Seven years of marriage, and I'd lost count of the men my wife Serena Abbott had slept with.
The reason I'd turned a blind eye all this time?
She always made it worth my while.
Every young boy toy she kept earned me a limited-edition supercar. Every yacht party with male models got me an identical vessel of my own.
She paid for my silence—bought off every breakdown, every tear I might have shed.
Until she got pregnant with our child.
I thought the baby would change her. That she'd finally settle down, come home to our family.
I'd finished decorating the nursery, counting down the days until our child arrived, when the hospital called.
Serena had gone behind my back. She'd had an abortion.
I rushed to the hospital like a madman. But the moment I reached her room, a child's voice drifted through the door.
"Mommy, I hate the baby in your tummy! I won't let you have another kid!"
I froze.
Through the crack in the door, I saw a boy—maybe three years old—nestled in Serena's arms, whining for her attention.
And beside them stood a young, handsome man, tenderly tucking the blanket around her.
My world collapsed.
Serena's eyes met mine.
She sent the man and child away, then pulled out a blank check and held it toward me.
"Write whatever number you want."
I tore it to shreds.
I looked at her and smiled.
"Not this time, Serena. I don't want your money."
My hand trembled as I pointed toward the door—toward where the little boy had disappeared.
"I want that child."
——
"Otis Wiley, have you lost your mind?!"
Disbelief twisted Serena's features, as if she'd just heard the most absurd joke of her life.
I said it again. "I want that child."
Every word scraped against raw bone. The betrayal had hollowed me out.
"Stop this nonsense!" She dropped her voice to a hiss, laced with warning. "That's not your child!"
"Your child is gone—I made sure of that!"
Yes. My child was gone. She'd killed it with her own hands.
"Your child is my child, isn't it?"
My voice was soft, but my eyes had turned to ice.
"Or would you rather the Ashford family's firstborn grandson enter this world branded a bastard?"
Serena's mouth opened. Nothing came out.
She and I had grown up together—childhood sweethearts, both orphaned young, both raised under Old Mr. Abbott's roof.
She was the Ashford princess. I was the charity case they'd taken in.
The Ashfords were old money. Elite. They lived and died by reputation and rules.
Serena could play around, indulge her whims—but a scandal that threatened the family's foundation? Unforgivable.
That man. That child. They were her greatest liability.
Nathaniel Fox finally caught on. He burst into the room, voice shrill with panic.
"Serena! You can't give him our son! He's my only—"
His only leverage.
A nobody from nowhere, dreaming he could climb into the Ashford dynasty on the back of a child. Pathetic.
I watched Serena wrestle with herself, and something cold unfurled in my chest.
How perfectly absurd.
I gathered what remained of my strength, pushed past her, and walked toward Nathaniel.
He stumbled back, eyes darting with suspicion and hostility.
"Hello." I forced a rigid smile. "I'm Serena's husband. Otis Wiley."
Each word landed like a verdict.
"And starting today—I'm that boy's father."
