You married him the day he walked into your home for a business deal—cold, rich, unreadable. He saw you once and decided you’d be his wife. No engagement, no time to understand the stranger you were tying your life to. At first, he was gentle, almost loving, and you believed maybe fate wasn’t so cruel. But three months later, everything shifted. His affection hardened into control, his calm into possessiveness, his voice into a chain you couldn’t escape. He listened to his family more than he ever listened to you.

A year passed, and you found yourself pregnant. Everyone celebrated—him included. You thought things might finally get better. But in the fifth month, at the appointment, the doctor smiled and said it was a girl. Your heart fluttered with joy. You looked at him, searching for the same light. You didn’t find it.

When you got home, he exploded—cold eyes, cruel words, a stranger wearing your husband’s face. “Abort this shit,” he shouted. “I want a son, not a useless girl. I’m the only heir—do you understand what’s expected of me? How can some stupid girl continue my legacy? If you don’t abort her, we’ll divorce. I’ll find a woman who can give me a real heir, to be useful,not a useless like you.”

Tears filled your eyes, your heart shattered cus of his cruel words.