My Money for Her First Love's Genes

Mabel Wright, an unrivaled superstar, draws the curtains of the presidential suite and kneels on the carpet, meticulously filing my nails. Basking in this rare moment of tenderness, I can't help but think that my 19 years of devotion have finally warmed her heart. That is, until she slides a surrogacy agreement across the table to me. The agreement states in black and white that she plans to use my 50 million dollars to buy her first love, Mateo Thorne's, sperm in Gilead. Not only does she intend to strip me of my legal status as the father, but she also expects me to pay a million dollars a month in child support. Mabel blows the powder off her fingertips and says matter-of-factly, "I'm a staunch believer in platonic love. Physical fidelity is nothing compared to spiritual compatibility. Don't even dream of buying my 3.5-microgram egg with your boatload of cash. Mat's dying. This is his one and only dying wish!" Her tone remains calm. "I'll bring the baby back and have him take your last name. He'll call you Dad." When I don't respond, her brows draw together, as if I'm the one being unreasonable. "I've already agreed to have the child registered under your name. What exactly are you still hung up on? You're already my husband. What more do you expect?" Mabel sighs and continues unapologetically, "If you insist on reducing love to something so vulgar, I don't know what else to tell you." Chapter 1 "Since I'm so vulgar, what makes you think I'd shell out 50 million dollars?" I rasped, staring at the powder on the carpet. My wife, Mabel Wright, rose to her feet, patted the dust off her knees, and looked down at me. "Because you love me," she said without a shadow of a doubt. "It's been 19 years. Ever since you took that photo outside my concert in 2007, you've been pursuing me for 19 years. You'd even sacrifice your life for me. What's 50 million dollars to you?" She walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and peeled back a corner that had been sealed shut with black tape. Per her demands for absolute privacy, the presidential suite's floor-to-ceiling windows were completely sealed with black tape, so the room was perpetually lit only by the weak glow of spotlights. Mabel hated being observed without her consent. Even sunlight was unwelcome if it entered without permission. "Don't you remember when we went on vacation to the island?" she asked before spinning on her heel and standing against the light. "That custom-made suitcase of mine couldn't be contaminated with anyone else's scent. Without a second thought, you arranged for a private jet to transport it separately. Back then, you were so sensible, so accommodating." Mabel closed the distance between us and nudged the surrogacy agreement with the tip of her high heel. "Now, I just want to have a child with Mat's genes. Why can't you accept that? Your ridiculous possessiveness is suffocating me!" I clenched my fists so tightly that my nails dug into my palms. I used to think her insistence on having her luggage flown by private charter was just one of her eccentric quirks. I willingly footed the bill, no matter the cost, just to make her smile. Looking back on it now, it wasn't a quirk. It was an innate, bone-deep egocentrism. In her world, my devotion was taken for granted, and my feelings were completely worthless. I suppressed my frustration and asked one last time, "We were married for two years, and we've known each other for 19, Mabel. Was our relationship just a way to get your hands on some money?" Mabel bent down, picked up the nail file from the carpet, and looked at me. Her eyes were hollow. "No one will file your nails for you anymore." The tenderness we'd shared on the carpet just an hour ago had become a cruel joke... It had merely been a payment she had made in advance for 50 million dollars. "Oh, right, I forgot to tell you." Mabel casually tossed the nail file into the trash. "I already called your parents earlier." I looked up. "What did you tell them?" "I told them you're generally on board with the surrogacy plan." Her lips curled into a derisive smile. "The two of them are over the moon about becoming grandparents and are already planning a family feast. Little do they know, their grandchild will carry Mat's genes." My heart missed a beat. For a split second, the suite before my eyes blurred. Mabel was using my elderly parents as bargaining chips, cornering me into a dead end. "Have you lost your mind?" I sprang to my feet. My knees slammed into the coffee table. "When did you start planning all of this?" Meeting my gaze, she dug her heels in. "I had already gotten in touch with a surrogacy agency in Gilead long before we obtained our marriage certificate. The day you transferred 30 million dollars into my parents' account, the preliminary application with the agency had already been submitted." Mabel had been plotting this for a long time. This wasn't a whim born from a dying wish. It was a scheme she'd been plotting for two years. I swept the entire set of manicure tools off the table. The metal nail files and bottles of nail polish landed on the carpet and coffee table with dull thuds. Mabel didn't even bat an eye. Her gaze was filled with annoyance as she looked at me. "That's enough. From now on, don't call me by my name anymore; you should call me Mommy." 