Poof! Wife Status, ERASED

Chapter 8: No More False Hopes

He got a vasectomy?

Then whose child was Isabella carrying?

Emily Vanderbilt felt cold sweat trickle down her spine. She nearly lunged for the trash can to retrieve the discarded dumplings.

"What's wrong?" Ethan checked his appearance again, paranoid that Sophia might notice something amiss.

"Bro, sis-in-law said she prepared a surprise for you and asked you not to visit her these next few days."

Emily swallowed hard. No matter what, she had to get Ethan out of here—now.

Her brother was a madman. If he found out she hadn't been taking care of Sophia but had instead visited Isabella and said those humiliating things to Sophia…

She had a feeling her life wouldn't be worth living.

A pang of guilt twisted Ethan's heart. Even injured, Sophia was still exhausting herself to prepare a surprise for him.

"Ridiculous. She's supposed to be resting. What kind of surprise could she possibly be planning?"

He moved to push past her, but Emily blocked him.

"Bro! Sis-in-law put so much effort into your 24th anniversary. If you barge in now, all her hard work will be wasted! You don't want that, do you?"

Reluctantly, Ethan gave in and let Emily drag him away.

The moment he was gone, Emily rushed to the urology department.

The doctor assumed her "husband" had undergone a vasectomy, yet she'd still gotten pregnant. He explained that even after the procedure, there was still a minuscule chance of conception.

Leaving the clinic, Emily exhaled in relief.

Right. My brother must just be… exceptionally potent. That's why the vasectomy failed and Isabella still got pregnant.

The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that Sophia was unworthy of being her sister-in-law.

Growing up, wherever Sophia went, Emily was reduced to a shadow.

Sophia was the moon in the sky; Emily was the mud underfoot.

Even when everyone mocked Emily's bulbous nose and sausage lips, it was always ethereal Sophia who shielded her. But no matter how many surgeries Emily had, men still drooled over that bitch like dogs eyeing meat.

She hated it. Yet Sophia never humiliated her—always putting her first.

But now, Isabella was pregnant.

It was time for Sophia to step down as Mrs. Vanderbilt.

Lighting a cigarette without a care, Emily pushed open the hospital room door—only to find it empty.

The room was stripped bare. Only bloodstained gauze in the trash hinted that someone had once been here.

Emily's heart lurched violently, as if struck by an invisible hammer. She stood frozen, unable to process the scene.

Meanwhile, in the underground garage, a Pagani rocked rhythmically. A woman clung to a man's neck, shredded black stockings strewn beside them.

With a low groan, Ethan rolled off her, pulling Isabella into his arms for a lazy kiss.

"Already done? So fragile."

Isabella pouted. If not for the baby, she could've had him addicted to her for days.

But this child was her golden ticket—not just her godfather's ambition, but the future heir to the Vanderbilt empire!

In two days, she'd stand beneath the Ferris wheel, expose this rotten marriage, and replace Sophia for good.

How could she not be careful?

"Cat got your tongue? Still not satisfied?"

Sensing his renewed interest, she burrowed deeper into his arms.

"Hmph. I'm just the mistress. Who am I to complain?"

Ethan's expression darkened. He coolly picked up his clothes, his tone edged with warning.

"I've given you more than enough. Don't push your luck."

Seeing his anger, Isabella quickly switched to coaxing. Their antics lasted until the eve of the anniversary, when Ethan finally left her bed.

Ferris Manor was already filled with guests—family, friends, media, and business partners.

Every year, Emily fetched Sophia. With the leaked surprise this time, Ethan was especially eager.

But after over an hour, there was still no sign of her.

His calls went unanswered.

A sharp pain stabbed through his chest, as if an invisible blade twisted between his ribs.

Nothing could've gone wrong. Everything was under control.

Yet the dread in his heart only grew.

Just as sweat beaded on his forehead and he moved to leave, a pitch-black hearse rolled into view.

"Security!" he barked. "What the hell are they doing? Today's a celebration—get that thing out of here!"

The doors opened.

Dressed in black with a wreath of white flowers, Olivia Smith stepped out, holding an urn.

She walked straight toward him.