Chapter 1

The day I found out I was pregnant with octuplets, I was staring at my dismal bank balance, wondering how on earth I was going to feed eight babies.

Then my husband’s divorce papers and a check arrived.

[Take this $10 million, sign the papers, and never show your face to me again.]

I froze. Then I laughed.

"This is exactly the baby fund I needed."

I signed the documents without a second thought, packed my bags, and left New York without looking back.

Months later, a rumor tore through high society:

The notoriously ruthless CEO of Sterling Holdings was tearing the country apart, desperately searching for the wife who had taken his fortune and vanished with his eight unborn children.

Sitting in the examination room, my nerves were frayed. I just prayed I wasn't seriously ill.

The obstetrician finished reviewing the scans and sat down across from me.

"Ms. Bennett, it’s not what you’re worried about." She paused. "You're pregnant. With octuplets. Eight gestational sacs, all developing steadily."

The news hit me like a freight train.

I sat paralyzed, my hand dropping to my flat stomach.

Eight tiny lives.

Multiples ran in my family—Mom had twins, my aunt had triplets—but nobody skips straight to eight.

The clinic was warm, but a cold dread washed over me.

Ethan and I had been married for three years. We lived under the same roof, but we were strangers coexisting with polite distance.

He was the ruthless CEO of Sterling Holdings. I was just a woman from a working-class background.

Three years ago, at a charity gala, a drunk Ethan walked into the wrong hotel room. We spent the night together, and someone leaked the photos. To kill the scandal and save the company's stock, we signed a marriage arrangement.

But for three years, he remained distant.

The Sterling family never respected me. Behind my back, they called me a gold-digger. A nobody from Queens, entirely unworthy of the title of Mrs. Sterling.

Then came this year’s gala. Ethan got drunk again.

It was the only time we’d crossed the line since the wedding.

I never expected to get pregnant, let alone with eight babies.

Would Ethan even want them? He could barely be bothered to look at me. His grandmother, Eleanor Sterling, would rather die than acknowledge children born to me.

Formula, diapers, nannies, housing, education... the expenses would be astronomical. My parents ran a modest diner. How was I supposed to raise them?

My chest tightened until I could barely breathe.

I had barely returned to the Sterling estate in Greenwich, still processing the shock, when Ethan’s personal assistant, Noah Reed, handed me a folder.

Inside were divorce papers, a marital settlement agreement, and a wire transfer confirmation.

My phone buzzed with a text:

[Take the $10 million and sign the divorce papers. Never show your face to me again.]

Staring at the screen, I felt a strange sense of finality. Ethan was finally discarding me.

Then, a laugh bubbled up in my throat.

"This is exactly the lifeline I needed."

Ten million dollars.

Forget just feeding eight babies—this was enough to ensure they lived comfortably and got the best education.

Did I still care about being Mrs. Sterling?

Did I care if Ethan loved me?

Did I give a damn what Eleanor thought?

With this money, I had everything I needed to protect my children. I could take them far away, live the life I actually wanted, and never swallow another insult again.

This marriage was a gilded cage. I wanted out.

Right then and there, I demanded Noah hand over the documents.

I flipped to the signature line.

Ava Bennett.

My signature was sharp and decisive. Not a single tremor.

Back in my room, I packed only my personal belongings.

I had lived simply these past three years. The jewelry, the designer clothes, the custom gowns the Sterlings had purchased—I didn't touch a single one. I left them hanging in the walk-in closet.

If it wasn't mine, I didn't want it.

I tucked the transfer confirmation and my copies of the documents into my bag, rolled my suitcase out of the estate, and didn't look back.

As of today, Mrs. Sterling was dead.

There was only Ava Bennett, and the eight babies waiting to meet the world.

Chapter 1

The day I found out I was pregnant with octuplets, I was staring at my dismal bank balance, wondering how on earth I was going to feed eight babies.

Then my husband’s divorce papers and a check arrived.

[Take this $10 million, sign the papers, and never show your face to me again.]

I froze. Then I laughed.

"This is exactly the baby fund I needed."

I signed the documents without a second thought, packed my bags, and left New York without looking back.

Months later, a rumor tore through high society:

The notoriously ruthless CEO of Sterling Holdings was tearing the country apart, desperately searching for the wife who had taken his fortune and vanished with his eight unborn children.

Sitting in the examination room, my nerves were frayed. I just prayed I wasn't seriously ill.

The obstetrician finished reviewing the scans and sat down across from me.

"Ms. Bennett, it’s not what you’re worried about." She paused. "You're pregnant. With octuplets. Eight gestational sacs, all developing steadily."

The news hit me like a freight train.

I sat paralyzed, my hand dropping to my flat stomach.

Eight tiny lives.

Multiples ran in my family—Mom had twins, my aunt had triplets—but nobody skips straight to eight.

The clinic was warm, but a cold dread washed over me.

Ethan and I had been married for three years. We lived under the same roof, but we were strangers coexisting with polite distance.

He was the ruthless CEO of Sterling Holdings. I was just a woman from a working-class background.

But for three years, he remained distant.

The Sterling family never respected me. Behind my back, they called me a gold-digger. A nobody from Queens, entirely unworthy of the title of Mrs. Sterling.

Then came this year’s gala. Ethan got drunk again.

It was the only time we’d crossed the line since the wedding.

I never expected to get pregnant, let alone with eight babies.

Would Ethan even want them? He could barely be bothered to look at me. His grandmother, Eleanor Sterling, would rather die than acknowledge children born to me.

Formula, diapers, nannies, housing, education... the expenses would be astronomical. My parents ran a modest diner. How was I supposed to raise them?

My chest tightened until I could barely breathe.

I had barely returned to the Sterling estate in Greenwich, still processing the shock, when Ethan’s personal assistant, Noah Reed, handed me a folder.

Inside were divorce papers, a marital settlement agreement, and a wire transfer confirmation.

My phone buzzed with a text:

[Take the $10 million and sign the divorce papers. Never show your face to me again.]

Staring at the screen, I felt a strange sense of finality. Ethan was finally discarding me.

Then, a laugh bubbled up in my throat.

"This is exactly the lifeline I needed."

Ten million dollars.

Forget just feeding eight babies—this was enough to ensure they lived comfortably and got the best education.

Did I still care about being Mrs. Sterling?

Did I care if Ethan loved me?

Did I give a damn what Eleanor thought?

With this money, I had everything I needed to protect my children. I could take them far away, live the life I actually wanted, and never swallow another insult again.

This marriage was a gilded cage. I wanted out.

Right then and there, I demanded Noah hand over the documents.

I flipped to the signature line.

Ava Bennett.

My signature was sharp and decisive. Not a single tremor.

Back in my room, I packed only my personal belongings.

I had lived simply these past three years. The jewelry, the designer clothes, the custom gowns the Sterlings had purchased—I didn't touch a single one. I left them hanging in the walk-in closet.

If it wasn't mine, I didn't want it.

I tucked the transfer confirmation and my copies of the documents into my bag, rolled my suitcase out of the estate, and didn't look back.

As of today, Mrs. Sterling was dead.

There was only Ava Bennett, and the eight babies waiting to meet the world.