19 years of history completely vanished with that single sentence. Suppressing my bottled-up emotions that were threatening to overflow, I held her gaze. "Alright, Mommy." Mabel was caught off guard for a moment. However, she soon regained her haughty composure and nodded in satisfaction. "That's more like it. Sign it. Don't make this harder than it needs to be for all of us." I sat on the carpet, staring at the agreement. 19 years of love had been crushed beneath a 3.5-microgram egg and 2.5 tons of cash. The game had only just begun. Chapter 2 Mabel didn't even bat an eye when I called her "Mommy." She sat back down on the couch, picked up her phone, and rapidly tapped away on the screen. "Since you've agreed, I'll give my fans a little hint first." I watched as she pulled up the backend for her Instagram account, the screen's glow illuminating her cold, aloof profile. Several minutes later, she posted a cryptic caption. "Sometimes, all I want is to fulfill the wishes of a pure soul, yet I'm constantly held back by the shackles of society. I only wish the people by my side could be a little more understanding and a little less selfish." Mabel didn't name me outright, yet every word she wrote pointed straight at me, pushing me into the abyss. As one of the country's biggest stars with nine million followers, as soon as she updated her account, the comment section exploded. "What's wrong, Mabel? Is your nouveau-riche husband mistreating you again?" "I told you capitalists are heartless. He must be restricting Mabel's freedom!" "We need to protect Mabel at all costs. We must stand against that trashy control freak!" Mabel had personally held the blade of public opinion against my throat. One after another, my ridiculous sacrifices flashed through my mind… I'd booked out the entire cinema complex just so she could watch a movie in peace. We had been the only ones in that massive theater, yet she'd kept her eyes glued to her phone the entire movie, texting her first love, Mateo Thorne, without sparing so much as a glance at the screen. I used to think she was cold and distant by nature. Now, it dawned on me that was the bare minimum effort required to keep her ATM around. "Let's do the math, Mabel." I stifled my irritation and pointed at the agreement on the table. "I'd transferred 30 million dollars to your parents as our wedding gift. 50 million dollars isn't 500 dollars. It's not a sum you can squander on a whim." Mabel set her phone down, her eyes brimming with contempt. "You really are as vulgar as ever. Let me repeat myself—2.5 tons of cash can't buy my 3.5-microgram egg. The wedding gift is your obligation as my husband. The 50-million-dollar fertility fund is the price you have to pay if you want to keep this marriage." Right after saying that, she pulled a document out of her bag and slammed it on the coffee table. It was a copy of Mat's medical records detailing his organ failure. "Look!" Tears welled up in her eyes, and her voice trembled just enough to sound convincing. "Mat's on his deathbed, suffering in the ICU every day. It's bad enough that you're holding me hostage with this conventional marriage... Yet, by withholding this amount of money, you're snuffing out a dying man's final wish with your own hands! Aren't you afraid of retribution when you go to sleep at night?" This sorrow wasn't mine to bear. Just then, the door to the suite was pushed open. Mabel's manager, Jasmine Green, strutted in on her high heels. After taking in the mess on the floor, she took her place right beside Mabel. "Mr. Moore, we're all adults here. Let's not make this ugly." Jasmine crossed her arms. "I'm sure you know better than anyone how valuable Mabel is commercially right now. If you insist on taking this public, your reputation and your company's public image will be dragged through the mud online. So, you should know which way the wind is blowing. Sign the agreement and be the child's father in name only." As soon as her words fell, my phone rang. It was Mabel's mother, Maya Sterling. I put the call on speaker, and Maya's voice boomed through the suite. "Enough's enough, Hugh! Mabel just wants to have something