My husband beat me with a heavy leather belt just to impress his arrogant mistress. Covered in bruises, I pulled out my phone to call my dad. My husband snatched it, put it on speaker, and laughed. “Let’s tell your pathetic, broke mechanic father how worthless you are,” he mocked. The line connected. But the deep, booming voice that answered wasn’t a poor mechanic. My father said one sentence and hung up the phone. And exactly five minutes later, they begged for forgiveness.

“Winston,” I whispered. My voice was dark, raspy, and carried the weight of absolute vengeance. “Bring her the medical file.”

Winston reached back into his titanium briefcase. He retrieved a single, sealed manila envelope bearing the embossed gold crest of Sterling International. He didn’t hand it to Chloe. Instead, he opened it and pulled out a small stack of private medical records printed on official hospital letterhead.

“What is it?” Julian demanded. The mention of his child, his “heir,” snapped him out of his catatonic shock. He scrambled across the floor on his hands and knees.

Winston stepped back, holding the paper up. He cleared his throat and read aloud, his voice projecting clearly across the grand hall.

“Medical records from Dr. Aris at Cedars-Sinai,” Winston announced. “Patient: Chloe Vance. Blood panels drawn forty-eight hours ago. Highlighted notes read: Patient is not currently pregnant. Nồng độ hCG bằng không. Zero. Furthermore, patient underwent an elective tubal ligation four years prior. Pregnancy is physically impossible.”

The air was violently sucked out of the room.

Julian stopped breathing. He slowly looked up, his eyes wide, wild, and filled with a manic, fracturing realization. He looked at the mistress who had just spent the last hour rubbing her stomach and demanding sparkling water for a phantom baby.

“You… you aren’t pregnant?” Julian whispered, his voice a horrifying, hollow rasp. “You’ve been lying? For months? You told me you were late. You told me we were having a son.”

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