The Prenup Contract

When Alistair strolled in, flaunting his pregnant young model and demanding I vacate the master bedroom for her to nest, I didn't throw things or stage a hunger strike like I had before. Instead, I graciously gave up the room, even personally cooking up bird's nest soup for the girl.

From then on, I became the laughingstock of the citys elite. All those aspiring social climbers saw me as an easy target, believing that a pregnancy was all it took to walk all over me. Alistairs cronies even joked about me, calling me a pathetic relic, unable to leave the golden cage of the Parisot family.

It wasn't until the girl's belly swelled, and Alistair, a smug grin plastered on his face, watched me iron baby clothes. "Darling, outside flings are just for fun, nothing more. Don't worry, as long as you're good and don't make a fuss, no matter how many women I have out there, the title of Mrs. Parisot will always be yours."

Everyone thought I was clinging to Alistair's money, desperate and pathetic. But only I knew the truth.

I had signed a prenuptial agreement with the Parisot family:

[Regardless of the husbands transgressions, as long as the wife maintains the marriage for five years, she will receive 10% of Parisot Enterprises original shares.]

Now, five years had passed.

Alistairs billion-dollar fortune? Half of it now belonged to me, Evangeline Miller.

I continued ironing the baby clothes, unmoved by Alistairs hollow declarations of loyalty. "I know."

He seemed unsettled by my detached calm, a flicker of irritation crossing his brow. My quiet compliance was unfamiliar to him. After all, just six months ago, when photos of him passionately kissing an actress on a yacht surfaced, Id smashed an entire collection of antique porcelain, creating a scandal that rocked the city.

He paused, then suppressed the vague annoyance, reaching out to touch my head. "Evangeline, you're finally being sensible. I always knew you were a woman of understanding."

I subtly evaded his hand. "Ill check if the bird's nest soup is ready."

Alistairs hand hung in the air, but he quickly withdrew it, turning his attention to Elara, who was already nestled in his arms, feigning fright at a distant rumble of thunder.

In the kitchen, the clay pot bubbled, steam rising. The hot vapor misted my face, making my eyes sting. I stared blankly at the soup, the composure Id maintained in the living room crumbling in that moment.

Alistair once protected me just like that. Back when we were younger, living in a quieter part of the country, he was still the Parisot familys illegitimate son, hidden from the main branch. His mother had entrusted him to my family to escape their persecution. That winter was bitterly cold. I had a high fever and yearned for some candied chestnuts from the town square. There wasn't a car in sight, so he braved the heavy snow, running miles to get them. When he returned, his hands were crimson from the cold, but the chestnuts in his arms were still warm.

Later, after my parents died in a car crash, he held me as I cried myself into unconsciousness, his eyes red as he vowed, "Evangeline, I will be your home from now on. I will protect you with my life."

Now, I had a home. This lavish mansion nestled in the hills, overlooking the entire bay, was worth a king's ransom. But the boy who had eyes only for me had been lost to the citys glittering decadence.

When I carried the birds nest soup out, Elara was sitting at my vanity, fiddling with my mothers pearl necklace. "Alistair, this necklace is gorgeous. Does it suit my skin tone?"

Alistair gazed at her with indulgence. "If you like it, its yours. Evangeline has plenty of jewelry, she won't miss this one."

My steps faltered, my fingertips turning white. That was my mothers last keepsake. I walked over, forcing my voice to remain steady. "This necklace is an old family heirloom; some believe it carries a certain energy. I'd worry it might not be good for the baby. If you like jewelry, Elara, Alistair can take you to an auction to pick out something new."

Elara's face stiffened, and she quickly put the necklace down as if it had burned her. Alistair's brow furrowed, and with a dismissive gesture, he pushed the necklace further away. In that fleeting moment, I caught the flicker of disgust in his eyes.

That necklace had embodied my mother's gentle love throughout her life, and it had also witnessed Alistair's most desperate years. When my parents were alive, they never denied Alistair anything. But now, with them gone, even their cherished memento was treated like dirt.

My heart ached, sharp and bitter. I counted the moments in my mind: three more days. Just three more days to endure.

Watching Elara sip the bird's nest soup, I felt a strange sense of detachment. Alistair, in the past, no matter how wild his escapades, had always maintained a certain decorum, never allowing his flings to contaminate my world. But this time, for the child in Elara's belly, he had completely broken all the rules. He despised being an illegitimate child himself, yet now, with Elara's manipulative pregnancy, he cherished the very thing he claimed to hate.

Perhaps seeing my own lack of progeny, he ventured, his eyes darting nervously, "Evangeline, this child carries the Parisot blood. When it's born, let him call you Mother and be the legitimate heir of the Parisot family, alright?"

He didn't want his child to walk his same path, so he was willing to sacrifice my dignity. I simply smiled. "Of course."

Watching his bewildered expression at my quick agreement, my heart remained unfazed. After all, in three days, whoever wanted the title of 'Mrs. Parisot' could have it. Why would I care about being a surrogate mother to anyone's child?

Elara, upon learning her child would become the Parisot heir, grew even more audacious. She pointed at the cherry blossom tree in the garden, her voice a syrupy drawl. "Alistair, I don't like cherry blossoms. I want roses!"

Alistair, without a second thought, ordered the cherry blossom tree to be cut down and replaced with roses. That cherry blossom tree was one Alistair and I had planted the year my parents died. He had said, "Evangeline, cherry blossoms bloom, bringing peace. With me to protect you, you'll never be alone again."