to remember him by. You're a grown-ass man. How can you be so petty? "We gave you our brilliant daughter's hand in marriage, and yet you won't even cough up a little money? If you refuse, I'll make a scene outside your company and let everyone see what kind of person you really are!" Pressure closed in on me from all sides. I lowered my head and remained silent, as though I had been completely crushed under wave after wave of pressure. However, beneath the table, I pressed the encrypted communication button built into my watch. Three long presses. One short. The highest-level emergency command for my personal financial team. Message sent successfully. The asset-separation protocol was officially activated. From this moment on, all external transfers of the marital assets under my name were completely frozen. Without my iris scan and multi-factor dynamic passwords, she wouldn't be able to touch a single cent. The room was pitch-black, sealed off from the outside world. Mabel and Jasmine were still running their mouths, while I calmly sat back and listened. The hunter had now become the hunted. Chapter 3 After a standoff that lasted all night, not even a single sliver of daylight could penetrate the room sealed shut with black duct tape. Mabel emerged from the bedroom with a glass of warm water. She had shed her biting demeanor from the night before, and her expression was so gentle, it was as if nothing had happened between them. "Have some water. You've been up all night; your voice is raspy." She handed me the glass, took a seat beside me, and pulled out a freshly sharpened strip from her pocket. "I'm not done with your nails yet. Let me work on them for you." With that, she reached for my hand, attempting to recreate the tender act from last night that she had used to disarm me last night. My stomach churned, and I instantly caught her wrist. I didn't use much force, but she couldn't pull free. "We need to talk, Mabel. Give up on the surrogacy in Gilead. Let's have a baby of our own. "I can still give you 50 million dollars as a personal investment. All I ask is that you let go of your obsession with Mat and live a good life with me." This was, of course, a lie. It was bait planted purely to test her. Sure enough, she turned on a dime. She yanked her wrist back, her face twisted in disgust. "Do you even hear yourself, Hugh? My eggs and my body are reserved for Mat alone. You, on the other hand, will never deserve to have a child that shares my blood. "Marriage is nothing more than a shield against gossip to me. Money is the only value you bring as a husband." Every word she uttered chilled me to the core. My phone, which I'd tossed on the couch, began vibrating uncontrollably as push notifications flooded the screen. "Breaking News! National Star, Mabel Wright, Allegedly Suffers Domestic Violence! Wealthy Husband Hugh Moore's True Colors Exposed!" "Insider Reveals: Hugh Moore Is a Control Freak; Prevents His Wife From Visiting Her Gravely Ill Friend!" "The Ugly Face of a Nouveau Riche: Using Money to Trample an Artistic Soul!" Anonymous accusations, screenshots stripped of context, and maliciously edited audio clips were all over the Internet. I checked my social media inbox. It was packed with nothing but hate and vitriol. "Drop dead already, you disgusting piece of trash!" "Leave Mabel alone! You don't deserve her!" "Capitalist lapdog, I hope you go bankrupt soon!" I hadn't even had the chance to tell my side of the story, yet they'd already condemned me. I looked up at Mabel, who met my gaze without the slightest hint of guilt, a smug smile curling at the corners of her lips. "That's right. I had Jasmine release them." She sat back down on the couch, crossing her legs. "The public will only believe the perfect image of the nation's top celebrity. If you come forward and claim that I'm using your money to pay for a surrogate to carry my first love's child... Do you think anyone will believe you? They'll only think you're making up lies because you can't handle being humiliated!" Then, she leaned forward. "Be a good boy and sign it, Hugh. If you do, we can still play the perfect married couple. Your reputation and your company will both be safe." Right on cue, Jasmine's call came in. "Mr. Morore, I just received a call from the investors behind the commercial complex in the south of the city. They're paying close attention to the public opinion online. If you insist on playing hardball... They'll terminate the deal on the spot, citing reputational damage and a breach of their morality clause. The penalty for breach of contract would probably be more than 50 million dollars, wouldn't it?" Mabel and Jasmine had my business Achilles' heel firmly in their grasp. Clutching my head, I tugged at my