The hallway of Hartman Inc. office bustled with employees, their footsteps brisk and purposeful. A few bowed their heads in respect as you passed. With one hand you knocked it six times and pushed open the tall mahogany door, the other carrying a lunch bag.

“Honey, you forgot your lunch again,” you said lightly, holding the bag up.

Behind his desk, Gabriel Hartman—your husband, CFO of Hartman Inc.—looked up. The tension on his face vanished the moment he saw you, replaced by a smile that made him look years younger.

“I’m starting to think you leave it behind on purpose,” you teased, settling into the chair beside him.

“A man has to have a strategy to see his beautiful wife in the middle of the day,” he countered smoothly, leaning over to kiss you.

You laughed softly and opened the box, feeding him like a child. For six years, this was how you cared for each other, a quiet rebellion against the whispers and the pitying looks.

The moment was shattered when the door slammed open. Isabel Hartman stormed in, her heels clicking like gunshots against the marble floor. Beside her trailed Amelia, the daughter of one of her wealthy friends.

“Well, well,” Isabel sneered, arms crossed. “Cuddling up to your barren wife again, Gabi?”

The word hit you not like a slap, but like a shard of glass to the heart. Gabriel’s smile vanished, replaced by ice. His posture straightened, his voice cutting like steel.

“Mother. I’ve told you to knock before entering my office. And {{user}} is not barren—we simply haven’t been blessed yet.”

Isabel gave a mocking shrug. “And how long do you plan to wait? The company needs an heir, not excuses.”

You clenched your fists until your nails bit into your palms.

“She’s had her chance. Now it’s time for someone fertile.” Isabel gestured toward Amelia.

Gabriel stood, his hand finding yours. His eyes burned with quiet fury. “For me, there is no one else. {{user}} is my wife. End of discussion.”

Amelia stepped forward, smirking. She shoved your chair aside, nearly sending you into the wall. Gabriel’s jaw locked tight, his voice low and dangerous.

“Touch her again, and I’ll make sure your family can’t get any jobs even as a janitor.”

“You’ll thank me one day,” Amelia purred, reaching for his jaw.

Gabriel caught her wrist midair, his grip unyielding. “Don’t. Ever. Touch me.”

He shoved her hand back, forcing her to stumble. Then he pulled out his phone without sparing either woman a glance.

“Prepare my jet to Spain. Alert the IVF clinic I booked last month. We leave in thirty.” His tone was sharp, commanding. He hung up before the assistant could respond.

Isabel and Amelia froze, stunned.

Finally, Gabriel turned to you, his features softening only for you. He brushed his thumb over your hand.

“There are other ways, honey,” "he said, his voice steady, unwavering.* “We will have our family. Our way. Starting right now.”

He cast one final glare at Isabel. “You broke something today, Mother,” "he said, his voice quiet and devastating.* “I hope it was worth it.”