My Mil Called Me A “fruitless Tree” And Forced A Divorce. My Ceo Husband Handed Me $5m And Kicked Me Out In The Rain. Little Do They Know, I’m Carrying His Twins. Should I Disappear Forever?

The Siege

I thought that after slamming the door in James’ face, after speaking those knife-sharp words, he would retreat out of wounded pride. But I was wrong. The arrogance of a man accustomed to being in control wouldn’t let him accept defeat.

James did not give up. He began a campaign of harassment so persistent and twisted that I felt suffocated in my own home. That night I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, the image of James’s bloodshot gaze appeared. I drew the curtains and looked down at the street. His luxurious black car was still parked there.

The lights were off, but I knew he was inside. The car looked like a predator on the prowl, waiting patiently outside its prey’s den, exuding an invisible pressure that made me shudder.

The next morning when I opened the window for some fresh air, my eyes met the same car. James got out. His suit from yesterday was wrinkled. A stubble shadowed his jaw. He looked exhausted. Seeing me look down, he looked up. Our gazes met in the silence. He said nothing, just stood there, stubbornness etched on every feature of his face.

The following days were mental torture. If I went for an ultrasound, his car would follow me silently. If I went down to the building’s grocery store, his bodyguards would block the aisles, doing nothing, just watching me as if I were a prisoner. The freedom I had just begun to taste was now being choked by my ex-husband’s irrational control.

On the fifth day, I couldn’t take it anymore. I put on a light jacket, went down to the lobby, and walked straight to the poorly parked car in the visitors area. I knocked sharply on the window.

James rolled it down. The air conditioning and the strong smell of tobacco made me wrinkle my nose. He looked at me; his voice was hoarse from lack of sleep. “You finally decided to come down and see me? Come home, Eleanor. Mom is waiting for you.”

I looked at the man who was once my entire world. Now he seemed so strange and detestable. I suppressed my anger and pronounced each word clearly. “James, do you realize what you’re doing? We’re divorced. You are harassing my private life. You are the CEO of a major corporation; why are you behaving like a pervert stalking women?”

James opened the door and got out of the car. He reached out to grab my shoulder, but I stepped back. He withdrew his hand, clenched it into a fist, and growled, “I’m not harassing you. I’m protecting my children. You’re carrying the Sinclair bloodline around. Do you think I can just sit calmly in the mansion and enjoy myself? Stop being so stubborn. At home, you have doctors and staff to take care of you. Isn’t that better than this cold apartment?”

I laughed bitterly. The wind tousled my hair. I looked him in the eye and replied, “Better? To go back so your mother can criticize every bite I eat? To go back to watch you and your lover act out your romance? You say you’re protecting your children, but in reality, you’re only satisfying your own possessive instinct. You don’t love me or these unborn children. You’re just afraid people will gossip that James Sinclair’s ex-wife took his children.”

James stared at me. Perhaps he didn’t expect me to see through his dark heart, something he himself was trying to ignore. He stepped closer, his tall figure casting a shadow over me. “Think what you want, but I’m warning you. Either you come back with me willingly or I’ll take you back by force. Don’t test my patience.”

I flinched at his threat. I knew he wasn’t joking. He had money, power, and most importantly, he was desperate at the news of having two heirs. I turned and walked away, leaving behind a cold sentence: “Try it if you want. I’m not the naive Eleanor I used to be. If you push me too far, I’ll make sure the whole world knows the true face of your family.”

James’s threat was not in vain. The next day, he began to act. In the morning, while I was eating oatmeal, I heard a loud noise in the hallway. I looked through the peephole and saw my neighbors from the two adjacent apartments moving out. I asked around and learned that an anonymous tycoon had paid double the market price to buy all the apartments on my floor, demanding immediate possession.

I froze. The silver spoon trembled in my hand. I didn’t need to guess who that tycoon was. James was turning my floor into a gilded prison. He wanted to isolate me so that when I opened my eyes I would see his people, and when I closed them I would feel his control. This act of using money to oppress others enraged and disgusted me.

