"Stop the w-wedding! Y-You're not Mommy..."
Gasps echoed through the grand hall. I turned, heart hammering, to see Ychan—Harrison’s son—standing in the middle of the aisle, fists clenched, his small body trembling. His face was red with frustration, and his eyes—those same piercing blue eyes as his father—held nothing but raw, desperate anger.
"Ychan," I whispered, forcing a smile. "Come here, sweetheart—"
"You're not my mommy!" he screamed, his voice high-pitched, sharp. He kicked over the flower arrangements beside him, sending white roses tumbling to the floor. The whispers among the guests grew louder. Investors exchanged uneasy glances, their conversations hushed but filled with doubt.
Harrison's grip on my hand tightened. His jaw clenched, the polite mask he wore for the public slipping for the first time. He motioned for his security to handle it, but Ychan fought them off, wailing, crying.
"Take him out of here," Harrison muttered under his breath, barely keeping his fury in check.
But it was too late. The wedding was already in shambles. The guests, now visibly uncomfortable, began rising from their seats. Some left. Investors murmured about reconsidering their deals. Everything—the perfect image we had crafted—was unraveling.
And just like that, Harrison snapped.
"The wedding is rescheduled," he announced, voice clipped, devoid of warmth. "Everyone, leave."
I swallowed the lump in my throat as the crowd slowly dispersed. Cameras flashed, capturing the disaster that unfolded. I could already imagine the headlines: Billionaire’s Wedding in Chaos After Son Rejects Bride!
Harrison barely looked at me as we left the venue.
Silence filled the car as we drove home. The tension was suffocating. I kept my hands folded on my lap, stealing glances at him, but he didn’t say a word.
I had never seen him like this before. It had been less than a year since we went public with our relationship, and in all that time, Harrison was nothing but composed, charming, in control. But now? Now, his knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel too tightly, his jaw locked with suppressed rage.
The moment we arrived at his mansion, he stormed inside without a word. I followed hesitantly, my heels clicking against the marble floor.
Then I heard it—glass shattering.
I rushed into the living room just in time to see him throw another bottle against the wall. His expensive collection of whiskey, now just shards on the floor. His breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling heavily.
“Harrison,” I said carefully, keeping my voice soft. “Let’s talk about this.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” His voice was sharp, cold. He poured himself another drink, downing it in one gulp before slamming the glass onto the counter. “They laughed at me. Do you understand that, Willary? Those investors—those people—they saw my weakness today.”
I stayed silent.
His laugh was bitter as he ran a hand through his hair. “That kid—”
“Your son,” I corrected, and his eyes snapped to me.
For a moment, I thought he’d lash out. But instead, he smiled—an eerie, humorless smile. Then, without warning, he grabbed a framed photo from the table—the only picture I had of my parents.
And he smashed it against the wall.
My breath caught in my throat as I stared at the broken frame, my parents' smiling faces now covered in cracks.
"What are you doing?!" I snapped, stepping forward, but he didn’t stop.
"They’re worthless,” he muttered. “Just like that damn kid."
My hands trembled. “Harrison, stop.”
He turned to me, his eyes dark, unreadable. And then, in a voice so chilling, so detached, he said, "I killed them to have you."
WHAT?
I shook my head, instilling to my mind that he was just drunk and... DIDN'T MEAN IT.
The world around me tilted.
I stared at him, unable to process his words. A cold shiver ran down my spine, dread curling in my stomach.
“You’re lying,” I whispered.
But looked like he wasn’t.
He was watching me too closely, waiting for my reaction. There was no regret, no guilt. Just control. Just ownership.
My palm met his cheek before I even realized what I was doing. The slap echoed in the silent room, but he didn’t flinch. He only smirked.
I turned on my heel and walked away, my heart pounding so loud it drowned out everything else.
For days, I avoided him.
I stayed locked in my room, refusing to eat with him, refusing to speak to him. I thought about leaving, but how? I had nothing—no family, no backup plan. Everything I had was tied to him.
Then, one night, my phone rang.
Kristoph, my bodyguard.
His voice was urgent, whispering, "Willary, you need to leave. Now."
My grip tightened around the phone. “W-Why? What’s going on?”
“I overheard something at the company,” he admitted. “Harrison is planning something. He—he wants to inseminate you. To force you to have a child.”
The floor beneath me disappeared.
My stomach twisted as I clutched the phone tighter. “That’s insane.”
Kristoph’s voice was firm. “I’m serious. He’s making sure you don’t leave him. You need to get out—”
A creak outside my door made me freeze.
Someone was there.
Before I could react, a cloth pressed against my mouth.
A sickly-sweet scent filled my lungs, and the world blurred. My limbs felt heavy, my vision darkening.
No—no, this wasn’t happening—
Darkness swallowed me whole.
When I woke up, my head was pounding. My body felt heavy, weak. I tried to move, but my wrists—my wrists were bound.
Panic shot through me as I blinked rapidly, my vision adjusting.
And then I saw him.
Harrison.
He was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching me. Calm. Smug. Like he had already won.
I struggled, but the ropes cut into my skin.
His lips curled into a slow smile.
"Congratulations, my wife," he murmured. "You'll be a mom now."
SHIT!
