I picked up my son gently, holding him close as I softly comforted him.
“It’s okay, baby. Daddy’s here…”
His cries slowly quieted, and soon he drifted off to sleep in my arms, his breath steady and warm against my chest.
Just as I laid him down, my phone buzzed—a video call from Thomas.
Before I could stop myself, my finger brushed the screen, and the call connected.
A moment later, the wails started again. My son, startled by the sudden sound, began crying once more.
But I barely heard him.
My eyes were locked on the screen.
There, in the video, a man and woman were tangled in each other’s arms—naked, breathless, and flushed with lust.
“Thomas, be gentle... I just finished confinement,” Lorena whispered, her voice tender.
“Don’t worry,” Thomas murmured, kissing her neck. “I’ll be careful.”
“Let’s indulge one last time. After tomorrow, I’ll go back,” she said breathlessly. “Lately… I’ve ignored him so much because of you. When I think about the disappointment in his eyes, I’m so scared I’ll lose him.”
She paused, then added with a bitter smile, “Tell me again… why did you have to steal his project and make me frame him?”
Lorena weakly slapped his chest, but her hands lingered. A few more playful hits and she melted into his arms again—sinking into Thomas' warmth like it was her home.
I stood frozen, the glow of the screen illuminating my numb face.
Then rage consumed me.
I shouted at the screen, screaming curses—vile, hateful things—but no one heard me.
Only I was on this side. Only I was watching. Only I was breaking.
A fool.
A fool too late to see the truth.
She knew. Lorena knew I was the one who did the project. She framed me anyway—to protect Thomas.
That single moment shattered something inside me.
I hurled the phone across the room. It crashed against the wall, splintering into silence.
The house felt suffocating now. Every corner reeked of betrayal.
And it wasn’t even mine to begin with. This house was her premarital property. I had never truly belonged here.
I remembered the whispers at our wedding—her so-called friends sneering behind painted smiles.
“He’s just clinging to her for money.”
“What a pitiful match. She could do so much better.”
“Poor guy doesn’t know his place.”
But I endured. For her, I endured.
I poured myself into that project like a man possessed—trying to prove I was worthy.
In the end, I was just making a wedding dress for someone else.
The next morning, I packed everything I needed. No hesitation. No looking back.
I signed the divorce papers and placed them neatly on the coffee table.
Then, carrying my son in my arms, I opened the door to leave—
And came face to face with Lorena, holding Thomas' child.
Her eyes lit up the moment she saw me.
“Blake, I’m back!” she beamed. “I know you and our son must have missed us, right?”
Miss you?
I didn’t say a word. My expression was like ice as I pushed her aside and walked past her.
The memory of her betrayal still burned behind my eyes. I didn’t want to hear her voice. I didn’t even want to see her.
“Blake?” she called after me, confused. “What’s wrong? Are you still upset about the project?”
I stayed silent. Let her squirm.
Then Thomas' baby began to cry.
Her eyes lit up, and she stepped forward, holding the infant out to me.
“Look,” she said eagerly. “You haven’t met Clifford yet. Come on, hold him.”
I turned and slapped her.
The sound rang through the hallway like thunder.
She stared at me, stunned.
“I’ve been gone for so long, and not once did you ask about the son we had together,” I said coldly. “But now you want me to hold your lover’s child?”
I laughed bitterly. “Still pretending, Lorena?”
“This baby isn’t mine. He’s the bastard son of you and Thomas. Why the hell would I want to touch him?”
Her eyes widened in shock.
“You… you know?”
I stepped closer, my voice low and sharp. “The truth doesn’t stay buried forever.”
Then I pulled the divorce agreement from my bag and tossed it in her face.
“It’s over. You and Thomas deserve each other. Be the miserable couple you were always meant to be.”
I turned to leave.
But Lorena collapsed onto her knees and hugged me from behind, sobbing.
“No! I won’t divorce you,” she cried. “Please, Blake… I made a mistake, I know I did—but I can fix it!”
“To make it up to you, I’ve decided to host a full-month celebration for my child. I’ll make an announcement there—I’ll transfer all my assets to our son. Please… don’t leave.”
I froze. Not because her words moved me. But because of the desperation in them.
Even now, she was bargaining. Not apologizing. Not taking responsibility.
Just trying to trade guilt for redemption.
When I didn’t respond, she panicked. She clutched our son from my arms, her own eyes turning red as she pleaded.
