whim?" he yelled in my face, tossing the appointment slip onto the coffee table, his eyes as dark as thunder.

"I'm not doing anything," I replied calmly. "I just didn't want this baby anymore."

Jared looked puzzled at first. Then, he caught sight of the round-the-world travel itinerary on the table and laughed knowingly and derisively.

"So, this is why you're throwing a tantrum?"

For the first time ever, he actually offered an explanation to me.

"Lena has been working diligently by my side for two years, and I was just simply rewarding her and her family. She deserved it."

My eyes remained fixed on the figure of 780,000 dollars. All I wanted was an ergonomic chair that cost less than 100 dollars, but he rejected it at once.

"So, you think that I don't deserve an ergonomic chair?"

"Angela," Jared said dangerously, furrowing his brows at me. "Don't be unreasonable."

He slid the abortion appointment slip back over to me, his tone brooking no argument. "Cancel the appointment now."

When I didn't move, he glared at me for a moment before taking out the prenuptial agreement from the side drawer.

"If you really want to go through with the abortion, at least do that math beforehand. You won't be able to afford it."

Clause 17 of the agreement stated that a penalty of six million dollars would be incurred if I went through with an unauthorized abortion.

It was always like this. Whenever there was a dispute among us, he would always pull out the agreement and hold it against me.

Even the frequency of our intimacy in bed had to be planned out in advance. If my requests exceeded five times a month, it would cost me a penalty of 200 dollars each time.

And now, even an abortion was being quantified in monetary terms. The Dickson family obviously thought nothing of me other than just a baby-making machine.

When Jared saw that I had fallen silent, he assumed that he'd managed to persuade me otherwise. He then softened his tone and said, "It's not that I refused to let you buy that chair. It's just that there are so many eyes watching every penny you spend.

"And I don't want my wife to be the subject of gossip for acting entitled just because I favor you."

I looked at him. "It's just a damn chair."

Impatience flickered in his eyes.

"You've been acting as if the whole world should revolve around your belly and cater to your every whim just because you got pregnant.

"I'm only teaching you a lesson by refusing to buy it for you. If not, you'll be the laughingstock of the family."

He was afraid that people would point fingers at him for doting on his wife too much. Yet, everyone knew that he was much, much more "generous" with his personal secretary, Selena Beech.

He would often give her necklaces costing well over 30,000 dollars, evening gowns priced at more than 60,000 dollars per piece, and more. He'd buy them all for her without a second thought. Every single expense he made for her became the talk of both the company and our household.

Meanwhile, when my grandfather, Larry Baxter, needed money for medical treatment for his back, he had to follow strict protocol and apply for the financial aid at the company in person. He wasn't allowed to skip a single step of the six-stage approval process.

And ultimately, the final verdict was a rejection. He was simply told to stay home and recuperate.

A wave of helplessness washed over me. I looked at Jared and said slowly, "I won't have to follow these rules if I weren't your wife anymore, right?

"Let's get a divorce, then."