I Only Wanted An Heir Not A Husband

I was getting a manicure when Rhys’s ninety-ninth mistress cornered me.

She slapped an ultrasound image down on the marble countertop. “You’re Rhys Blackwell’s wife, right? I’m pregnant. You need to file for divorce now.”

I glanced at the grainy printout, then skillfully pulled out a stack of documents—evidence of her own extracurricular activities—and slid them across to her.

Her attitude executed a perfect 180-degree turn. She tore up the ultrasound.

“I’ll leave Rhys immediately!”

I admired my fresh manicure. Blood-red, it had taken eight hours of meticulous work.

A minute later, I told the manicurist, “Take it off.”

I had a certain kind of “fierce battle” scheduled for the evening.

This color wouldn’t give me the range of motion I needed.

Since marrying Rhys, I have either been dealing with one mistress or on my way to dealing with the next.

I’d long since become the city’s favorite joke.

People in the social circles would greet me with a smug, knowing look, asking for the secret to spotting an affair.

The truth? I didn’t care that Rhys found mistresses; I cared that those mistresses tried to lay claim to the Blackwell fortune.

Besides, every time I caught one, Rhys would unconditionally grant me one demand.

This time, I chose a child.

1

“What do you want this time?”

I’d barely stepped through the front door when I heard Rhys’s lazy voice.

I looked up.

He was stretched out languidly on the sofa, long arms open, waiting for my response.

I slipped into my house shoes, walked over, and said with careful sincerity, “A child.”

“I want a child, yours and mine.”

His narrow, foxy eyes studied me, a trace of genuine interest flickering across his face. He patted his thigh.

I moved to sit, and his arm clamped around my waist, pulling me hard.

I tumbled into his embrace.

Gazing at his devastatingly handsome face, I leaned in and kissed him.

When the intensity peaked, he exerted a savage force while his voice was ice-cold.

“Don’t you dare try to use a baby to trap me like all the other women.”

“Even if you bear my child, I could never love a woman who was shoved down my throat!”

He drove into me, frantic and brutal.

I winced, biting back the cry of pain that threatened to escape.

I don’t know how long it was before a phone call tore him away.

I lay in bed, taking long, ragged breaths, my hand resting on my flat stomach.

What I wanted had never been that pathetic, conditional kind of love.

Rhys Blackwell was notorious—the infamous, spoiled scion of the city’s elite.

Wealthy families warned their daughters away from him.

Even over thirty, Rhys remained a delinquent playboy.

The Blackwell parents were distraught. With no other option, they looked to “socially downward” prospects.

After layers of filtering, I—a poor, high-achieving university student with no family to speak of—entered their sights.

They only needed a woman who was compliant, sensible, and capable of keeping Rhys in line.

I acted the part perfectly: obedient, understanding, gentle in my care for Rhys.

I was meticulous, seemingly humble, and just strategic enough to offer a few well-placed, high-EQ comments that satisfied the elder Blackwells.

Even with Rhys’s vehement opposition, I was installed by his side.

I became the notorious Mrs. Blackwell—the butt of everyone’s jokes.

After that, Rhys only got worse, sometimes juggling three mistresses at once.

He constantly fed the gossip columns.

As his wife, I had to assume the responsibility of damage control.

Once, his reckless partying caused a major issue for the Blackwell Group, and after a severe dressing-down from his parents, he backed off slightly.

That incident was the start of my plan.

I began my careful, step-by-step strategy.

Initially, my demands were trinkets—jewelry, designer bags.

Then, expensive cars and apartments, reinforcing the illusion that I was nothing more than a grasping, materialistic woman.

When I’d ticked off enough conditions, I graduated.

It was a seamless transition to a role within the Blackwell Group, using my own skill set, amplified by the prestige of being Mrs. Blackwell, to climb the corporate ladder.

Ding-dong.

Rhys’s hundredth mistress sent a provocative message.

A classic catfight challenge, every sentence designed to provoke me, Mrs. Blackwell, into a dramatic breakdown.

I typed a couple of nonchalant sentences in response, turned off my phone, and walked into the bathroom.

I could play the jealous wife’s game easily, but I would never immerse myself in such a pointless contest.

What I wanted was to stand at the peak of power.

Once I carried the Blackwell heir, the elder Blackwells’ indulgence of Rhys would curdle into resentment.

And they would begin to cultivate the child in my belly—

The new successor.

2

My in-laws had been pressuring us for a grandchild for years.

So when I asked for a baby, Rhys didn’t put up much of a fight.

He was a man who loved to play.

As long as I initiated it, he was happy to indulge in a session in bed.

But every single time, the moment we were done, he would be called away by a woman on the phone.

This time, the call came mid-session.

The sound of his phone ringing shattered the atmosphere.

He froze, then carefully, gingerly, picked up the phone.

I don’t know what the mistress said.

Rhys pulled away from me, dressed, and walked out.

This had never happened before.

In the past, even when his mistresses called, he would put them on speaker.

