I Stole My Wife’s Secret Son,After She Killed Our Baby

The room froze. Every head turned.

Serena rushed forward, grabbing at his arm. "Nathaniel! What are you doing here? Stop this!"

He shook her off violently. His eyes—bloodshot, feral—locked onto mine. In his raised hand, he clutched a document.

"I'm causing a scene?" His voice cracked, shrill and desperate. "Serena, look at him!"

He jabbed a finger in my direction.

"He's holding my child! Basking in glory that should be mine! He's the one who should be stopped!"

A broken laugh tore from his throat. He reached into his bag and pulled out a folder, holding it high above his head.

"I'm going to show everyone here exactly how the Abbott family treats people!"

He charged onto the stage and ripped the microphone from the emcee's hands.

"Take a good look! This is a paternity test!"

His voice blasted through the speakers, reaching every corner of the venue.

"It says right here—black and white—Evan Abbott and I share 99.9% DNA compatibility!"

"I'm his biological father!"

The room erupted.

Every eye in the place swung toward me like searchlights locking onto a target.

Suspicion. Contempt. Barely concealed glee.

Old Mr. Abbott's face turned to stone, his gaze boring into me with silent accusation.

Serena rushed the stage, trying to snatch the report from Nathaniel's hands while cooing at him in that placating voice of hers.

"Stop this. Let's go home and talk about it, okay?"

Nathaniel didn't even glance at her. His eyes were bloodshot, fixed on me with pure hatred.

"Otis Wiley! You thief! You stole my child and now you're standing here playing the victim? You're shameless!"

He jabbed his finger at me, his voice cracking from the force of his accusations.

The venue descended into chaos.

Serena lunged to clamp her hand over his mouth, but he shoved her away hard.

"Serena, you only have one choice now—divorce him and be with me!"

My assistant appeared silently at my side. He set an antique black lacquered wooden chest at my feet.

I drew a slow breath and walked toward the stage.

I took the paternity report from Nathaniel's hands. Didn't bother looking at it.

Then I lifted the microphone and surveyed the sea of faces below—shocked, hungry, waiting.

"He's right."

I said it plainly, a ghost of a smile on my lips.

"Everything he said is true."

The chaos peaked.

That's when Mason stepped onto the stage, placing a heavy sandalwood box in my hands.

I opened it.

Faced the microphone.

Looked out at all those stunned expressions.

"Please. Bear with me a moment."

"Because today, I have a surprise of my own."