Send you tenderness

In high society circles, one secret is widely known. Aaron, heir to the illustrious Aaron's Family, has a taste for threesomes. And his rule is simple: Megan must always be one of the two women—because she’s his official girlfriend, his chosen one, the future mother of his child. As usual, Megan entered the penthouse suite of The Carthage with a camera in hand, a used pregnancy test clutched between her fingers. She stared down at the two clear red lines, hesitating. Should she tell Aaron about this second pregnancy? But as soon as she stepped into the living room, she heard it—muffled yet unmistakable—the sounds of a woman’s moans drifting from behind the slightly ajar bedroom door. Everyone assumed that whenever Aaron wanted to play, the other woman would join in for a threesome with Megan. But that wasn’t the truth. Megan had always been the one stationed by the wall, operating the camera. Aaron made her stay from start to finish, watching him with others—all to punish her for once choosing power and status over him. This time, though, Megan froze. Through the crack in the door, she glimpsed the blurred profile of the woman on the bed. It was Abigail, her younger sister—the one their father had taken after the divorce. Wearing lingerie from his favorite brand, Abigail’s body was dotted with love bites, her lips slightly swollen. Her fingers traced teasing patterns over his chest. Aaron’s shirt hung open, a cigarette between his lips, and he gave her backside a firm, familiar squeeze. Megan’s legs went weak. She had to look away. Their moving bodies felt like needles stabbing her eyes. A tight, suffocating pressure built in her chest, and her hand clenched unconsciously around the pregnancy test. Lost in the moment, she heard Aaron’s cool, amused voice. “Want to know?” Abigail pushed lightly against his chest, her tone coquettish. “How do I know I won’t be the next Megan? What if I get pregnant? Would you just flush our five-month-old baby down the drain too?” The words hit Megan like a physical blow. Her vision blurred; a sharp sting rose in her nose. That was their first daughter. That single sentence brought the memory rushing back—the tiny, chubby face, the features that looked so much like her father, as beautiful as Aaron himself. A buzzing filled her ears, drowning out the conversation inside. But when she focused, she saw Aaron’s expression falter for a second. He took a deep, harsh drag from his cigarette, coughed, then simply smiled without answering—a smile cold and numb. Abigail pouted. Aaron planted a light kiss on her cheek. “Enough. You’re nothing like her. That stuck-up act of hers is a total turn-off. Don’t compare yourself to her; it’s beneath you.” Abigail laughed. “True. But what if she gets pregnant again? I don’t believe you haven’t touched her since.” Aaron exhaled a final cloud of smoke toward the ceiling, his eyes unreadable, his voice flat. “She won’t. I had one of her ovaries removed. It’ll be hard for her to get pregnant again. Megan’s so damn gullible. Offered enough money, she signed the consent form without even reading it. Less hassle for me.” He let out a derisive snort. That soft, mocking laugh snapped Megan back to reality. Her hand flew instinctively to her lower abdomen, and the pregnancy test slipped from her grasp, clattering to the floor. The sharp sound was lost under Abigail’s giggle. Megan felt invisible hands clamp around her throat, strangling the air from her lungs. Aaron’s words echoed in her mind. She remembered their first child. They were just teenagers, naive and in their first year of university when she found out. Too thin to show much, Megan hadn’t realized she was pregnant until she was over four months along. Lying in a hospital bed, feeling the baby’s heartbeat, she hadn’t told Aaron. A week later, the Family found out. They dragged her to an operating table. She begged and screamed, “Aaron, save our baby!” But under the blinding surgical lights, the anesthesia dragged her consciousness into a hollow, numb void. Helpless, she could only watch as they forced her into a late-term abortion—and then, right in front of her, flushed her child down a drain. When the drugs wore off, Megan clutched her freshly operated abdomen, blood pooling around her ankles. And that was the moment Aaron arrived. He thought she’d chosen to abort. The misunderstanding was born. He hated her for “getting rid” of their child, never giving her a chance to explain. He left her alone in the villa to recover. A month later, he returned, dragged her back to the hospital without a word, calling it a “minor check-up,” and made her sign some papers. She never imagined his revenge would be removing one of her ovaries. And after she tried to escape, he ruined her reputation. Night after night, he made her watch as he took his pleasure with others, reducing her to a hollow shell—just another piece of equipment in the room, there to record his vengean