Her Toyboy Heir My Ruthless Ruin Chapter 1

The man my wife was sponsoring—a scholarship student with a gym-sculpted physique and an air of unearned confidence—showed up at my front door with a request for a divorce.

"Mr. Matthew, I’m the only one who can give Madeline what she actually needs," Dante said, his voice smooth and devoid of shame. "Please, just let her go."

My hands shook as I flipped through the photos he shoved at me. They were graphic, taken in the backseat of a car and on the rumpled sheets of a high-end hotel. The contrast of their bodies, locked in a feverish, desperate tangle, told a story of a passion I hadn’t seen from her in years.

Dante stepped past the threshold, his eyes sweeping over the candlelit table I had spent all afternoon preparing for our anniversary. He looked at the vintage wine and the silk runner with a smirk.

"I’m grateful for the tuition money you two provided," he said, sounding like he was reciting a script. "But true love shouldn't be a casualty of financial debt. I hope you won't use 'gratitude' to kidnap the connection Madeline and I share."

He checked his watch, a designer piece that I had likely paid for. "Oh, and today marks our four-hundredth day together. She booked a suite at the Pierre to celebrate. Don't bother waiting up."

With a final, arrogant nod, Dante turned and walked away.

My phone chimed almost instantly. It was a text, followed by a call. When I answered, Madeline’s voice was like a shard of ice.

* * *

"Lucas, a major client just flew in. I’m going to be tied up at the office all night. Don't wait for me—get some sleep."

She hung up before I could utter a single word.

I sat down at the table, my movements mechanical. I uncorked the wine and began to drink, one glass after another, staring at the cake. Happy 10th Anniversary, the gold lettering mocked me. I took a bite, the sweetness cloying and thick, mixing with the salt of the tears that finally began to track down my face.

So, this was what ten years of marriage tasted like. Bitter and hollow.

I looked down at the paper Dante had left behind. A lab report. Madeline was two weeks pregnant.

I instinctively reached down, my fingers grazing the jagged, uneven scar across my lower abdomen. That area was a wasteland now—barren, scarred, and incapable of ever producing life.

By the time Madeline returned the next morning, I was a wreck, slumped against the side of the sofa, my eyes bloodshot and glazed from the wine.

She looked down at me with a flicker of guilt, reaching out to help me up. As she leaned in, a scent hit me—a metallic, musky smell that made my stomach lurch. I couldn't stop myself. I heaved, vomiting right onto her expensive silk blouse.

Madeline didn't even flinch at the mess. She stayed focused on me, patting my back and bringing a warm towel to wipe my face, her touch as gentle as it had been a decade ago.

Back then, when the Mercer Group was on the brink of bankruptcy, I had defied my father and used my entire inheritance to bail her out, essentially buying my way into her family as a "trophy husband" to save her legacy. On our wedding night, I had been so overwhelmed and drunk that I’d vomited on her then, too. She had wiped my face just like this, whispering that she would spend the rest of her life proving I hadn’t made a mistake in choosing her.

With a trembling hand, I pulled the lab report from my pocket and shoved it toward her. "Madeline... tell me this is a joke. Tell me Dante is lying."

She went still. Her brow furrowed, and a heavy silence filled the room. Finally, she spoke, the words coming out strained. "Lucas, I’m sorry. I told him not to tell you. I didn't want you to be hurt."

"Hurt?" I choked out.

"I won't let him see you again," she promised, her voice gaining strength. "I'll make sure he stays out of our private life."

I looked up at her, searching for the woman I loved. "Then get an abortion. And send him back to the States immediately. Please."

Madeline’s body stiffened. The warmth left her eyes, replaced by a cold, calculating light. "Lucas, I can't do that."

She let go of my arms and stood up, looking down at me from a distance. "The Mercer Group is a billion-dollar empire. It needs an heir. Your health... you know the situation. You can't give me that."

"And whose fault is my health?" I whispered.

"You said you were happy with just me! You said we didn't need kids!"

Years ago, during the chaos of the bankruptcy, a group of disgruntled contractors had trapped Madeline in a warehouse. I had gone in at night to get her out. In the scuffle, a man had lunged at her with a knife. I stepped in front of her. The blade tore through my abdomen, shredding my pancreas and ending any chance of me ever fathering a child.

That day, Madeline had knelt by my hospital bed, sobbing, swearing that she would love me forever, that we were enough for each other. I had even crawled to my father’s feet, begging for the funds to save her company, resulting in a rift that hadn't healed for years. My father had refused to even attend the wedding.

Madeline saw the devastation on my face and knelt back down, pulling me into a tight embrace. "Lucas, I’m sorry, but this was a necessity. We’ve been together twenty years. We grew up together. I know how much you’ve done for me. Please, just try to understand."

She stroked my hair. "I don't love Dante. It’s just... a functional requirement. A biological legacy. You are the only person I will ever truly love."

I stared at her, horrified. When had she become this monstrous? Since when did love get partitioned into "emotional" and "biological"?

If that was the case, what made us any different from animals?