Page 2 of My husband bet I’d miscarry and made 1 billion

The day I was discharged from the hospital, Roman called in a crowd of people.

The convoy of cars stretched from the hospital entrance all the way to the street corner. He wore a perfectly tailored suit and carried me in his arms, putting on a show of marital harmony.

We returned to an unfamiliar mansion. The living room had no aroma of food, and medical equipment outnumbered the furniture.

Several people in white coats stood to one side. When they saw us enter, they bowed in unison and said, "Good day, Mr. Patel, Mrs. Patel."

Roman basked in this respectful treatment. He pointed to the doctor at the front, introducing him to me with obvious pride.

He said, "Valentina, this is Dr. Colton Baker, an obstetrics and gynecology specialist. I paid a fortune to bring him here. From now on, your health will be entirely under his team's care."

Colton stepped forward and handed me a document.

He said, "Mrs. Patel, this is a customized fertility plan we've designed for you, precise down to what you eat each day and when you rest. Even your emotions will be monitored. We'll use the most scientific methods to get you into optimal conception condition within three months."

Colton's tone was flat, as if he were reading a product manual.

I opened the plan and found it filled with dense charts and data, breaking down and regulating every detail of my life for the days ahead.

The word "pregnancy" in the objectives column was highlighted in bold red, particularly conspicuous.

Layla dismissed all the servants. Nominally, she wanted to personally care for me, but in reality, she was keeping me under close surveillance.

Every bite of food I ate, every sip of water I drank had to pass her inspection.

She would say, "This is too cold, you can't eat it."

"This could trigger old ailments or worsen your condition, it's bad for your health."

"Colton says this is high protein. You need to eat more of it."

Once, when I was gazing at the jasmine flowers outside the window and lost in thought for a moment, Layla immediately rushed over.

She said, "Valentina, what are you daydreaming about now? Colton says you need to stay in good spirits, you can't always be unhappyit affects your hormones."

With that, Layla turned on the TV and found some noisy program. "Watch something cheerful."

Roman spent most of his time at the new hospital he'd bought. When he occasionally came home, it was only to check on my "recovery progress."

He constantly pestered the doctors with questions: "How are her numbers looking? When can we start trying to conceive?"

That day, I was taking a walk in the garden accompanied by a nurse. I saw the Patel family's driver making a secretive phone call in the corner.

I slowly walked closer and caught only fragments of his conversation.

He said, "The stakes are even higher this time. I'm someone you can trust. Mr. Patel set the odds himself."

The sound of the gardener pruning branches seemed particularly grating.

So a new round of betting had already begun preparations.

That evening, Roman unusually came home for dinner. Layla had added some unknown substance to the soup again, and the entire dining room was filled with a strange odor.

She set the soup bowl down heavily in front of me, saying with displeasure, "If this soup gets cold, it won't be effective. Do you think I made this for you to drink? This is for my future grandson. Drink it now."

Turning around, Layla attentively served Roman his food. "Roman, with Valentina being cared for so well this time, she'll definitely be able to successfully give birth to the boy I want."

Roman put down his fork and wiped his mouth.

He said, "Mom, whether it's a boy or girl doesn't matter."

Layla was stunned.

Roman's face showed a hint of an amused smile. "What matters is that the betting pool is big enough and the suspense is sufficient. That's what makes it fun."

"Valentina, to celebrate our new beginning, I'm throwing you a party. When the time comes, I'm going to announce some good news in front of the entire city."

I put down my spoon and asked softly, "What good news?"

Roman said, word by word, "Of course, that I'm opening another betting pool for my beloved wife. This time, the stakes are ten times higher."

He looked at me smugly, waiting for me to show gratitude.

I met his gaze, picked up the soup that had long since gone cold, and took a small sip.

The strange taste spread across my tongue, yet I gave him a perfect smile.