He became a billionaire mogul, but I still acted like a spoiled brat. I treated him like a male model and a servant. Tonight, As Alan, his face dark, pushed hard, I suddenly saw comments scrolling: [Great, the antagonist is finally getting pregnant this time!] [The protagonist is an OB-GYN, and the antagonist, along with her brain-damaged son, are just tools to facilitate the protagonist couple’s romance.] [The male lead is finally divorcing to have a sweet romance with the protagonist!] I shuddered. I quickly pushed him away: “Stop!” “Stop it now!” 01 I pushed too hard. Alan, half-propped up, lost his balance and fell onto the bed. His custom-tailored shirt slid off. Revealing his sculpted chest. Pale. Seductive. A million times better than any male model’s physique. But a brain-damaged son? Absolutely not! I quickly looked down. Thank goodness. Not yet. I breathed a long sigh of relief. Alan got up, a slight frown on his face. His amber eyes, set in his distinguished, calm, handsome face, looked at me curiously. “What’s wrong? Not feeling well this time?” “We can try again.” Terrified, I quickly shook my head. “No, no, it’s fine.” “It’s getting late. You’ve had a long day. Let’s just get some rest.” Alan’s expression darkened a bit. A flicker of displeasure crossed his face. But quickly. He recomposed himself. “Alright, I’ll go downstairs and make up my bed then.” Go downstairs to make his bed? Where? I was confused. Then it dawned on me. When we first got married, I despised Alan for being dirt poor, only able to afford a cramped basement apartment, and a bed that was only a twin size. Every night after we were done, I’d kick him off the bed to sleep on the floor. I’d hog the entire bed. Over time, it became a habit. Even now that he was a successful entrepreneur, had moved into a huge mansion, and our bed was a luxurious king-size. I still preferred to have the entire bed to myself. Yet I wouldn't let him sleep in the guest room next door, because I’d get scared at night. So he still slept on the floor in my room every night. Thinking of this. I felt a little guilty. No wonder the later plot had him falling in love with someone else. Who could endure such constant exploitation? [Why did it stop at the crucial moment? Did the antagonist have a change of heart today? Didn’t she used to cling to the male lead every time, treating him like a male model, forcing him to try different positions over and over again?] [So how is she going to get pregnant today? If she doesn't get pregnant, when will she meet the protagonist?] [It stopped, it stopped. The male lead can get some rest. It’ll be the same if she gets pregnant next time.] [But next time, will it still be a brain-damaged child?] [Who knows…] I watched the comments for a while. Only then did I confirm that the "antagonist" they were referring to was indeed me. It sent another chill down my spine. Next time? Absolutely no next time! 02 The next morning. When I woke up, Alan was already up. The bedding on the floor had been neatly folded and put away. I quickly got dressed and out of bed. I removed my bedding from the bed, then carefully spread out his bedding on the bed. Then meticulously tidied it for him. After that, I tiptoed with my own bedding to the smallest guest room, furthest from the master bedroom. I thought to myself, I can’t cling to Alan for intimacy every day anymore. Nor can I make him sleep on the floor. Giving birth to a brain-damaged son or being kicked out of the mansion after divorce. I wanted neither. [What trick is the antagonist trying to pull now? Is she tired of sleeping in the master bedroom, so she’s slumming it in the tiny 100 sq ft guest room?] [The antagonist even made the male lead’s bed in the master bedroom. Is she planning to make him sleep on the floor in that small guest room after they’re done? Is she not even willing to give him his bedding now? That’s so evil!] [This terrible plot is infuriating. Every time they’re intimate, we only see the male lead and antagonist’s faces. We’ve paid money, why can’t we see? If he’s sleeping on the floor in the small guest room without bedding, won't we finally get to see the male lead’s perfect body?] I ignored the misunderstanding in the comments. I was just annoyed that they were trying to peek at Alan’s body. He was my man. Why should they get to see him? After tidying the guest room. I went downstairs. Just in time to see Alan, wearing a pink apron, meticulously preparing breakfast in the kitchen. Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating his broad-shouldered, long-legged back. Casting a perfect, domestic glow around him. I’d stared blankly at that physique countless times. Such a perfect man, and he was mine. But now. He was about to not be mine. Thinking this, my chest suddenly felt tight. A little ache. Seeing me come downstairs, Alan looked a little surprised. “Up so early today?” “Breakfast will be ready soon. I’ll go to the bathroom and prepare your wash water and toothpaste in a bit. You can sit down and wait for now.” I quickly shook my head and waved my hands. “No, no, it’s fine.” “I’ll wash my face and brush my teeth myself. You don’t need to prepare it for me.” With that. I rushed to the bathroom without stopping. Afraid that Alan really couldn’t stand me anymore. And would ask for a divorce. Of course. I was also afraid that after a divorce, I’d lose my mansion, my luxury car. My quality of life would plummet. Alan stood in the kitchen with the spatula. Watching my hasty retreat into the bathroom, he paused for a few seconds. Soon. I came back in a hurry. Looking at the half-prepared breakfast, I swiftly took the spatula from Alan’s hand. “You don’t have to get up early to make breakfast