Chapter 2

I went to the clinic for a checkup. The doctor told me I was over two months along and the fetus was developing normally.

The problem was me. I was suffering from severe malnutrition.

Hesitating for a moment, I quietly asked, "How much will the treatment and supplements cost?"

The doctor sighed with pity. "Around fifteen hundred dollars."

I checked my phone. After putting the clinic visit on Klarna, I only had thirty dollars left on my limit.

Leaving the clinic, I took the ultrasound report and headed straight for Cross Enterprises.

I wanted to ask him face-to-face. If I was going to keep this baby, prenatal care and hospital fees were going to cost a fortune.

Outside the executive suite, Bianca blocked my way.

"Mr. Cross is in an important meeting. What do you want, Natalie?"

I clutched the envelope, keeping my tone humble. "I really am pregnant. If we're keeping the baby, I need money..."

Bianca glanced at the paper dismissively and shoved it back into my hands.

"You really don't give up, do you? Even faking an ultrasound scan now."

"What's next month? Are you going to fake a miscarriage so you can extort another medical fee out of him?"

Several employees in the open-plan office looked up at the commotion.

"Seriously? Doesn't Mr. Cross give his wife a massive allowance every month? Why is she faking a pregnancy for cash?"

"She literally treats him like an ATM."

With every whisper, my head sank lower.

Bianca brushed past me and pressed the elevator button.

"Please don't interrupt our work, Natalie. You can leave now."

I tucked the ultrasound into my purse and walked out amidst the mocking whispers.

As I passed the ground-floor lobby, I heard Bianca reprimanding the receptionist over the phone:

"Don't let that gold-digger into this building ever again!"

Humiliated, I quickened my pace and hurried outside.

Resting a hand against my stomach, I whispered, "What am I going to do with you, little one?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the limited-edition Hermès Birkin hanging on my shoulder.

An idea struck me.

I rushed to the nearest luxury consignment shop.

Seeing how desperate I looked, the shop owner knew I needed fast cash and lowballed me, offering only ten thousand dollars.

It had been a birthday gift from Ethan, a collector's piece that money could barely buy.

But I had no choice. I sold it.

Used to living on pennies, seeing that cash land in my PayPal finally gave me a sense of security.

That very evening, the story blew up on Twitter: Billionaire Ethan Cross's Wife Caught Pawning Designer Handbag.

The photo showed me handing the Birkin over the counter.

Netizens mocked me, claiming I was a shopaholic drowning in debt, or that our marriage had collapsed and I was liquidating his assets to run away.

Soon enough, Ethan called.

His voice was laced with cold fury. "Are you really that broke? You're selling the birthday gift I gave you?"

"No wonder Bianca told me you showed up at the office with a fake ultrasound asking for money."

I tried to explain.

He didn't give me the chance.

"If you need cash, talk to Bianca. Why do you have to pull cheap lies like this?"

His voice sounded exhausted, deeply disappointed.

All the words caught in my throat. All that came out was, "Understood."

I hung up, still unsure whether I could even keep the baby.

A notification chimed. The ten thousand dollars from the bag sale, along with the money Chloe had lent me, had been entirely reversed and transferred out.

A message from Bianca popped up on SnapChat:

"Mr. Cross said you clearly have no self-control when it comes to spending. I will be holding these funds on your behalf."