CHAPTER 2: Choosing Another Woman for My Husband

EMELY

Anna didn’t leave right after throwing her threat. She stood there—straight, still—like a woman waiting for the exact second I’d collapse in front of her. For reasons I would never understand, she had always believed that other people’s suffering was a form of entertainment.

“I understand, Ma’am,” I repeated, my voice steadier now. “But don’t worry. I know my place.”

A small change appeared on her face. Not relief. Not sympathy. Satisfaction. The expression of someone who felt rewarded when others bowed down.

“Good. At least you still know your limits,” she said, smiling softly; the kind of softness that only looked gentle from far away.

“Remember, Emely. No woman is irreplaceable.”

The sentence cut through me like a blade. But instead of breaking, I smiled—calmly. A smile that made Anna’s eye twitch with discomfort.

“You’re right, Ma’am,” I replied gently. “No woman is irreplaceable. Including whichever one you think can replace me.”

Her smile vanished instantly. For the first time since the conversation began, she lost her composure.

“What do you mean?” Her voice dropped several degrees colder.

“I just want to make sure you know,” I said slowly, clearly, “I’m not going anywhere until my duty as a wife is finished. Until that day comes, no one will take my place in this house.”

Her stare darkened. Her eyes became knives—like she wanted to peel layers off my face.

But I didn’t lower mine. I stared right back, unblinking, until she was the one who stepped away first.

Only when she walked out did my knees begin to tremble. But I forced my body to stand tall. If I fell now, they would win.

I returned to the bedroom like a walking corpse. My breath was shallow, but my thoughts spun violently. Alexander’s words and Anna’s accusations collided inside my head until my chest felt both painfully full and terrifyingly empty.

Why did my love always lose to their demands? How long would I be the only one trying?

My mind drifted to the beginning of our marriage. Two families bound by decades of friendship; two cherished grandchildren; the will of two grandfathers who had been best friends since childhood.

Our marriage was never about love. It was about strengthening an alliance and merging two giant corporations.

Alexander hadn’t wanted it. I hadn’t asked for it. But back then… he hadn’t been this cruel. Never warm, but still human. Maybe that was why I fell for him—because he was the only person in that family who didn’t push me away.

Turns out, I trusted too easily.

I took a long breath until my lungs burned. Then somehow—without knowing when I stood up—I found myself sitting at the desk, turning on my laptop.

The first search already hurt, simply because I typed the words: professional surrogate mother.

Website after website appeared. Contract pregnancy agencies. Exclusive family forums. Medical bureaus for the wealthy. Everything felt absurd. Everything felt humiliating.

Yet my hand kept scrolling.

Alexander’s voice echoed in my mind: beautiful, educated, producing a high-quality heir.

The sentence made me want to vomit. But I didn’t stop.

Faces filled the screen—models, doctors, actresses, athletes, lawyers. All beautiful. All dazzling. Yet none of them felt right. If I chose women like that, the Winchester family would only use it as another excuse to humiliate me.

Until eventually, that page appeared.

An exclusive website. Closed access. Portfolios of women for professional cooperation. Not just photos, but academic profiles, medical records, fertility evaluations, genetic histories.

A catalog of high-class humans.

I clicked one profile. The room seemed to freeze.

The face appeared—effortless beauty. Porcelain skin, long dark brown hair cascading naturally, sharp eyes that looked like they already knew the answer before anyone finished the question. A face that wasn’t just beautiful… but dangerous.

Beneath the photo was a list of achievements:

Master’s degree. Excellent family reputation. Perfect health history. No genetic conditions. High IQ above average. No romantic ties or family dependents.

No candidate name. Only a profile code.

Strange.

But that made her appear even more powerful.

I closed the laptop slowly. Not because I wanted to stop—but because I needed to breathe so I wouldn’t fall out of the chair.

If I chose a woman like this, my position as wife would disappear even faster. But if I didn’t choose, the Winchesters would throw me out anyway.

So there was no difference.

But if I was going to fall … I would fall with my head held high.

I opened the laptop again. The cursor moved to the Contact Candidate button. My fingers trembled—not from fear, but from the knowledge that this decision would change everything.

I thought tears would come again. They didn’t.

Only one feeling remained: If they wanted to destroy me, they would have to work hard to do it.

I pressed the button.

A notification appeared: Request sent. An agent will contact you within 24 hours.

I closed my eyes and leaned back. For the first time since the conversation in the study… I could breathe.

I didn’t win. And I didn’t lose. I had simply entered a new battlefield.

A notification chime pulled me back. I opened my eyes. A message from the agency was displayed automatically—yet my gaze froze at the final line, the one that had just been updated.

“Candidate name verified. Data available.”

And there, right on my laptop screen—a name appeared for the first time.

But before my mind could register it, the screen went black. Battery dead.

I stared at the dark monitor, my heart pounding too hard against my ribs. Whoever that woman was, I had a terrifying feeling: she was the true enemy I had never seen coming.