Revenge of A Live-In Husband

My name is Andy Gabriel. At the age of twenty-three, I became a contracted son-in-law of the Scott family. No one knew why I consented to such a preposterous marriage; even I felt it was like a dream. The eldest daughter of the Scott family, Quincy Scott, suffered a car accident three years ago. After a severe head injury, she fell into a coma; the doctors predicted she would not survive beyond three years. Old Mr. Scott resolved to find a man who could bring his wife prosperity. When the intermediary presented my birth details to the Scott family, Old Mr. Scott immediately singled me out, claiming I could ward off disaster and prolong Quincy's life. There was no ceremony on the day of the engagement, only a cold contract stating, "Within three years, if Quincy Scott should unfortunately pass away, Andy Gabriel must cooperate with the Scott family to produce an heir, upon which a compensation of five hundred thousand will be granted." "If he regrets it midway, he must leave empty-handed and compensate the Scott family one million for reputational damages." I signed the contract and from that moment lived in the most secluded servant's room of the Scott family villa. No one in the Scott family regarded me with any importance; even the housekeeper, Nanny Clark, spoke with a trace of contempt. "Andy, have you made Old Mr. Scott's tea? The water temperature must be precisely eighty degrees—never a degree more or less." "Andy Gabriel, it is time for Old Mrs. Scott's massage. Use a gentle touch; her bones are fragile." "Andy Gabriel, the second young lady's pet dog needs to be walked. Remember to take the decided path and keep it from getting muddy." For three years, I have lived like a spinning top, busy from dawn until late at night, handling all the trivial chores of the Scott family. Quincy Scott lies in a luxurious ward on the third floor, cared for daily by professional nurses. I may only see her once a week during the 'conception arrangement.' She lies in bed, her complexion pale as paper, long eyelashes drooping like those of a fragile porcelain doll. I have never harbored any improper desires toward her; I have always regarded this as a job, a livelihood earned with dignity. I knew the Scott family kept me only as a reproductive tool, a "living seed" to carry on their bloodline. For three years, I neither complained nor resisted, silently enduring the Scott family's cold treatment and the pointed fingers of others. I believed life would continue like this until Quincy Scott's life came to an end; I would receive that five hundred thousand and sever all ties with the Scott family. But fate was determined to play a cruel joke on me. In the deep autumn of the third year, I was pruning the roses in the courtyard when suddenly I heard a commotion upstairs. Nanny Clark rushed down in a panic, her voice trembling with disbelief: "She's awake! The young lady is awake!" My hand froze, and the scissors fell to the ground with a clatter. Quincy Scott is awake? That woman whom the doctors had sentenced to death... she is actually awake? I did not know whether to feel joy or sorrow; my heart felt as though gripped by an invisible hand, struggling for breath. I followed the members of the Scott family rushing to the third-floor ward and saw Quincy sitting on the bed, her gaze clear, looking around in confusion. Her gaze swept over the crowd, finally resting on me. In that look, there was not a trace of warmth—only pure disdain and rejection. "Who are you?" She spoke, her voice hoarse yet carrying an air of haughty condescension. Old Mr. Scott hurried forward. "Quincy, this is Andy Gabriel, your husband." "Husband?" Quincy Scott seemed to have heard a joke, a mocking curl playing at the corner of her mouth. "How could I marry such an ordinary man?" My face flushed instantly; my fingers clenched tightly, nails digging into my palms. Ordinary? Indeed, in the Scott family's eyes, I have always been an ordinary son-in-law by contract. In the days that followed, Quincy Scott's attitude grew increasingly hostile. She forbade me from appearing before her, forbade me from touching her belongings, and even forbade the family from mentioning my name. "Andy Gabriel, stay far away from me; just seeing you makes me sick." "Who told you to use this cup to drink? It is mine—how dare you?" "Nanny Clark, throw away everything he has used; don't soil my place." I silently endured it all, with only one thought in my heart: that when her health improved, I would ask for a divorce and leave empty-handed.