บททั้งหมดของ My Money for Her First Love's Genes: บทที่ 1 - บทที่ 10

"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 s

After a standoff that lasted all night, not even a single sliver of daylight could penetrate the room sealed shut with black duct tape. Mabel emerged from the bedroom with a glass of warm water. She had shed her biting demeanor from the night before, and her expression was so gentle, it was as if nothing had happened between them. "Have some water. You've been up all night; your voice is raspy."She handed me the glass, took a seat beside me, and pulled out a freshly sharpened strip from her pocket. "I'm not done with your nails yet. Let me work on them for you." With that, she reached for my hand, attempting to recreate the tender act from last night that she had used to disarm me last night. My stomach churned, and I instantly caught her wrist. I didn't use much force, but she couldn't pull free. "We need to talk, Mabel. Give up on the surrogacy in Gilead. Let's have a baby of our own. "I can still give you 50 million dollars as a personal investment. All I ask is that you

"This is Hugh Moore." Once the call connected, I suppressed all my emotions. My voice was unnaturally flat. The door frame was about to crack wide open from the battering, but I ignored it. "You might not be able to stomach what I'm about to tell you, but I have a complete chain of evidence. Mabel's demanding 50 million dollars from me. She plans to use the money at Gilead to purchase Mateo's frozen sperm for surrogacy. She's telling the world that this is Mateo's dying wish." Silence fell on the other end of the line, broken only by heavy, labored breathing. Half a minute later, Naomi's voice trembled uncontrollably. "What did you just do? That's impossible!" she roared. "Mat doesn't even have the strength to speak anymore! He's being kept alive by a ventilator every day. He wouldn't even know the first thing about surrogacy. He's never mentioned anything this absurd!" Just as I'd suspected, Mabel had been using a dying man as a smokescreen all this time to indulge her own twi

Realizing I was stalling for time, Mabel started laying the groundwork for her next move. My financial team detected that she was secretly siphoning off marital assets through covert channels. Jasmine had also prepared a full-scale plan to expose me. The second I refused to cough up the money, they would fabricate allegations of domestic abuse and infidelity and use their influence and financial connections to ruin my career. There was no more time to lose. Naomi took a risk and arranged for me to slip into the hospital that afternoon, avoiding the paparazzi so I could visit Mateo, who was critically ill. I needed a statement from him in his own words. I was about to push open the door to the intensive care unit when the echo of high heels clacked down the corridor. "Slow down, Mabel." That was Jasmine's voice. I darted behind the privacy curtain beside the hospital bed. The door swung open, and in walked Mabel and Jasmine. Mateo was in a coma, hooked up to a ventilator, co

At 10:00 am, the press conference was packed with reporters, cameras, and microphones aimed at the podium while the event was livestreamed across the internet. Mabel arrived dressed to the nines in an elegant white dress, carrying herself like the undisputed queen of the entertainment industry. Jasmine and her management team flanked her. Tears welled up in her eyes, as if she was ready to launch straight into her victim act. Nine million viewers flooded the livestream chat, with wave after wave of insults filling the screen. "Get out here and apologize, scumbag!""Pay up or die! Don't stop Mabel from fulfilling her final wish! "Boycott all the products under Hugh's company!" Without sparing a glance at the audience, I walked up to the microphone. I didn't play the victim nor vent about how suffocating these past 19 years had been. I stuck to one strategy—facts, evidence, and airtight logic. "Please look at the screen." I pressed the remote. The first piece of evidence w