anymore.” “I’ll do it from now on.” [Hahahaha, so funny, the antagonist wants to get up early to make breakfast. Can that lazy pig even get up?] [Exactly. It’d be a miracle if she got up three days a year. The male lead is just too sentimental, too soft-hearted. The antagonist, relying on the fact that she was with him when he was poorest, demands he serve her like a servant every day. The male lead actually endured it for five years. If it were me, I’d have slapped her a long time ago.] [It’ll be great when the male lead meets the protagonist! Our protagonist is excellent at everything, both in public and at home. While her career is soaring, she also takes very good care of the male lead’s daily life. This kind of marriage is what successful men crave.] Alan, puzzled, gently touched my head. “What’s wrong with you?” “Are you feeling unwell?” I quickly interrupted him. Shaking my head so hard it almost came off. “I’m fine.” “I just feel really bad. You work so hard every day to earn money and support the family, and you still have to make breakfast for me.” “I want to learn to be self-sufficient from now on.” I thought to myself, if I’m more attentive. And sincerely apologize for my past haughtiness and immaturity. Even if he’s annoyed with me, even if he doesn’t love me anymore, even if he meets the so-called protagonist, he surely wouldn’t have the nerve to abandon his faithful wife, right? After all. His first pot of gold in his startup. Came from me selling the only house my parents left me. So even if he were to abandon me. Perhaps because of my good attitude, he’d compensate me with more money. Ensuring my quality of life. Perhaps it was because I’d acted on too many impulses before. Alan’s puzzled expression only lasted a few seconds. After I finished talking about self-sufficiency. His handsome eyes darkened. His voice, tinged with what sounded like regret, softly said, “Alright then.” “Whatever makes you happy.” 03 Evening. Alan arrived home promptly, according to the schedule I had set for him. He dutifully stepped through the front door with his right foot first. This was also one of my old rules. I belatedly realized how recklessly I had behaved in the past. After entering, Alan, holding freshly bought groceries, prepared to go to the kitchen to cook. But as he reached the dining room, he was surprised to find that I had already prepared dinner. I feigned domesticity. “Alan, come eat.” “I made your favorite braised fish.” “Try it and tell me if it’s good.” Alan sat down tentatively. He asked me anxiously, “What’s wrong with you today?” “Did you… did you put aphrodisiacs in the food?” I was speechless. I didn't know how to explain, and for a moment, I lost my temper, huffing, “Yes, I did. Are you going to eat or not?” After realizing what I’d said, I immediately felt guilty and regretted it. I wished I could slap myself. Terrified, I quickly shut up and focused on eating. Alan said nothing more. He ate his meal diligently. Half an hour later. The dishes on the table were completely cleaned by the two of us. But Alan didn't feel the effects of any supposed drug. Instead, he noticed I was gone first. He assumed I had gone back to the bedroom, so he followed. But upon returning to the bedroom. Alan was surprised to find his bedding neatly laid out on the bed. I was still nowhere to be found. Alan was puzzled, his head full of questions. He searched every room, finally finding me in the smallest guest bedroom. By then, I had already showered and snuggled under the covers. Alan entered the room. He half-knelt by my bed, asking softly, “Why are you here?” “Am I supposed to sleep on the floor here tonight? My bedding is on the master bed. Can’t I bring it in here?” I quickly shook my head. “No, no need for that.” “From now on, the big bed in the master bedroom is for you. I’ll sleep in this small room. This way, we can both get good rest.” Alan froze, unable to believe his ears. His handsome eyes watched me deeply. The tear mole at the corner of his eye was utterly captivating. His face darkened. He asked me in a cold voice, “Are you saying I wasn’t… diligent enough last night?” “Didn’t satisfy you?” “If not, I’ll make up for the positions we missed last night, tonight.” His tone was cold. But I clearly saw. His eyes held a restrained anticipation. And his hand slowly, honestly, unbuttoned his shirt. If this were before, I would have succumbed to that tempting sight and pounced on him. But now, I was terrified. I instinctively shrank back into the corner of the wall. Make up for what? Make up for a brain-damaged son? No, no. “Alan, get away.” “Get away now.” 04 Alan froze. He looked at me in disbelief. His eyes held confusion, shock, anger. And a hint of something barely perceptible, Disappointment? I cowered in the corner. Clutching my small blanket tighter. “Um, it’s getting late, and I’m pretty sleepy.” “You’ve had a long day too, you must be tired. Go back to sleep. Get some good rest. Goodnight.” [Is the antagonist crazy? She’s refusing to be intimate with the male lead? Didn’t she used to demand he use at least 108 different positions every night?] [It’s just playing hard to get. She’s so insatiable, how could she not? I bet she won’t last a minute before grabbing him, clinging to him and refusing to let him go.] [Exactly. I remember one time the male lead came back from a business trip after midnight, and the antagonist exploded. The male lead transferred thirty million to her and coaxed her for an hour, just to barely appease her. Even then, she punished him by making him try non-repeating positions all night!] [The male lead hates being intimate with her the most. He always does it with a dark face, just to avoid being clung to