My brow furrowed as the realization hit me—Colin had already taken new lovers.
"Why is there another 'Number Three'?"
A towering beauty with a distinct Southern drawl sauntered past me, her white strapless dress clinging to her willowy frame.
She wore flat sandals, yet still stood half a head taller than me in my heels.
"Well, hello there, supermodel!"
"Don't be ridiculous—I'm one hundred percent Chinese. My name is Celia Whitney, but you can call me May. Or 'Number Two,' if you prefer."
Celia Whitney. Twenty-two years old.
Six-foot-three, with a lean, angular build and eyes that held something feral.
Her cropped hair was dyed a striking silvery-gray, giving her an almost ethereal edge.
The tongue piercing caught the light when she spoke, slurring her words just slightly.
"Weren't you a pageant queen?" I said, not bothering to soften my tone. "Standards must have really slipped."
"So the boss already told you about me." She shrugged, unbothered. "Yeah, I was Miss Something-or-Other. But these days I'm a livestreamer. Gotta push boundaries to pay the bills, you know?"
I let my distaste show. "You couldn't just do talent streams? Why go gray-market?"
May scoffed at my naivety. "Money talks, sweetheart. Don't lecture me about morals or contracts—I don't speak that language. My advice? Do what I do. Be a good little broodmare and keep your mouth shut."
I studied the woman before me—all curves, no substance—and felt an unexpected wave of relief wash over me.
At least I know what I'm dealing with.
"Ahem—" The new housekeeper cleared her throat pointedly. "The First Lady has arrived."
Colin's new wife was named Freya Fox.
A graduate student at the Academy of Arts.
Freya swept in wearing a crimson gown that pooled at her feet, crystal heels clicking against the marble. Her expression was glacial, as if everyone in the room owed her money.
"Number One, Number Two, Number Three—you're all here! Excellent." Colin strode to the head of the table, pride radiating from every pore. "Please, take your seats. I have an announcement."
"Wait—why are they Number One and Two while I'm the mistress?" I protested, unable to keep the indignation from my voice.
"Because they're both carrying boys." Colin's smile was insufferably smug. "Freya is three months along. May is at two months. You? One month—and we don't even know the gender yet. The child's age determines the mother's rank. Simple as that."
Of course.
A cold dread settled in my stomach.
As a medical student, I knew exactly how precise modern testing had become.
Around seven weeks, fetal DNA could be detected in the mother's blood, providing an early indicator of sex.
By sixteen to twenty weeks, an ultrasound could confirm it with near-certainty.
Both Freya and May had already passed two rounds of testing. The doctors were confident: boys, both of them.
Colin pointed directly at me, his finger hovering inches from my nose.
"Tomorrow, the butler will take you to the hospital for an examination. We need to confirm the fetus is healthy."
"I'm only one month pregnant! You can't determine gender this early!"
My heart hammered against my ribs.
What if this baby is Darren's?
The fear was suffocating. Yes, I'd been with both Colin and Darren—but my body had always rejected Colin's attempts. Three years of trying, and nothing had ever taken.
The odds that our final encounter had somehow succeeded?
Almost zero.
Colin's smile didn't waver.
"I already have two sons confirmed. A little princess would make things perfect, actually. So I don't particularly care whether you're carrying a boy or a girl."
His eyes hardened.
"But I do need to confirm that it's mine."
"You want me to take a DNA test?" I stared at him, incredulous.
"Shouldn't I be concerned about whether my wife's been making a fool of me?" Colin's eyes bored into mine, unblinking.