hair, pretending to be on the verge of a breakdown. "Give me some time... Let me think about it..." My voice was trembling, but the moment I lowered my head, the screen of my encrypted phone silently lit up. I'd received a classified message from my finance team. "The asset-separation measures are now in place. All channels for large-scale fund transfers have been completely locked down." Slowly, my grip on my head loosened. Chapter 4 The pressure was closing in from all sides. My business partners on the south district project bombarded me with three sternly worded emails of inquiry in a row. Public opinion had completely spiraled out of control, and my name had been nailed to the wall of shame as a scumbag and a nouveau riche. Mabel's parents were relentless as well. After I blocked their numbers, they stormed to the hotel entrance and held up a banner, threatening to expose my alleged abuse of their daughter to the media. I was trapped in this presidential suite, sealed shut with black duct tape. On the surface, I was completely cornered. Mabel walked over with a freshly printed copy of the agreement. "Since you're in so much pain, I had my lawyer make a few changes." She tossed the agreement onto the coffee table, and she sounded as if she was doing me a huge favor. I skimmed the clauses. Each clause was more outrageous than the last. "Clause One: 50 million dollars must be remitted by wire transfer to the designated account within three days." "Clause Two: Commencing upon the birth of the child, I shall pay a million dollars per month as child support until the child reaches adulthood." "Clause Three: I will permanently relinquish all biological and legal parental rights and will have no right to visitation." "Clause Four: Should a single word leak to the public, I will owe a billion dollars in damages for breach of contract." "Don't push your luck, Mabel!" I sprang to my feet, my eyes bloodshot. "I'll ask you this one last time… What does this marriage even mean to you?" Mabel rolled her eyes. "Why do you always have to be so pigheaded, Hugh? A spiritual connection between two souls is infinitely more meaningful than physical intimacy. I understand that you're a slave to your own desires, so you're incapable of knowing what's truly valuable. "I've already given you the privilege of having the child take your last name and call you Dad because you're paying for it. What more do you want? Do you want me to get down on my knees and beg you?" Before she could continue, all hell broke loose outside the door. Heavy blows and furious curses hammered through the door. "Hugh Moore! Show yourself, you coward!" "Let Mabel go, you disgusting capitalist!" "Ladies, let's break this door down and teach this scumbag a lesson!" A horde of rabid fans had somehow breached the hotel's security and mobbed the floor, violently pounding against the door. The trending topics on my phone skyrocketed. My personal information, my company's address, and Mom and Dad's home address were doxed across the Internet. Total ruin was mere inches away. Mabel took one look at the rattling door and leisurely picked up her handbag. "It seems my fans are more than ready to fight for justice on my behalf." She rose to her feet and smoothed down her skirt. "You have half an hour, Hugh. Either sign the agreement and transfer the money, or face the mob outside that door on your own." The door swung open, and her bodyguards escorted her through the crowd. The door slammed shut behind her. Curses and impact filtered in through the cracks. I was all alone in the pitch-black room. I collapsed on the couch and buried my face in my hands, my whole body shaking. My career was being held hostage. The entire Internet was condemning me. Mabel's fans were blockading the door... I looked like a loser whose psychological defenses had finally collapsed, on the verge of signing the agreement in humiliation. I'd played the part long enough. Silence stretched on for several minutes. After confirming that all of Mabel's informants had withdrawn, I lifted my head. There wasn't a shred of fear left in my eyes. I pulled out a backup encrypted phone from my coat that had never been connected to the Internet and dialed a number that had been buried in my contacts for years. It was the number of Naomi Thorne, Mateo's biological older sister. I had no intention of compromising. If this bomb was going to explode, I'd be the one to light the fuse. The door was being pounded on harder and harder, and its frame was beginning to buckle and warp. I held my phone to my ear, listening to the dial tone. "Pick up. Come on," I thought to myself. A fraction of a second before the door was about to give way, a weary woman's voice came through the line. "Hello? Who is this?"