My Fake Husband Searched the World to Find Me

“Look at this—Kylian saw me kissing my boyfriend in a photo and didn’t even get mad. All he cared about was whether I was happy and if I had enough money to spend!”

“Unlike you... That so-called birthday gift you got was just a high-end counterfeit. Kylian went through all that trouble just to make it look real!”

I stared at her, unable to understand.

"If you loved each other so deeply, why not just be together?"

"Why drag me into your cruel game?"

I voiced this question out loud. Felicity scoffed at me like I was an idiot.

“It’s because he can’t fully have me that he’s obsessed. Don’t you get it? That’s the best way to keep a man wrapped around your finger.”

“All I have to do is say a word and Kylian will believe me—he’ll do anything for me. He already manipulated both you and that old hag of a mother-in-law to suit my plans.”

“Honestly, I was going to string you along forever—but since you went through all that trouble giving birth to my son, I’m feeling generous. I’ll let you go.”

She sneered, eyes glittering with malice.

“Still don’t believe me? Let’s bet on it. Let’s see who Kylian really cares about.”

I didn’t even have time to react.

Felicity suddenly slapped Kiran across the face—hard.

The infant, barely a month old, began to bleed from the nose and scream in agony, his face turning purple from the force of his cries.

But Felicity—shameless as ever—covered her own face, swung open the door, and burst into fake sobs as she cried out, “Help! Kylian, please help! Your wife didn’t want to breastfeed and hit Kiran! He’s bleeding!”

Kylian, who had been toasting guests with wine in hand, went pale the moment he heard her.

He rushed to the room like a madman.

When he saw his son covered in blood and too weak to cry, he snatched the child from Felicity’s arms—then turned and slapped me across the face with all his strength.

“Even a tiger wouldn’t hurt its own cub! All I asked was for you to feed him—how could you do this to our son?!”

I clutched my cheek, stunned.

No matter how much I hated Kylian, I had never—not once—considered harming the child.

“It wasn’t me. It was Felicity—she hit him!”

“Impossible!” he snapped. “Felicity is his godmother—she would never lay a hand on him!”

Disappointment darkened his face as he raised his foot and kicked me with all his might.

The force slammed me into the mirrored dressing wall, which shattered instantly.

Shards of glass pierced into my back, pain exploding through my body until I couldn’t even breathe, let alone speak.

“Amber, if anything happens to my son, I swear I’ll make your life a living hell! Looks like you’re tired of being Mrs. Romero!”

He spat out his threat and stormed out of the room with the baby in his arms.

Pretending to panic, Felicity quickly followed after him.

But just as she stepped out of the room, she looked back at me—and mouthed proudly.

“You lost.”

What was supposed to be a joyous birthday banquet ended in disaster.

As the guests filed out, some still cursed me—the venomous woman who dared harm a child—but not a single person came to help me up from the shattered glass.

I wiped the blood off my hands, smiled faintly, and turned off the audio recording I had hastily started earlier.

Then I quietly left. I went to a nearby clinic, had my wounds treated, and returned home in pain.

I hired a housekeeper to help me pack.

In just two short hours, the place I once called “home” was wiped clean of all traces of me.

I rescheduled my flight—originally set for three days later—and moved it to tonight.

Then, I made two copies of all the recordings and paternity test results.

One set, I handed to a lawyer to deliver directly to Kylian's mother.

The other copy, I mailed to someone in the same city.

As I passed through airport security, Kylian finally remembered me—only because he needed someone to feed the baby.

[Kiran is fine now, the doctors said he’s okay. Come to the hospital and nurse him, calm him down a bit.]

That message was followed by fifty two thousand dollar transfer.

So this was his idea of an apology—spending the least possible amount to keep me playing the role of a milk cow.

I ignored the flood of phone calls from him.

Only when I was about to board did I finally send him a reply.

[Kylian, goodbye. Wishing you, Felicity, and your precious baby a lifetime of happiness together.]

A moment later, my phone began to ring again nonstop.

I chuckled softly, then removed the SIM card and tossed both it and the phone into a nearby trash can.

Without a backward glance, I walked away.