My husband bet I'd miscarry and made 1 billion
My gambling-addicted husband Roman Patel was so excited he nearly went insane, actually setting up betting pools across the entire city on the gender of the baby in my womb.
Later, I miscarried. Heavy bleeding, and we couldn't save the child.
But Roman was thrilled like a madman, rushing off to announce the "good news" first thing. He said since the baby was gone, the betting result would be "neither boy nor girl," and he won all the stakes.
With that huge sum, he bought the biggest hospital in the city.
Roman walked over to my hospital bed, his eyes bloodshot as he told me, "Valentina, this hospital is ours now." Valentina Brooks is my name.
He also said, "The doctors here will definitely get you pregnant again as fast as possible. Then I can set up another betting pool."
Thinking of our family's curse that "the first child must die," I smiled.
I said, "Alright, Roman. This time we should definitely bet big."
Roman's eyes were bloodshot—not from grief, but from the excitement of running betting operations for days on end.
He leaned down close to me, his heavy cologne mixed with the hospital's cold disinfectant smell making me nauseous.
Roman said, "Valentina, look, all of this is ours now."
He spread his arms wide, smugly surveying the various medical equipment filling the room.
He continued, "This equipment is all top-of-the-line globally. The specialists are also ones I hired from abroad at great expense."
Roman lowered his voice, his breath hitting my ear.
He said, "They have only one job—to restore your health as quickly as possible so you can give me another child."
Roman paused for a moment, reaching out to stroke my belly.
He said, "Valentina, let's go big this time. We'll bet on boy or girl, bet on twins or fraternal twins. How about it?"
Looking at his face twisted with excitement, I smiled obediently.
I said, "Okay, I'll listen to whatever you say."
My compliance clearly pleased Roman.
He reached out and pinched my cheek, his fingertips pressing hard, as if evaluating the quality of merchandise.
He said, "You're so good."
Just then, the hospital room door was suddenly pushed open. Roman's mother Layla Patel rushed in carrying a large thermos container.
Upon entering, she first glared at me, then ran over to Roman with a smile.
She said, "Roman, I made you soup. You've gotten so thin lately from developing your business."
Layla set the thermos down heavily on the bedside table, splashing a few drops of soup.
Roman didn't even look, waving his hand impatiently.
He said, "I've told you before, bring these things for Valentina. If her health isn't good, how can my plans proceed?"
The smile on Layla's face froze for a moment, then quickly returned.
She said, "My memory is so bad. Of course it's for Valentina."
Layla efficiently ladled out a bowl of medicinal soup and held it in front of me.
She said with a cold smile, "Valentina, drink this quickly. As long as you drink it, the next pregnancy will definitely give me a boy I'll love."
The medicinal soup was very dark, its fishy smell making me nauseous.
I didn't take it.
Layla's expression immediately darkened: "What? Do you still think you're the precious daughter of the Brooks family? If it weren't for you, would my grandson be gone? Now I'm asking you to drink a bowl of soup, and you're giving me attitude?"
Roman also frowned: "Valentina, my mom means well."
I looked up and smiled gently at them both.
I said, "Roman, Layla, it's not that I won't drink it. It's just that this hospital is ours now, so we should trust science, right? The doctor just instructed that my diet should be light and I can't drink random things. What if it conflicts with the doctor's treatment and delays your important business?"
Roman's expression softened somewhat. He nodded slightly and said to Layla, "Mom, Valentina's right."
He took the medicinal soup and continued, "Don't make these unscientific things anymore. I didn't spend big money buying this place to listen to quack remedies."
He walked to the window and poured that bowl of dark soup into the orchid plant Layla had brought earlier.
Layla's face looked terrible. She stared at me, her lips trembling, but couldn't say a word.
I lowered my head, hiding all my thoughts.
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 unhappy—it 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.
The banquet was held at Roman's newly purchased hotel. The lights were dazzling, and every type of liquor imaginable was available. The city's wealthy elite had gathered together, holding wine glasses as they clustered in small groups, excitedly discussing the upcoming gambling event.
I wore an evening gown as Roman led me by the hand through the crowd. I maintained a smile on my face while enduring the scrutinizing gazes from all around. A lady approached enviously: "Mrs. Patel, you're so lucky. Roman treats you so well."
I smiled without responding.
Layla wore an eye-catching red evening dress, weaving energetically among the guests. She boasted to everyone about Roman's capabilities and claimed I would surely continue the Patel family bloodline.
"I'm telling you all, Roman has brought in the world's top experts this time. I'm definitely going to have a grandson," Layla said smugly, making promises to several ladies.
Those ladies immediately became excited, gathering around her to quietly probe for inside information about the gambling event.
