My name is Lisa Markle, and I had just turned eighteen when I packed my bags and left my poor hometown to a big city, chasing the dream of a better life.

My father died young, and my mother worked tirelessly, selling sweet soup from a street cart to raise my two sisters and me. I didn’t want her to struggle any longer, so I decided to move to the city and work as a dishwasher in a small noodle shop.

The work was exhausting — every day I was buried in greasy dishes and soapy water — but I gritted my teeth and endured it. “Just hold on for a few years,” I told myself. “Save enough money, open a small tailoring shop, and bring Mom here so she can finally rest.”

Six months passed, and I gradually got used to city life. One day, he appeared. His name was Michael Cadell, about thirty-eight years old, always coming to the shop every Saturday morning.

He would order a dish of breakfast combo, eat slowly, and carry himself with elegance. Tall, well-dressed in tailored suits, with a shiny luxury watch on his wrist, he looked every bit the wealthy businessman people whispered he was — a real estate mogul who owned dozens of apartments across the city.

Every time he came in, his eyes lingered on me, and his half-smile carried a mysterious air.

One evening, as I was wiping tables at the end of my shift, Michael unexpectedly stayed behind and asked to talk to me. He got straight to the point.

“Lisa,” he said calmly, “you’re young and beautiful, but life isn’t kind to people like you. I have a proposal — have a son for me. I’ll give you three billion dong. That’s enough for you to start a new life. A house, a car — whatever you want.”

His words sounded like sweet poison dripping into my ears. Three billion dollars— with that money, I could pay off Mom’s debts, open my tailoring shop, and send my little sister to college. I hesitated, but his cold, commanding gaze made me feel trapped.

“Alright… I’ll do it,” I whispered, my heart pounding.

Michael quickly rented a luxury apartment for me in center of city. Overnight, my life transformed — from a cramped, stuffy room to a world of leather sofas and air conditioning.

He gave me money, fine clothes, and comfort. But in return, I had to “be there” for him whenever he wanted. At night, as I lay beside him, silent tears slid down my face. “Just give birth to the baby,” I told myself, “and everything will be fine.”

Nine months later, I became pregnant. Michael seemed pleased and began treating me more gently. But soon, I noticed strange things. He often disappeared for days, his phone always off. Once, I overheard him on a tense phone call:

“She must never know. Do you understand? Never!”

I wanted to ask, but fear kept me quiet.

When my water broke, the pain was unbearable. In desperation, I called his name over and over. He finally rushed me to an expensive private hospital, held my hand, and whispered, “Once you have the baby, you’ll have everything.”

But when I woke up after the C-section, my healthy baby boy lay beside me — and Michael was gone.

No message. No trace. His phone was disconnected, and when I returned to the apartment, it was empty — all his belongings vanished.

I panicked, clutching my newborn and crying until my body shook. Then a sCadellge woman appeared at the hospital — elegant, cold-eyed.

“I’m Michael’s wife,” she said icily. “Did you really think he loved you? That baby was only meant to save my son. He needed a bone marrow Cadellsplant. You were just a tool.”

The truth hit me like lightning. Michael had planned everything. His older son had leukemia and needed a biological sibling for a Cadellsplant.

The money, the promises — all lies. I wasn’t the first, but the third woman he had deceived this way.

My baby — my flesh and blood — was taken away, and I was thrown out of the apartment with nothing.

I returned to my village, broken and humiliated. My mother could only hold me and cry. I tried to rebuild my life, but every night, memories of Michael and the child they stole from me haunted my dreams.

A year later, I saw him again — on TV. He was laughing beside his elegant wife in a real estate documentary. And there, playing next to them, was my son. My baby. He looked happy — they all did. They lived a perfect life, while I had been erased like a stain from his past.

Standing in front of the mirror, staring at my worn-out face, I whispered to myself: Will I ever find justice? Or will I spend the rest of my life as the victim of a three-billion-dong promise?