Chapter 191

Sarah's POV

I hunched over my desk, straining to draw illustrations on my computer.

when a wave of dizziness hit me from standing in the same position for too long.

My pregnant belly made my back and waist ache unbearably, making me feel like an awkward, heavy sphere with limited mobility. I shifted irritably,trying to find a comfortable position, but ultimately gave up and threw my stylus onto the desk with a sharp "thwack."

"Damn it!" I cursed under my breath, massaging my sore lower back.Pregnancy was truly torturous-not only was my body constantly uncomfortable. but my emotions had become hypersensitive and prone to outbursts. I frequently exploded over minor issues, then berated myself for losing control.

Leaning back in my chair, I couldn't help wondering: why was I working so hard? With my looks and charm. I could easily find a wealthy man to depend on and live a comfortable life if I wanted to-just as I had once planned with Philip or some other rich man.

Just as this thought crossed my mind, my phone's shrill ring interrupted my contemplation. Glancing at the caller ID with a frown, I saw it was my editor from the publishing house. I took a deep breath to compose myself,forcing my voice into a professional tone as I answered.

"Sarah, we discussed your children's book at the publishing house meeting.

" the voice on the other end said. "We've decided on an initialprint run of 500.000 copies. By the way, how many digital copies have you sold through your personal website?"

At that moment, a strange feeling rose in my chest. I stroked my swollen belly,suddenly realizing the significance of my hard work-even if every man in my life abandoned me someday. I would still be able to support myself. This sense of security was something no man could ever provide.

My fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up my sales data page. With a hint of pride. I answered, "Over 350,000 copies."

"Are you sure that number is accurate?" The editor's tone carried obvious skepticism, as if I were exaggerating.

This doubt made my face instantly flush with heat, a vein in my forehead subtly pulsing. I clenched my jaw, fighting the urge to explode, and opted for an icy response instead: "Of course I'm sure. If you don't believe me,you can verify it yourself."

Silence fell on the other end of the line, and I could hear keyboard clicks.My fingers impatiently tapped on the desk surface as I waited for a response.

"That's indeed correct, and the numbers are still growing," the editor replied,surprisè evident in his voice.

I couldn't help but smile, a wave of accomplishment washing over me. "Is there a problem?" I asked, knowing full well there wasn't, savoring the surprise in his words.

"No problem at all," the editor replied casually. "Once we get final approval,we'll begin printing, After all 500,000 copies are sold, we'll consider additional print runs." They were underestimating me! 500,000 copies? Hat I could sell that in two weeks. These people always underestimated me, but now I'd proven them wrong with cold, hard numbers. It felt exhilarating!

"Considering you've covered most of the promotional costs, the company is willing to offer you a 20% profit share," the editor continued.

Twenty percent. My heart skipped a beat. This figure immediately formed a contrast with another number: 15%. That was Annie Baker's share.This meant that for the same number of publications, I would earn 5% more than her. A complex sense of superiority spread through me-regardless of other aspects of life, at least in this domain, I was doing better than her.

"Fine." I replied. gripping the phone so tightly my knuckles turned white,"that works for me."

After ending the call, I practically collapsed onto the sofa, trembling with excitement as a wave of dizziness swept over me. I began rapidly calculating my income on paper. Unlike Annie, I owned all rights to my work and managed aIl details myself. This meant that, if I wanted, I could invest in marketing once and boost sales of both the book and related merchandise.

Each number I wrote down accelerated my heartbeat. Without realizing it,I seemed to have found a path that truly suited me. My fingers tapped on the calculator, each press like a blow against Annie's so-called perfect life.

More importantly, even if my merchandise sales matched Annie's, I would earn significantly more than her. Because after deducting costs, all remaining profits from merchandise sales were mine alone,without having to share with Howard Thompson's team as she did.

From this perspective. Annie's so-called life of "just focusing on quality" suddenly seemed less enviable. In reality, after deducting production costs and shipping personnel expenses, my net profit was approximately 50%.while hers might only be around 15%.

I jumped to my feet, nearly shouting with joy. Earning more than twice what Annie made! This realization filled me with power. like I'd been injected with some potent stimulant. I paced around the living room.hands caressing my pregnant belly, experiencing a sense of control I'd never felt before. This feeling of security and independence that money brought made every cell in my body sing-this sensation of not depending on anyone was even more wonderful than I had imagined.

As night fel1. Manhattan's lights filtered through the windows into my apartment. I stared at the calendar on my phone, my eyes stinging at the bright red cancellation mark. Two days ago, Robert had suddenly canceled our date without even providing a decent reason.

"Something came up. Can't make it." That simple sentence negated all my expectations and preparations.

My fingers gripped my phone tightly, knuckles whitening with the pressure. This feeling of being controlled by someone else was suffocating-I hated it, hated having to accommodate others' schedules and decisions, hated not being in control of the situation.

"Enough!" I sat up straight, driven by a powerful urge to take action. I was no longer the Sarah who waited for others to spare their time for me.

I had money, a career, and capability. Now it was my turn to take control.

I opened my chat history with Robert and quickly typed several messages:

"How have you been lately?" "Are you short on cash?"

"I've been making good money recently. Need any help?"

After sending these messages, I set down my phone, feeling a strange satisfaction. Establishing control through money was the method I knew best. Once Robert needed my help, the dynamics would shift-he would contact me proactively, perhaps even beg to see me.

I gently stroked my belly, feeling the movement of life within. "Don't worry,baby." I whispered, "Mommy has learned how to take control. You'Il see, we don't need to depend on anyone at all."