My Money for Her First Love's Genes

"Since I'm so vulgar, what makes you think I'd shell out 50 million dollars?" I rasped, staring at the powder on the carpet.

My wife, Mabel Wright, rose to her feet, patted the dust off her knees, and looked down at me. "Because you love me," she said without a shadow of a doubt. "It's been 19 years. Ever since you took that photo outside my concert in 2007, you've been pursuing me for 19 years. You'd even sacrifice your life for me. What's 50 million dollars to you?"

She walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and peeled back a corner that had been sealed shut with black tape. Per her demands for absolute privacy, the presidential suite's floor-to-ceiling windows were completely sealed with black tape, so the room was perpetually lit only by the weak glow of spotlights.

Mabel hated being observed without her consent. Even sunlight was unwelcome if it entered without permission.

"Don't you remember when we went on vacation to the island?" she asked before spinning on her heel and standing against the light. "That custom-made suitcase of mine couldn't be contaminated with anyone else's scent. Without a second thought, you arranged for a private jet to transport it separately. Back then, you were so sensible, so accommodating."

Mabel closed the distance between us and nudged the surrogacy agreement with the tip of her high heel. "Now, I just want to have a child with Mat's genes. Why can't you accept that? Your ridiculous possessiveness is suffocating me!"

I clenched my fists so tightly that my nails dug into my palms.

I used to think her insistence on having her luggage flown by private charter was just one of her eccentric quirks. I willingly footed the bill, no matter the cost, just to make her smile.

Looking back on it now, it wasn't a quirk. It was an innate, bone-deep egocentrism. In her world, my devotion was taken for granted, and my feelings were completely worthless.

I suppressed my frustration and asked one last time, "We were married for two years, and we've known each other for 19, Mabel. Was our relationship just a way to get your hands on some money?"

Mabel bent down, picked up the nail file from the carpet, and looked at me. Her eyes were hollow. "No one will file your nails for you anymore."

The tenderness we'd shared on the carpet just an hour ago had become a cruel joke... It had merely been a payment she had made in advance for 50 million dollars.

"Oh, right, I forgot to tell you." Mabel casually tossed the nail file into the trash. "I already called your parents earlier."

I looked up. "What did you tell them?"

"I told them you're generally on board with the surrogacy plan." Her lips curled into a derisive smile. "The two of them are over the moon about becoming grandparents and are already planning a family feast. Little do they know, their grandchild will carry Mat's genes."

My heart missed a beat. For a split second, the suite before my eyes blurred.

Mabel was using my elderly parents as bargaining chips, cornering me into a dead end.

"Have you lost your mind?" I sprang to my feet. My knees slammed into the coffee table. "When did you start planning all of this?"

Meeting my gaze, she dug her heels in. "I had already gotten in touch with a surrogacy agency in Gilead long before we obtained our marriage certificate. The day you transferred 30 million dollars into my parents' account, the preliminary application with the agency had already been submitted."

Mabel had been plotting this for a long time. This wasn't a whim born from a dying wish. It was a scheme she'd been plotting for two years.

I swept the entire set of manicure tools off the table. The metal nail files and bottles of nail polish landed on the carpet and coffee table with dull thuds.

Mabel didn't even bat an eye. Her gaze was filled with annoyance as she looked at me. "That's enough. From now on, don't call me by my name anymore; you should call me Mommy."

19 years of history completely vanished with that single sentence. Suppressing my bottled-up emotions that were threatening to overflow, I held her gaze. "Alright, Mommy."

Mabel was caught off guard for a moment. However, she soon regained her haughty composure and nodded in satisfaction. "That's more like it. Sign it. Don't make this harder than it needs to be for all of us."

I sat on the carpet, staring at the agreement. 19 years of love had been crushed beneath a 3.5-microgram egg and 2.5 tons of cash. The game had only just begun.