But he didn’t stop there. In the afternoon when I went to the private hospital for my checkup, I saw a small truck parked at the entrance. Workers were unloading boxes and boxes of supplements—bird’s nests, shark fins, ginseng—piling them up at the reception. The head nurse saw me and rushed over with an expression of admiration and confusion. She said, “Miss Eleanor, your husband… your ex-husband sent these. He also donated a state-of-the-art ultrasound machine to the maternity department on the sole condition that we provide you with special care.”

I looked at the mountain of gifts and felt as if I were looking at a pile of chains. James was using money to buy everyone around me, from my neighbors to my doctors, turning them into his eyes and ears, tools to control me. He wanted to show me that no matter where I went, the power of the Sinclair money would envelop my children and me.

I approached the head nurse, my voice was icy. “Please return everything. Or if you can’t, donate it to charity. I won’t use it and I don’t need any special treatment. I pay for my medical services. I need privacy, not this ostentatious handout.”

With that, I walked to the doctor’s office, leaving the murmurs behind in the waiting room. I sent a message to James: “Do you think money gives you the right to do whatever you want? You can buy houses and doctors, but you can’t buy my respect.”

As soon as I sent it, James called. I didn’t answer. I let it ring until it stopped. I knew he was trying to corner me, to make me feel suffocated and helpless so that I would go back. But he was wrong. The more he pushed me, the stronger I became.

That afternoon returning home, the hallway was eerily silent. The two neighboring apartments had their doors closed with new locks. I felt like a bird in a golden cage. I went inside, locked the door, and sank onto the sofa, hugging my belly. Tears of self-pity streamed down my face. Why was it so hard to live in peace and raise my children? Why wouldn’t this man leave me alone?

At that moment the doorbell rang. I jumped and looked stealthily. It wasn’t James or his assistant, but a delivery man with a stunning bouquet of red roses. Next to it, a card with James’s familiar handwriting: “Come home Eleanor. Don’t be stubborn. The children and you need me and I have enough money to give you the best life in the world.”

I crumpled the card in my hand. The best life in the world? A life without love, only possession and money to solve problems? That was hell, not paradise. I threw the bouquet in the trash. The red petals fell like drops of blood, foreshadowing the tragedies that were to come, which I could not foresee.

The Smear Campaign

James, engrossed in his battle to win back his wife and children, had forgotten that in his luxurious mansion there was a woman plotting day and night. Sophia, the woman he had once treasured like a jewel, was now treated with coldness, abandoned like an old-fashioned ornament.

She saw James leave early and come back late. She saw him secretly looking at my ultrasound pictures. She saw the huge bills for buying apartments and the gifts sent to my home. The jealousy of a selfish woman erupted like a wildfire, consuming what little judgment she had left.

Sophia understood that if I returned, if my two children were born and recognized by the Sinclair family, she would lose everything. Her dream of being the lady of the mansion, the CEO’s wife, would vanish. She couldn’t accept it. She had invested so much effort, acted out so many innocent plays for James to get a divorce. How could she let me turn the table so easily?

“If I can’t have him, I’ll destroy him,” Sophia muttered to herself in front of the mirror. Her made-up eyes shone with a malicious light.

She picked up the phone and called a professional paparazzi she knew from the entertainment world. She hatched a cruel plan to destroy my reputation, to turn me from a victim into the culprit in the eyes of the public.

The next day, an article with a sensational headline went viral on social media: SCANDAL: Tycoon Sinclair’s ex-wife uses twin pregnancy to extort him, leaves him for another yet demands a $5 million payout.

Alongside the article were high-quality secretly taken photos showing James and me arguing in front of my apartment. The angle of the photos was cleverly manipulated; James looked desperate and pleading while I appeared with my arms crossed, a cold expression and a dismissive attitude. Another photo showed me getting out of a luxury taxi holding a designer bag that I had actually bought myself, next to a burly bodyguard.

The article was written with a scathing tone, pretending to be from an eyewitness: “Poor Jay Sinclair loved his wife so much he didn’t even leave her when she couldn’t have children. And now as soon as she gets pregnant by another man she asks for a divorce, takes 5 million and leaves to support her lover. Now that he’s going to her to plead for his children, she kicks him out like a dog. What a black heart that woman has.”