As the screech of the chainsaw ripped through the air, the cherry blossom tree crashed to the ground. I stood at the second-story window, gazing at the scattered branches and fallen petals, the last flicker of emotion in my heart dying out.

Alistair came upstairs and found me by the window. Perhaps my silhouette seemed too lonely, for he uncharacteristically felt a pang of guilt. He walked up behind me and embraced me. "Evangeline, it's just a tree. If you really like them, I'll have someone buy an estate and plant cherry blossoms everywhere for you."

His embrace was still warm, but he reeked of Elaras cloyingly sweet perfume. I gently pulled away and turned to face him. "Alistair, do you even remember when this tree was planted?"

His eyes darted, clearly having forgotten. "Why dwell on the past? I'm so busy these days, I don't have time for such trivial things." He seemed impatient, quickly changing the subject. "Oh, there's a charity gala tonight. You don't need to come. I'll take Elara."

I looked at his self-righteous face and found it strangely amusing. "Taking an illegitimate child and her mother, who has no status, to such an event? Aren't you afraid of embarrassing the Parisot family?"

Alistairs face darkened, his voice growing cold. "Elara is carrying the Parisot family's eldest son, not an illegitimate child!" The mention of "illegitimate" clearly agitated him.

Alistair's mother, a close friend of my own mother, had been deceived by old Mr. Parisot and became his secret mistress. To escape the persecution of the legitimate Parisot wife, she sent a young Alistair to live far away and eventually died of a broken heart. Alistair loathed the Parisot family for his mother's tragic end, and he hated the label of "illegitimate." Yet now, he was doing precisely what his father had done.

"So?" I looked at him calmly. "To prevent your child from being illegitimate, you bring the mother of your illegitimate child to flaunt her over me?" I took a step closer. "Alistair, you constantly claimed to hate your father, but look at yourself now. How are you any different from him?"

Smack!

The sharp sound echoed in the room. Alistair recoiled, his chest heaving, his eyes wide with a mixture of fury and shock. He seemed unable to believe he had struck me. "Shut up! Don't you dare compare me to that old man!" he roared hysterically. "I'm protecting my child! I'll never let my child walk my path!"

I clutched my stinging cheek, tasting a hint of blood. Alistair didn't spare me another glance, slamming the door shut as he left. Soon, I heard Elara's sweet, placating voice from downstairs, followed by Alistairs gradually calming murmurs.

I walked to the mirror, stared at the red mark on my face, and pressed an ice pack to it. The redness faded, but my eyes grew redder still.

Photos of Alistair and Elara at the charity gala immediately hit the citys headlines that night. The media, ever eager for scandal, blared: Parisot Scion Debuts New Flame and Her Baby Bump; Is Mrs. Parisot on Her Way Out? In the photos, Alistair was carefully supporting Elara, and around her neck hung a pink diamond necklace. It was the Eternal Heart Alistair had bought for me at an auction for our third wedding anniversary. Hed said the diamond symbolized his everlasting love for me. How ironic.

The next day, I went for my usual skincare appointment at the salon. As soon as I walked in, I overheard a few socialites gossiping.

"Oh, did you see the news? Mr. Parisot is really in for it this time."

"Isn't he? Even the Eternal Heart is around that little hussy's neck. That's a blatant slap in the face to his wife, isn't it?"

"Hmph, if you ask me, Evangeline Miller deserves it. Back when Alistair Parisot was just a despised illegitimate child, she threw herself at him, even emptying her family's coffers to help him climb the ladder. Now look at her, a man with money goes bad, and she's a scorned wife. Serves her right."

"I heard she's still making bird's nest soup for the mistress? She's an utter disgrace to all women. If I were her, I'd throw myself off a cliff."

At this, I pushed open the door. The lounge fell silent. Those socialites looked briefly embarrassed, but quickly replaced their expressions with smirks of anticipation.

"Well, well, if it isn't Mrs. Parisot. What brings you out today? Not busy making soup for your esteemed guest at home?" The speaker was Mrs. Davies, whose family owned a construction business. She'd always tried to curry favor with Alistair, holding a grudge against me for not connecting them.

I calmly walked to my usual spot, took the tea offered by the aesthetician, and took a small sip. "Making soup is a nice gesture sometimes, but doing it every day makes you a housekeeper. I'm not like you, Mrs. Davies. I heard you even enrolled in a cooking class to win back your husband, who's been supporting a college student on the side?"

Mrs. Davies's face changed. "What are you talking about!"

"Whether it's true or not, you know best, Mrs. Davies." I set down my teacup, my gaze sweeping across everyone present. "As for Alistair giving someone a necklace, that's his prerogative. After all, for the Parisot family, a necklace is a mere trifle. But my possessions, Evangeline Millers possessions, even if I throw them to a beggar, are not for others to comment on."

With that, I ignored them, closing my eyes. Though I won the verbal sparring, I knew in my heart that in their eyes, I was still a joke. A pathetic creature who had lost her family's protection and was about to lose her husband's affection.

After my treatment, I received a call from Alistair. "Evangeline, there's a gathering tonight with some old friends. You should come." His tone seemed cheerful, as if he'd forgotten yesterday's slap.

"Is Elara not going?" I asked blandly.

"She's tired from her prenatal check-up today, resting at home. Besides... Mr. Davies and the others, you know them. It wouldn't be appropriate to bring her."

I scoffed. Men were truly so pragmatic. When he needed to make an impression, he still thought of me, his well-bred, dignified wife. Elara was merely a plaything he used for entertainment.