My Husband Made Everyone Believe I Was a Gold Digger

It was my birthday when I curled up on the cold hospital floor, abdominal pain tearing through me.

Last night, my husband, Theodore Harrington, was drunk again. He pinned me to the bed, unleashing his fury in the cruelest way possible.

"This is what Sterling women deserve," he whispered venomously in my ear. "Remember, you're nothing but my plaything now."

And at this very moment, he's throwing a birthday party for another woman.

And it all started simply because, less than a week after our wedding, I asked Theodore for the $200,000 stipulated in our prenuptial agreement.

I brought it up during sex. He transferred the money without a word.

But the way he looked at me from that night on changed forever.

"The Sterling name is practically synonymous with fraud now, yet here you are with your hand out. Greed really runs in the blood, doesn't it?"

He began openly escorting other women to social events, letting people laugh at me as the gold-digger.

Clutching the ER bill tightly, I dialed his number.

"Theodore, I want a divorce."

"Here we go again. How much are you trying to extort from me this time?"

"Five thousand? Ten? Twenty?"

Before I could answer, a woman's flirtatious laugh tinkled in the background.

"Darling, you tipped that street artist $50,000 last week. Why are you so stingy with your wife?"

"That's different." Theodore paused for a beat, his voice dripping with unmistakable disdain. "Trash and art—can they possibly hold the same value?"

For the past two years, I had desperately tried to prove I hadn't married him for money.

I sold my last luxury item to buy him a limited-edition watch for his birthday.

He didn't even open the box before sneering, "Playing this card again? Just name your price."

He hurled the box at my face. A sharp corner left a scar on my forehead.

"Next time you try to swindle me, at least be a better actress."

I wanted to tell him the truth, but fear swallowed the words every time before they could leave my mouth.

"Cordelia, you disgust me. What bullshit emergency surgery! I checked—your mother was just in for a routine checkup that day!"

I knew, even if I told him the truth, he wouldn't believe me.

Outside, fireworks bloomed in the night sky, and laughter echoed across the bay.

Fighting the stabbing pain in my gut, I said calmly, "I don't want your money. I just want a divorce."

Theodore clearly didn't believe me.

"So the gold-digger wants to reinvent herself now? How touching. Cordelia, if you want a divorce, fine. First, return the $200,000. Prove you're not just a parasitic waste."

Then he hung up.

I slumped onto a bench in the corridor, his words echoing relentlessly in my mind.

Everyone thought I had hit the jackpot. They thought I was still living a life of luxury.

The reality?

Other than that life-saving sum from the prenup, Theodore had never given me a single cent.

I lost my job because of my family's scandal; no one else would hire a Sterling.

For two years, I survived on my dwindling savings, spending every last penny on my mother's medical bills.

Now I was penniless, unable to pay for tonight's treatment.

I made a weak sound, trying to call out to a nurse nearby for help.

But they were on their phones, watching a livestream, completely oblivious to me.

"Oh my god, Mr. Harrington is so doting on his girlfriend! A private yacht, fireworks... it's like a fairytale!"

"Right?! It's her birthday today. She wanted a drone show, so he booked the entire bay. So romantic!"

"But isn't Mr. Harrington married..."

"So what? Rich men are all like that. Besides, I heard his wife just clings to that marriage for a living. As long as the money's flowing, she wouldn't dare interfere."

Hearing this, another wave of pain twisted in my stomach.

Just then, the doctor hurried over, holding a report.

"Mrs. Harrington, your test results are in." She sat down in front of me, her expression turning serious. "Besides the acute gastritis, there's another development..."

The nurses all turned to look at me. One of them suddenly widened hers.

"Wait... Mrs. Harrington? You're the one from that fraud family..."

Instinctively, I wanted to shrink away from their stares, but the acute pain made it impossible to move.

"What is it?" I managed to lift my head.

"Congratulations. You're pregnant. Approximately six weeks."

For a moment, the entire world seemed to stop turning.

Pregnant?

Now?