Not far away, several pot-bellied male guests surrounded Colton in his white coat. They weren't there to consult about medical issues, but to fish for "inside data" about my body.
"Colton, what are the odds of Mrs. Patel's physical condition producing a son?" one man asked.
Another man chimed in: "Yeah, give us a hint. That way we can prepare ourselves mentally."
Colton pushed up his glasses, pretending to refuse to reveal anything, though his eyes couldn't hide his smugness at being pursued by the crowd.
This banquet wasn't a celebration at all—it was a "showcase." Roman was displaying me to everyone as the "stakes" of his gambling game.
Roman led me to the center of the hall. The large screen behind him began playing a carefully crafted video—clips of him and me being "loving," set to deeply romantic background music. The video ended with a freeze-frame of my face from my first pregnancy, filled with blissful happiness.
Then the screen went black, and a line of text appeared: [Tragedy has passed, true love is eternal.]
Roman picked up the microphone, his voice breaking with emotion: "Thank you all for coming. Many of you know that not long ago, my beloved wife Valentina and I experienced a painful loss."
He raised his hand to wipe the corner of his eye and continued: "But love has made us choose to stand up again. To honor the child we lost and to welcome new life in the future, I've decided..."
Roman deliberately paused, scanning the entire venue, savoring the moment when everyone held their breath in anticipation. Then he raised his voice: "I've decided to open another gambling event!"
The crowd fell silent for a moment, then erupted in excited whistles and applause. The atmosphere instantly became electric.
Roman grew more excited as he spoke, his cheeks flushing: "This time the scale will be unprecedented. We'll bring in the most authoritative notarization team to supervise the entire process—absolutely fair, just, and transparent."
He excitedly pulled me into his embrace, planted a loud kiss on my cheek, then announced loudly: "And after paying out the winnings, I'll donate all remaining proceeds to establish a charitable foundation to help other families who have similarly lost children."
The atmosphere reached its peak, with thunderous applause. Everyone was cheering for Roman's "devotion" and "benevolence."
I stood beside him, coldly watching the surrounding commotion and cheers. Just as the atmosphere reached its most fervent point, I suddenly felt dizzy, my body went weak, and I instinctively pressed my hand to my forehead.
"Roman, I feel a bit dizzy."
The smile on Roman's face instantly froze. He quickly supported me, his urgency seeming genuine: "What's wrong? Where don't you feel well? Doctor! Colton!"
The banquet was interrupted because of this.
I was helped into the lounge. Colton frowned throughout his examination, not saying a word. Roman and Layla paced back and forth nearby, creating a suffocating tension. Finally, Roman couldn't take it anymore and burst out: "What's wrong with her? Say something!"
Colton looked up, his expression complex as he studied us. Taking a deep breath, he slowly announced: "Mr. Patel, based on my preliminary examination, Mrs. Patel appears to be pregnant again."
The entire lounge fell silent. Roman's face shifted from surprise to pure joy, then that joy transformed into something greedy. His eyes gleamed with eager anticipation: "She's pregnant?"
Roman's voice cracked, dry and hoarse. Colton nodded: "Very likely. But for a definitive diagnosis, she'll need to return to the hospital tomorrow for detailed tests."
Roman suddenly burst into laughter. He swept me up in his arms, spinning me around forcefully. He held me so tight it hurt my bones. Laughing, Roman said: "Did you hear that, Valentina? You're pregnant again! My betting game can finally begin in earnest."
Layla snapped to attention and rushed over. Her hand hovered above my belly, wanting to touch but not daring to: "Wonderful! The Patel family will have an heir! This time you must be careful—we can't have another accident."
The two of them—one only cared about money, the other only about offspring. Roman set me down and cupped my face, kissing me hard: "Valentina, you truly are my lucky charm."
With that, Roman pulled me along as we returned to the banquet hall with high spirits. He grabbed the microphone from the emcee, his voice trembling with excitement: "Everyone! Great news!"
All eyes focused on him. Roman continued: "Valentina is pregnant again!"
The crowd fell silent for a moment, then erupted in cheers and whistles. The timing was almost too perfect—like a staged performance. The "stakes" were in place before the betting had even begun. Roman raised his arms high, looking down at the crowd below: "Therefore, I declare the betting officially open!"
He swung his hand down forcefully, and the large screen behind him immediately displayed various betting options and odds, numbers scrolling rapidly. Roman raised his voice again, with cruel amusement: "This time, we're betting on boy or girl, and whether it's twins or a boy-girl pair."
He paused, savoring the moment as the entire room waited in silence. Then he added: "To make this game more meaningful, and to commemorate this 'gift of life,' I've decided to place the final bet on—whether my child can survive safely for one month."
I gently caressed my belly and gave him an approving smile: "The game has finally begun. Roman, you'd better place a big bet this time."
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