Medication. I remembered the small white pills Adrian had given me every day—he said they were vitamins for the baby. I had taken them without question, blindly trusting him.
Her words hit me like a hammer. My son… he wasn’t mine. I felt hollow, like my body had been emptied of everything familiar. I left the hospital trembling, the world spinning around me. Never pregnant. Not my son.
By the time I reached home, I was shaking uncontrollably. I needed proof. That bottle—the one Adrian had always handed me—had to be in the drawer somewhere. I just needed to see it.
But as I crept down the hall, I froze. Voices. Adrian and Seraphine—my stepsister.
“…come on, Adrian,” Seraphine said, sharp with worry. “Our child is sick. He needs the transplant soon, or he’ll die.”
Our child. My heart dropped.
“And when will you divorce Vivienne?” Seraphine demanded. “When will I finally be his real mother and not just Auntie? I can’t stand watching him suffer while I remain in the shadows!”
Adrian’s voice was calm—too calm. “Relax. Once the inheritance and the company merger are done, I’ll handle Vivienne. Just wait… about a month.”