He would be driving into me on one side, while enjoying my pained expression as he whispered crude jokes into the phone to the woman on the other end.

The woman would pout and feign offense on the line.

He would mock me, saying he could never love me, that I was just a domestic obligation.

I had listened to variations of that speech for five years.

Now, this hundredth mistress had managed to make Rhys halt what he was doing and rush to her side.

She had some kind of power.

Ding-dong.

The mistress’s text popped up:

[Rhys really loves me. He ran right to me after one phone call.]

[If you have any sense, agree to the divorce immediately. Stop clinging to him.]

I chuckled quietly:

[How can you be so sure he loves you? The last time I checked, he was still forcing himself on me just moments ago.]

Silence from the other end.

She must have been fuming.

Getting angry over that?

The position of Mrs. Blackwell was not so easily earned.

Of the ninety-nine mistresses before her, how many hadn’t I personally seen?

Rhys used to make me run errands, sending me out late at night to buy contraceptives.

If we got carried away and forgot protection, he’d instruct me to make sure his mistress took the morning-after pill.

Rhys had a gift for turning the knife.

I’d send one mistress away, and he’d find another one immediately.

Then he’d toss me a consolation prize—a diamond, a trust fund deposit—just to keep me from reporting him to the in-laws.

But his actions never truly cut me.

And naturally, I never considered reporting him.

The more chaos he created, the more beneficial it was for me.

Seeing the faint second line appear on the pregnancy stick, I immediately went to the doctor.

Upon confirmation of the pregnancy, I told my in-laws first.

Overjoyed, they invited Rhys and me to the family estate for a congratulatory dinner.

That night, a heavy snow began to fall.

The winter wind was an icy knife.

Halfway there, Rhys took a call from his mistress:

“Ah! Rhys, help me…”

The line cut out.

He slammed on the brakes, turning to me with an urgent growl, telling me to get out.

I glanced over at his sharply chiseled face.

A look of genuine panic and deep concern was etched there.

This was a look I’d never seen for any of the previous ninety-nine women.

He was serious.

He was emotionally invested in this Skylar.

When I didn’t move, he raised his leg.

His long, strong leg effortlessly kicked open the passenger door, and he shoved me out of the car.

“You go alone!”

He spat the words out in a rush of anxiety, then floored the accelerator, driving toward Skylar’s apartment.

I’d done my research on Skylar. She came from a difficult background.

She had a younger brother, and her parents strongly favored him.

She worked in a bar from a young age and had met Rhys during a drunken one-night stand.

In front of Rhys, she was harmless and innocent, a doll-faced girl whose eyes were always brimming with tears.

She always managed to look so pitiful and vulnerable.

Her eye sockets were perpetually rimmed with a faint red.

But behind his back, she often cursed me out.

3

It wasn’t a long distance to the estate. I considered walking.

After all, in our five years of marriage, this was the first time I’d been literally thrown out of a moving vehicle.

I took two steps and stopped.

I was pregnant.

For the sake of the child in my belly, I couldn’t risk it.

I called the in-laws, crafting a perfect excuse for Rhys.

I said he had been called away on an urgent corporate matter and that I couldn’t get a taxi in the snow.

Of course, the Blackwells didn’t believe me.

They knew their son’s character too well.

I arrived at the estate less than ten minutes later.

After the family doctor examined me and confirmed the pregnancy, the genuine smiles on the in-laws’ faces multiplied.

“Five years, and we finally have a grandchild, Sienna,” my mother-in-law, Eleanor, said.

“As for Rhys, you know what he’s like. Don’t hold it against him.”

“You are carrying the Blackwell heir now. Once the child is born, he’ll naturally focus his attention on the family.”

Rhys’s attention would never return to me.

But I didn’t care.

I responded with quiet obedience.

Their concern was gentle. They insisted I stay at the estate.

A dedicated nutritionist was put in charge of my meals.

A top-tier housekeeper handled my daily needs.

Meanwhile, Rhys…

Because I was pregnant, Skylar was upset.

She threw a massive tantrum that lasted for days.

In the past, Rhys would have dumped any mistress who caused such a fuss.

This time, Rhys broke all precedent. He abandoned his work and took Skylar on a trip overseas, pulling out all the stops to appease her.

The surveillance photos showed them strolling romantically on a remote island, dancing and kissing on a yacht.

He was even confronted by Skylar’s parents.

Rhys used his influence and money to legally separate Skylar from her family—he bought out the relationship for $200 million.

It was straight out of one of those cheesy billionaire romance novels I used to see. The billionaire handles all the heroine’s problems, defies his wealthy parents, and they live happily ever after.

Unfortunately, life is not fiction.

Money can’t sever blood ties; it only nourishes the greedy appetite.

I wasn’t idle during this time.

I continued to help Rhys manage the corporate expenses he’d charged to the company books, and I steadily climbed the corporate ladder in my own right.

My ambition was clear, written on my face.

I repeatedly used my own savings to buy incriminating photos from paparazzi, hiding them away.

