Who’s the Father My Husband Thinks It’s Not Him

Eight months pregnant, I stumbled upon my husband’s sterilization certificate.

It was dated a year ago.

Staring at my swollen belly, I felt the blood drain from my face. Panic surged through me as I clutched the document and rushed out, desperate for an explanation.

When I arrived at Alaric’s office, I heard laughter spilling out from inside—boisterous and mocking.

“Alaric, you’ve really gone all out for Calla. You got sterilized, stayed a virgin for her, and even gave your wife to other men every night. Now she’s eight months pregnant, and you still don’t know whose child it is. Aren’t you afraid she’ll find out the truth once the baby’s born?”

Alaric's voice dripped with disdain.

“If she hadn’t insisted on marrying me, Calla wouldn’t have left the country heartbroken. Even if she does find out, what then? Look at her—who else would want her now?”

The men burst into laughter, chanting "Alaric is mighty!" as they egged him on.

Then came the final blow.

Alaric even opened a gambling pool—millions wagered on one cruel question: whose child am I carrying?

In that moment, the love I believed in shattered. It had all been a lie—a carefully crafted trap.

Fine. If this is the game they want to play, I’ll play my part.

I pulled out my phone and calmly dialed the hospital’s number.

“Hello, I’d like to schedule an abortion appointment.”

——

Inside, the laughter continued.

“If that fool of a wife gives birth without even knowing who the father is, don’t you think she’ll go mad?” someone jeered.

Alaric sneered.

“She’s too stupid to find out. And even if she does—what can she do now? Abort the baby at eight months? Come on. No one else would want her. I’m her only option.”

Another man chimed in, smirking.

“Everyone knows how obsessed Seraphine is with you. She even forced Calla to leave just so she could marry you. That’s cold.”

Calla.

Alaric’s adopted sister. The same girl who had once knelt before me, begging me to send her abroad. I had done it to protect her.

And this is how they repay me?

“But seriously,” Cassian said with a sly grin, “we’re all dying to know—whose baby is she carrying?”

Alaric looked disgusted.

“Whoever it is, it’s not mine. Just the thought of her makes me sick. I’d rather watch a movie than touch her. She drove Calla away. I can’t stand the sight of her, let alone share a bed.”

Cassian chuckled. “How about a wager then? Let’s bet on the father.”

Everyone turned to Alaric Vane, waiting for his reaction.

He took a slow sip of wine, eyes cold.

“Ten million says the baby’s Cassian’s.”

The room exploded with laughter.

“Alaric, you’re ruthless!”

“I’ll bet 10 million it’s Jett Corbin’s.”

“Five million on Cassian Rourke.”

“Six million!”

Their jeers kept echoing like knives in my ears. I stood frozen outside the door, feeling like I had fallen into an icy abyss.

Everything I once believed in—his tenderness, his promises, his so-called love—was nothing but a lie.

A sick game. A cruel performance.