His Faked Infertility, My Sweet Revenge

I made my husband, Damian, the youngest Chief of Surgery in the country. I built his career from scratch, defying my own family to marry him.

Then, he asked me to give our au pair a six-figure salary and a company car.

He called me a cold-hearted bitch when I refused, claiming she was a poor single mother of five. But I saw her wearing my missing diamond bracelet and carrying a Chanel bag worth more than my car.

He flaunted their affair at a professional conference, calling me a "worthless capitalist princess" while she played the victim.

For years, I'd spent a fortune trying to cure his infertility. It was our secret pain. Now, he was using it to justify his affair with a "hyper-fertile" woman he claimed could give him the sons I couldn't.

As he stood on stage for his keynote speech, ready to accept an award, I walked past him to the podium. I had my own presentation to share with the live-streamed global audience-a slideshow of their eight-year affair, complete with hotel receipts and bank transfers.

Chapter 1

Ainsley POV:

My husband, Damian, the man whose career I built from scrap, whose name I elevated from obscurity, just sat across from me at our marble dining table and suggested we give our au pair a six-figure salary.

The candlelight flickered between us, casting long, dancing shadows on his face. He looked earnest, his brow furrowed with a manufactured concern that made my stomach tighten.

"A hundred thousand a year, Ainsley," he said, his voice low and reasonable, as if he were discussing a minor stock purchase. "And a company car. One of the Audis from the corporate fleet."

I set my wine glass down, the soft clink echoing in the sudden silence of the room. I kept my face a perfect, placid mask, the same one I wore in boardrooms when a junior executive presented a flawed projection. "Why?"

He sighed, a theatrical sound of weary compassion. "Casey's had it rough. You know her story. Single mother, five kids, sick parents back home she's supporting. She told me today her ex-husband hasn't paid child support in months. She's thinking of quitting, moving back to her parents' place to find a better paying job."

I let my gaze drift past Damian's shoulder. In the soft light of the living room, I could see Casey. She was ostensibly dusting a bookshelf, but her movements were slow, languid. She was wearing a pair of Lululemon leggings that hugged her curves and a simple white t-shirt that was just a little too tight. Her long, dark hair was piled messily on her head, tendrils escaping to frame a face that was always tilted in a look of gentle, wide-eyed innocence. On the floor beside her was a vintage Chanel bag, one I recognized from a charity auction last year. A bag that sold for more than the average person's annual salary.

Rough, indeed.

"A hundred thousand dollars, Damian," I repeated, my voice as cool and even as the polished stone of the table. "For an au pair."

He leaned forward, his hands clasped. "And full family health insurance. For her and her five children. Through the Pierce Corp plan."

The audacity of it was breathtaking. It was a punch to the gut delivered with a polite smile.

"Ainsley, please," he said, his eyes pleading. "I just want her to be stable. To feel secure here. For the sake of… continuity."

I picked up my fork and pushed a single pea around my plate. "Or, we could fire her and hire a new au pair. There are thousands of qualified candidates who would be grateful for the standard package."

He flinched, a subtle tightening around his eyes. "That's a cold way to look at it. We're talking about a human being."

"We're talking about an employee, Damian," I corrected him softly. "And what you're proposing sounds less like employment and more like… a kept woman."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he snapped, his voice rising. The mask of the compassionate husband was slipping.

"It means what it means."

"You're always like this!" he accused, his voice thick with a resentment I knew all too well. "Always so cynical, so suspicious. Can't you just have a little compassion? She's a single mother trying to survive."

I finally looked up, meeting his gaze directly. "You're the Chief of Surgery at a major hospital, a position I helped you secure. Your salary is substantial, but it's not enough to hand out a hundred-thousand-dollar charity package to the help. Where did you imagine this money would come from, Damian?"

He was silent, his jaw working. He had no answer, because the answer was obvious: it would come from me. From my family's wealth.

"We should be kind," he finally mumbled, looking away. "It's what decent people do."

I let out a soft, humorless laugh. "I'm not decent people, Damian. I'm a Pierce. We don't build empires on compassion. And I don't play the role of the benevolent saint."

I pushed my chair back and stood up, the legs scraping harshly against the floor. "Here's the deal. You have two options. You fire her by tomorrow morning, or I'll have my lawyer draft our divorce papers."

His head snapped up. "You'd divorce me over an au pair?"

"I would divorce you over this blatant disrespect." I looked at him, the man I had once loved so fiercely I had defied my own family for him. "Don't think I'm a fool, Damian. I know what's going on."

"Nothing is going on!" he yelled, slamming his hand on the table. The silverware jumped. "You're just a cold-hearted ball-buster! It's no wonder no one could ever love you!"

The words hung in the air, sharp and ugly. He had never spoken to me like that. Not once in our ten years together.

Just then, Casey scurried over, her eyes filled with crocodile tears. "Oh, Mrs. Pierce, please don't be mad at Dr. Hicks! It's all my fault. I shouldn't have burdened him with my problems." She looked up at Damian with pure, unadulterated adoration. "Dr. Hicks is the kindest man I've ever met. I'm just a divorced woman with five kids, a nobody. How could I possibly be a threat to someone like you?"

My eyes narrowed. The way she said "five kids" was pointed. A reminder. I glanced at the decorative pillows on the living room sofa, custom-made with a pattern from a niche anime Damian loved. The same pattern I' d seen on Casey' s phone case. I remembered the art prints in his study, a new acquisition he claimed he found online. They were by an artist whose work was almost identical to the selfies Casey posted on her private Instagram, the one he didn't know I had access to.

A cold, bitter laugh escaped my lips. "Is that what this is about, Damian?" I asked, my voice dripping with scorn. "You think I don't see it? Is it her looks? The way she plays the helpless victim? Or is it the five sons? You want to be an instant father without any of the biological trouble, is that it?"

His face went white. He glanced at Casey in a panic, then back at me. In one swift, shocking movement, he lunged forward and clamped his hand over my mouth.

"Shut up," he hissed, his eyes wild with fear and rage. He leaned in close, his voice a venomous whisper right next to my ear. "I have a zero sperm count. I'm infertile. You know that. Are you trying to broadcast it to the whole world?"