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

I clenched my fists so tightly that my nails dug into my palms. Cold sweat soaked my back. Heart racing, I fled from that suffocating house like prey escaping a predator.

Once outside, I took a few deep breaths, steadying myself. My hands were still trembling as I pulled out my phone. Without hesitation, I dialed the hospital.

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

If Alaric and his so-called brothers were willing to gamble millions on the child in my womb, then I’d give them a parting gift they’d never forget.

“I’ve taken the medication. The procedure’s scheduled in three days,” I told the nurse calmly.

With the appointment slip in hand, I returned home exhausted, only to find that the door’s keypad lock kept flashing “incorrect password.”

Confused, I was about to call the building manager when the door opened from the inside. Calla stood there—back from overseas—wearing my nightgown.

“Sister-in-law,” she smiled sweetly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “I just got back. My brother was worried about me staying alone, so he asked me to move in. I didn’t bring pajamas, so I borrowed yours. Hope you don’t mind?”

My gaze fell on the straps slipping off her shoulders, the obvious love marks on her collarbone, and the smugness in her eyes that she tried—and failed—to hide.

“Seraphine Locke is the most considerate woman I know. Of course, she won’t mind,” came Alaric’s voice as he stepped out, wrapping an arm around my shoulder.

“Calla’s memory is terrible,” he added with a smirk. “So I changed the passcode to her birthday.”

I felt a bile rise in my throat. The very sight of him made my skin crawl. I said nothing and brushed past them, heading upstairs.

That night, Alaric, who had never cared about my nighttime habits before, suddenly offered me a glass of milk.

“You’re in your third trimester now. You need more calcium and protein. Be good and drink it.”

I stared at the milky liquid. The smell was off—sweet, yet slightly metallic.

“I don’t want it.”

He forced a smile, trying to maintain the illusion of care.

“It’s for your own good—and the baby’s. Come on, be obedient.”

Then, without warning, he pressed the glass to my lips and poured it down my throat.

The moment the liquid touched my tongue, an overwhelming drowsiness overtook me. My vision blurred, and my limbs turned heavy. In the haze, I thought I saw shadows—people—moving around my bed.

By the time I woke up the next morning, my body was aching all over. I could barely sit up.

As soon as Alaric left for work, I reached under the bed and retrieved my phone. I had hidden a tiny camera inside the flower pot in the corner—just in case.

When I played the footage, shame and fury exploded inside me.

In the video, Alaric and Calla entered my room. He wrapped his arms around her like a lover, not a brother.

“Brother,” she whispered, “isn’t this too much? She’s already eight months pregnant…”

Despite her words, her tone held no remorse—only twisted satisfaction.

Alaric looked down at my unconscious form with a chilling coldness.

“If she hadn’t forced you to leave back then, we’d never have been apart. Now she’ll learn the price of hurting you.”

He waved his hand, and a strange man stepped into the frame.

“Alaric,” the man said, eyeing me, “won’t this affect the bet?”

“The baby’s already formed. All we have to do is wait for the birth and run a DNA test,” Alaric replied flatly.

The man laughed, and Calla walked over and kicked me—hard.

“You’re sure the sedative was strong enough?”

“She’s been drugged like this for months. She won’t wake up.”

Alaric’s voice was calm, calculating.

“Once she gives birth, I’ll have the DNA results. Then I’ll publicly shame her—call her a whore, strip her of her dignity, and kick her out of the Vane family. No one will stop us from being together.”