all night again. That’s why he comes home on time every day.] Alan was still standing there. Motionless. His tall, upright figure stood rooted like a statue. After a long silence. He finally turned and left, his face cold. Several seconds later. Once I was sure he was far away, I tiptoed out of bed. And quickly locked the door. The moment the lock clicked, the worry that had been weighing on my heart finally eased. I touched my stomach and breathed a long sigh of relief. Perfect. Safe, safe. [Huh? The antagonist is crazy! Not only did she not call out to the male lead, but she also locked the door?] [Something’s wrong. Shouldn’t the male lead be happy right now? After all, he doesn’t have to disgustingly humor the antagonist anymore. Why does he seem a little disappointed?] [The male lead isn’t disappointed. He’s suppressing his inner joy, not wanting the antagonist to see that he dislikes her.] [Why isn't the protagonist getting pregnant yet? When is the protagonist going to appear? I can’t wait.] [Good things come to those who wait. The protagonist will definitely appear soon. Even if the antagonist can hold off tonight, I don’t believe she can hold off tomorrow night.] Outside the bedroom door. Alan’s footsteps suddenly stopped. He instinctively looked back. He heard the click of the guest room door locking. The unease in his heart grew stronger. From being pushed away last night, to taking the initiative to wash up this morning, and eagerly preparing breakfast and dinner. It all felt wrong. Alan couldn’t help but let his mind race. What is Scarlett trying to do? She’s never been like this before. Is she bored? Does she want a divorce? Thinking this. His expression grew even more despondent. 05 For the next while. I was looking for a job. Although Alan gave me a lot of money, and being a stay-at-home wife was comfortable and free. But before I saw those comments. I never realized my so-called freedom was built on Alan’s pain. I was reluctant to divorce. Reluctant to leave such a perfect man. But I had to find a fallback plan for myself. Before his disgust completely erupted. … According to the time I’d set on the job app, I arrived at a company in the east of the city for an interview. The interviewer was a chubby, middle-aged bald man. Everything was going well. He asked about my desired salary. I said five thousand. He suddenly sneered. “Do you think just because you’re somewhat attractive, you’re some high-society lady who doesn’t understand the struggles of the common people?” “You haven’t worked in five years, and you graduated from a mediocre university. You want five thousand a month? Are you dreaming?” I was shocked. Only five thousand. Is that a lot? It was precisely because I hadn’t worked in years that I didn't dare ask for more. Before I met Alan, I earned eight thousand a month. Back then, Alan was just a poor graduate. He had nothing. I was a low-level worker bee who had already been working for a year. But I also had no money. The first time I saw Alan, the young man had clear eyes, a tall and lean figure, standing there, he was more dazzling than any movie star. I fell hopelessly in love. No one knew. The basement apartment we rented when we were dating, I actually paid for it. I dared to act the way I did because he truly treated me well. I could feel his intense and abundant love, and I was certain he wouldn't leave me. That's why I was so unrestrained. Three meals a day, cleaning, laundry, making the bed, organizing the wardrobe, bathing, even washing his feet and massaging his back. Alan took care of every single detail for me. Since my parents passed away when I was eight, It was the first time I dared to live so freely, like a giant baby. It wasn't that I didn't face criticism. I greedily indulged in such beauty. Like being intoxicated in a dream I didn't want to wake from, I probed further, grew bolder. My demands became more excessive. But no matter how excessive I was, Alan never said no. Later. Alan started his own business. Seeing him struggling to raise money everywhere, I gritted my teeth and sold the only property my parents had left me in my hometown. Alan held me and cried for a long time that day. But he succeeded. In just one year, he multiplied the money I gave him tenfold. I remember very clearly. That day, he transferred all five million he had earned to my name. He reverently handed me the bank card. As if completing the signing of a contract. “Scarlett, marry me.” He bought flowers and a diamond ring, proposing grandly. And so. We moved out of the basement. And got married. 06 From then on. I quit my job and became a full-time wife. Alan’s company took off like a rocket. In just a few years, it grew from a small startup to an industry leader, successfully going public. Then it became a phenomenal and popular major company, a household name. Our little home also slowly changed from a three-bedroom apartment to a large condo. And now, to this grand mansion. Alan also became busier and busier. The smiles on his face grew fewer. I don’t know if I wanted to hold onto him, to prove that he still loved me as before. Or if I simply enjoyed being served and cared for by him. After he became a billionaire mogul, I didn’t rein myself in; instead, I escalated my demands. Thankfully. Although Alan was busy, he was willing to fulfill my unreasonable requests. I originally thought this was a sign that he still loved me. A sign that our love hadn’t soured. But I never imagined that Alan was already at his limit with me. I know it’s my fault, I was too much. But thinking about this. My heart still felt heavy. Like a large stone was pressing on my chest. It hurt so much.
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