In a few hours, the article was shared at a dizzying speed. Gossip groups and tabloid websites replicated it. The public, always eager for high society drama, pounced on me. They didn’t know the truth; they only saw what was presented to them.

I was drinking orange juice when my phone started vibrating non-stop. Facebook messages, WhatsApp, even texts from unknown numbers flooded in: “Slut.” “Give him back his children.” “How can such a cruel mother exist?” “Aren’t you afraid of karma for those $5 million?”

The malicious words danced before my eyes, making me dizzy. I tremblingly opened the original article. Thousands of hateful comments mercilessly insulting me, some even tagged my friends and family to humiliate me.

Sophia, the architect of this drama, must have been enjoying herself at home, savoring a glass of wine and laughing at my pain. She had hit my weakest point: my honor and my peace. She wanted to use the internet mob to corner me, to force me to have an abortion or go crazy from the pressure.

I dropped the phone on the sofa and clutched my head. Fear took over me. Not fear of the insults, but fear that the crowd’s fury would harm my children. I never imagined a woman’s heart could be so venomous.

The social media storm wasn’t limited to insults on a screen. It began to spill over into the real world, directly threatening my safety and that of my children.

A few hours after the article was published, my building’s address and even my apartment number were leaked in the comments. That afternoon, I heard a commotion in the lobby. Through the window, I saw a group of strangers, including some aggressive-looking women, doing a live stream, pointing at my floor and shouting slogans to boycott “the other woman” and demand justice for the tycoon. The security staff had to struggle to prevent them from getting on the elevator.

I huddled in a corner of the room with the lights off and the curtains drawn, not daring to make a sound. My heart pounded as if it would burst out of my chest. Anxiety overwhelmed me. I was afraid they would find a way to come up. I was afraid they would throw dirty things at my door. I was afraid they would hurt me.

My stomach began to ache, a dull constant pain. Small contractions sent me into a panic. I hastily searched for the medication the doctor had prescribed. My hands trembled so much that I spilled water on the floor.

At that moment my phone rang again. It was James. I hesitated for a moment and then answered. My voice broke with fear and anger. “Are you happy now? Are you and your lover satisfied? You want to kill me and my children with the world’s gossip, don’t you?”

On the other end of the line, James’s voice sounded urgent and worried. “Eleanor, calm down and listen to me. I didn’t do this, I swear. I just found out. My communications team is already working on it, requesting the article be taken down. Don’t read the comments. Don’t go out. I’m on my way now.”

“Don’t come!” I screamed, tears streamed down. “Your presence will only make things worse. They’ll take pictures of us together and say I’m seducing you again. James, you have money, you have power, you can buy the whole world, but you can’t protect your own family from the evil of the woman you once loved. You’re useless!”

I hung up, threw the phone aside. The stomach pain intensified. I lay on my side hugging my abdomen, whispering to my children, “I’m sorry, so sorry Mommy couldn’t protect your peace.”

Outside the sky darkened, heralding rain, just like the day I was kicked out of my in-laws’ house. The difference was that this time I was not only alone but also besieged by the cruelty of the world.

James said he was fixing it, but I knew that once information goes viral, even if the original is deleted, thousands of copies still exist. This stain on my honor would follow me, haunt me. And the most bitter part of it all was realizing that no matter how much James tried to make up for it, it was his past weakness and blindness that indirectly gave Sophia the knife to stab me today.

The doorbell rang again, insistent and violent. It wasn’t the polite ring of a visitor but sharp pounds on the door. I held my breath and looked at the screen. It wasn’t James or the security staff. It was an unknown woman, her face covered by a mask, holding a bucket of dark red liquid. She looked directly at the camera, her eyes shone with fury.

I shuddered and backed away. Had they managed to get up? Not even the security of a luxury building could stop the anger of these internet vigilantes. The violent pounding on the door and the furious gaze of the unknown woman through the camera snapped me to my senses. The initial fear gave way to a mother’s survival instinct. I understood that if I continued to cower within these four walls, waiting for the compassion or protection of a weak man like James, my children and I would be crushed.