He Plotted My Death, I Planned His Ruin

After I become pregnant, Mason Clarke suddenly becomes incredibly attentive to me.

He cancels all his social engagements and personally cooks for me every day. Everyone envies me for finding such a devoted and caring husband.

Until one day in his study, I accidentally discover a document titled "Prenatal Blood Donation and Cord Blood Donation Agreement".

My name and social security number are clearly written on it!

In the beneficiary column is Chloe Reid, his first love, whom he has been supporting abroad for seven years.

From outside the door comes his gentle, doting voice.

"Chloe, don't worry. I'm personally monitoring her. Her nutrition and daily routine are held to the highest standards to ensure the baby is born perfectly healthy. Your life-saving treatment is absolutely guaranteed!"

So all those pregnancy meals he carefully prepares for me, the mountains of expensive supplements, none of it is ever out of love.

It's all to fatten me into nothing more than a walking blood bank!

"Chloe, don't worry. Once the baby is born, I'll personally take it to the operating room. She and the child should feel honored to contribute to your recovery."

My stomach twisted into knots as I heard Mason Clarke's voice through the door. After fighting back waves of nausea, I forced myself to open the document I'd found in his drawer—the Prenatal Blood Donation and Cord Blood Donation Agreement.

The contract laid it out in black and white. "Party B, Juliette Hartwell, agrees to provide 200cc of blood every 15 days throughout her pregnancy for Chloe Reid, who suffers from aplastic anemia.

"Party B will voluntarily donate her child's cord blood immediately following delivery for Chloe Reid's emergency medical treatment."

So all those blood draws the nurses had been doing weren't routine prenatal tests at all—they were feeding my blood directly to Chloe.

The contract was dated the day after I'd gotten my positive pregnancy test. I could still picture the moment Mason burst through the front door, sweeping me up in his arms and spinning me around excitedly.

But he hadn't been celebrating our baby—he'd been celebrating finally finding the perfect donor to keep his precious Chloe alive.

I felt ice run through my veins as I flipped through the pages with trembling fingers. The final page contained supplementary clauses printed in bold black letters.

"Should cord blood compatibility prove insufficient, Party B Juliette Hartwell agrees that upon the child reaching appropriate medical criteria, said child will serve as bone marrow donor for Chloe Reid.

"As compensation for services rendered, upon successful completion of transplant procedures, Mason Clarke will provide Juliette Hartwell a one-time payment of ten million dollars in damages and immediately file for divorce.

"Full custody of the minor child shall remain with Mason Clarke."

My child—the child I nearly died trying to conceive.

Before it was even born, its own father had already put a price tag on it, turning my baby into nothing more than a walking blood bag and bone marrow bank!

Seven years of what I thought was love… I thought all the kindness he'd shown me meant I'd finally found my happy ending. I never imagined it was all part of his cruel, calculated plan!

The contract slipped from my hands as I collapsed, gripping the desk to keep from hitting the floor. Suddenly, the study door swung open.

Mason walked in carrying a bowl of bone broth, his brow furrowing slightly when he saw my ghostly pale face.

"Jules, what are you doing in here? The doctor said you need more rest."

His voice was as gentle as always, but it made my stomach lurch. I wanted to confront him about the agreement, never expecting to overhear that phone conversation instead.

Rage coursed through me. I had so many questions, so many accusations, but my body shook so violently I couldn't force out a single word.

His gaze followed mine to the contract on the floor, and for an instant, he froze. But his expression returned to perfect calm within a heartbeat. Not even a flicker of panic crossed his features.

He walked over with practiced ease, picked up the agreement, slipped it back into the drawer, and turned the lock. The entire sequence was fluid, effortless, as if he were simply filing away some mundane paperwork.

Then he approached me, towering over my crumpled form, sounding frustrated and condescending.

"You heard everything, didn't you? Jules, snooping through other people's things is a bad habit. But since you already know, there's no point hiding it anymore.

"Chloe is very sick. The doctors say this is her only chance.

"Jules, you've always been so compassionate. You'll help me, won't you?"