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

“You’ll regret this.”

My voice was faint, the last flicker of will in my fading consciousness.

Calla leaned into Alaric’s arms and let out a shrill, mocking laugh.

“Regret? Sister-in-law, this potion has another effect—you’ll forget everything by morning. When you wake up, you’ll still be smiling sweetly, calling me ‘Calla.’ Like nothing ever happened.”

As her words echoed, Cassian stepped forward, a lewd grin plastered on his face.

“Good dog, kneel.”

And before I could resist, my knees buckled. My body dropped to the floor against my will, as if I no longer had control over it.

My vision blurred. The laughter around me twisted into something monstrous—echoing, sharp, surreal. And then, the world faded into black.

In the suffocating darkness, I felt something tearing me apart—brutal and merciless. My soul splintered with every agonizing second.

---

When I regained consciousness, I was sprawled on the cold floor, my lower body drenched in blood. Thick, hot, and flowing fast.

“Help... me...”

I crawled, inch by inch, toward the door, pounding on it with what little strength I had left.

“Stop pretending,” a voice sneered from behind the door. “You were screaming louder than anyone earlier. Sleep it off—you won’t remember a thing in the morning.”

Then Alaric’s voice followed, calm and chilling.

“Now that we’re done with business... let’s move on to the next.”

A loud bang echoed as the door slammed shut, sealing me in isolation.

I gritted my teeth and dragged myself out. Blood smeared across the marble floor, leaving a ghastly trail behind me. The air was heavy with iron and pain.

---

The next time I opened my eyes, I was in a hospital ward. The sterile scent of disinfectant filled my lungs.

A nurse stood beside me, holding a clipboard and speaking softly.

“Ms. Locke, I’m sorry. We couldn’t save your baby. Would you like us to help arrange... the handling of the remains?”

Her voice was gentle, but her eyes brimmed with pity.

I took the document from her hand calmly.

“Please call a courier for me.”

---

Meanwhile, at the club, Alaric and his friends were still enjoying themselves when the manager rushed in, pale-faced.

“Mr. Vane, something’s happened—your wife... she’s had a miscarriage.”

Alaric froze.

Just then, a delivery man approached with a package.

“Are you Mr. Vane? This parcel is for you. It must be signed for... personally.”