My in-laws kept a close eye on me, too.

They noticed my furtive behavior and rushed in, suspecting an affair, only to discover I was collecting the evidence of Rhys’s indiscretions.

My mother-in-law looked at me with a sliver of genuine emotion in her eyes.

“You’ve been covering up Rhys’s messes all these years. You’ve worked too hard, Sienna.”

I offered a slight smile. “Mom, it’s a daughter-in-law’s duty.”

She patted the cushion beside her, signaling me to sit.

She gripped my hand. “You don’t need to worry about these things anymore. Your father-in-law and I can handle it.”

“Just focus on your pregnancy, and forget the office. The most important thing is for our grandchild to be born healthy.”

Leaving the company meant severing my access to internal information.

Impossible.

I pursed my lips. “Mom, I know my limits; I won’t jeopardize the baby’s health.”

“I love my work… If I stop, I’m afraid I’ll just brood and overthink.”

My mother-in-law stared at me for a moment, then silently transferred $1 billion into my account.

They had always been generous.

They regularly transferred money to my account, usually a million at a time.

I rarely needed the funds and had accumulated tens of millions.

$1 billion was unprecedented.

It confirmed my gamble had paid off.

I thanked her, smiling sweetly for her affection.

After she left, I stared at the sum, then immediately donated the entire $1 billion to a national youth education fund.

My hand rested gently on my growing belly.

I wanted more than this ten-figure check.

I wanted the entire Blackwell Group.

Power was the sweetest kind of relief.

4

When Rhys returned and learned I was staying at the estate, he moved Skylar into our marital home immediately.

The housekeeper there told me Skylar hated my scent.

She threw out all the scented candles and diffusers.

Any object associated with me was coldly discarded by Rhys.

The entire house was then doused in the cloying, heavy scent of cheap orange perfume.

The housekeeper once complained to me:

“Ma’am, it’s a terribly low-quality perfume, but the master insists on her wearing it, even if it stings his nose.”

My belly grew larger each day.

I still moved through the corporate offices. The elder Blackwells’ increasing trust meant I gained importance within the company.

Coupled with my own competence, I successfully shielded the company from several high-stakes financial and reputational battles.

I began to touch the core layers of the business.

Rhys, in contrast, grew increasingly indifferent to his work.

His obsession with Skylar intensified, reaching a point where he disregarded the company’s interests.

Every time Skylar’s family created a scene, he’d dip into the company coffers.

His constant pampering only fed the Su family’s greed.

His spoiled, immature, and irresponsible use of corporate funds became a testament to their love.

He even forced Skylar’s relatives into roles within the company.

All because Skylar had once said, “But he’s my brother.”

Even when her brother committed a serious infraction and I had him cornered for termination, Rhys would only snap impatiently:

“Can’t you stop targeting Skylar for once?”

I was always compliant.

I naturally listened to my husband and stopped “targeting” her.

He retaliated by assigning Skylar—who knew nothing—to be my personal secretary.

Skylar was utterly clueless.

She couldn’t keep up with my pace and didn’t understand half of what I said.

The moment I spoke, her eyes would turn red, and she’d run to Rhys to cry without saying a word.

Rhys would then burst into my office and angrily lash out at me, a heavily pregnant woman.

With Skylar’s “help,” the company successfully lost several major contracts.

Rhys, however, blamed my incompetence, ordering me to hurry home and focus on my pregnancy.

I quietly endured it.

As I neared my due date, Skylar grew visibly anxious.

She tried to find ways to cause a miscarriage several times.

When I repeatedly evaded her schemes, she finally lost control and violently shoved me.

The impact sent me into early labor.

I gripped my abdomen, crying out in pain as bright, fresh blood flowed down my legs.

I looked at Rhys, my husband in name only: “Rhys, the blood, our baby…”

He shielded her behind him, his face a mask of cold indifference.

“The child can be replaced. Who told you to bully Skylar? You deserve it!”

“No one help her!”

Skylar peeked out from behind Rhys, an expression of triumph directed right at me.

She intended to let me bleed out and lose the baby.

But I had already prepared.

My in-laws took my pregnancy very seriously.

The house was riddled with their loyal security staff.

Seeing me fall, they frantically rushed to my side, desperately trying to get me to the hospital.

Skylar tried to block the elevator, stopping them from helping.

Without a second thought, the men shoved Skylar aside, smacking her face, and hurried to get me to the hospital.

Their employers were the Blackwells—the baby’s grandparents.

Not Skylar.

They understood the hierarchy perfectly.

When the Blackwells heard the news, they rushed over, demanding Rhys immediately cut off all ties with Skylar.

Rhys, however, knelt openly before them. “Mom, Dad, I’m serious about Skylar!”

“She’s the only one I want.”

“Anyway, you have the child you wanted now. I’ll divorce Sienna once she gives birth, marry Skylar, and let Skylar raise the baby.”

As the loud, sharp cry of a newborn split the hospital air,

I knew it then. Rhys was finished.