I didn't hesitate. My finger found the silent alarm beneath the desk.
"I've already called the police," I said, voice ice-cold. "I'm reporting you for sexual harassment."
Before he could react, I added, "And don't bother trying to destroy the footage. The surveillance uploads directly to the cloud. You can't deny a thing."
Henry froze. The shock on his face was deeply satisfying—he hadn't expected me to be this ruthless.
Then his phone shattered the silence.
Amelia.
Even from where I stood, I could hear the hysterical wailing on the other end.
"Henry! The baby... our child is gone!"
"It's all because of Anna! She made me so angry that I... sob..."
Henry's expression shifted from shock to murderous rage. He glared at me, eyes burning with terrifying intensity.
"Anna Pruitt! If anything happens to Amelia or my child, I will make you pay with your life!"
He shoved me aside hard enough to send me stumbling and stormed out like a madman.
I steadied myself, rubbing my reddened wrist, and let out a cold sneer.
A child?
If Amelia Harding could get pregnant, pigs would fly.
I knew from my past life that her early years had been chaotic—too many back-alley abortions. She'd lost the ability to conceive years ago. This so-called "child" was nothing more than a leash to keep Henry obedient.
Perfect. The evidence had just delivered itself to my doorstep.
I gathered my things and drove straight to the hospital.
Before I even entered the ward, I could hear Amelia's shrill voice through the door.
"The doctor said it was a boy! He was already forming!"
"It's all Anna Pruitt's fault! She deliberately sent me that video to stress me out. My heart couldn't take it, and then..."
Henry sounded heartbroken, holding her close and swearing he would kill me.
I kicked the door open, a thick stack of documents in hand.
"Impressive performance." I stepped into the room. "If I didn't know better, I'd think I'd walked onto a soap opera set."
Amelia screamed, burrowing deeper into Henry's arms. "Murderer! You still have the nerve to show your face?"
Henry grabbed a glass from the bedside table, knuckles white.
I didn't flinch. Instead, I flung the documents directly into his face.
"Open your damn eyes and look."
The papers fluttered down around him.
"That's Amelia's booking record at the Haoting Hotel from last month," I said, voice cutting through the tension. "Note the companion—an unidentified male."
I pointed to another sheet. "And this is the transaction record for a fake pregnancy certificate bought on the black market."
I smirked at Amelia, whose face had gone deathly pale. "A miscarriage? The only thing she lost was a clump of air."
Henry snatched the documents, hands trembling.
The evidence was irrefutable. Timestamps, photos, transfer records—everything crystal clear. The man in the photo with Amelia looked like some cheap, third-rate model.
The silence became suffocating.
Amelia's crying stopped abruptly. She looked as if she'd seen a ghost.
"No, Henry! She photoshopped them! She's framing me!" Her voice wavered with panic.
Henry might have been a fool, but he wasn't blind.
The pedestal he'd placed Amelia on crumbled. His "white moonlight" shattered into dust. He turned to look at her with a gaze so cold it was as if he were looking at a stranger.
"You weren't pregnant?"
Dangerously quiet.
"You were looking for other men behind my back?"
"Henry, listen to me—"
"Shut up!"
They tore into each other like rabid dogs. I had no interest in watching this farce. I turned and walked out.
Just as I exited the hospital, a sleek black Maybach pulled up to the curb, blocking my path.
The rear window rolled down, revealing a face striking enough to bring the world to its knees.
Caleb Delgado.
His dark eyes locked onto mine.
"Get in. I'm taking you somewhere."
The car glided through the city toward the suburbs, eventually stopping before an old, familiar building.
The orphanage.
Confusion gnawed at me. This was where I'd grown up. Why were we here?
Caleb led me to the director's office. Director Morrison, older and frailer than I remembered, stood to greet us. With trembling hands, he pulled a yellowed ledger from a locked drawer and opened it to a faded page.
"Anna," the old man said softly. "You always believed the person sponsoring you was the young master of the Sanchez family."
He looked up at me, eyes filled with gentle truth.
"But it wasn't."
"The person who sent you money every month, who paid for your college tuition, who secretly covered your medical bills when you were sick..."
He glanced at Caleb.
"...has always been Mr. Delgado."
In my past life, I sold my soul to Henry Sanchez over a debt. He'd waved a remittance slip in my face, claiming he'd funded my education when I had nothing.
But standing there now, the truth hit like a sledgehammer. That slip wasn't his. Had he stolen credit from Caleb Delgado, or was this just another con?
I turned to Caleb.
He stood framed by the setting sun, immovable. His posture was rigid, his gaze holding carefully leashed affection.
"Why?" My voice cracked. "Why hide this from me?"
He reached out, hovering for a moment before tucking a stray lock behind my ear. "The Sanchez family was untouchable back then. I was afraid I'd drag you down." His eyes dimmed. "By the time I had the power to protect you... you were already gone."
Already gone.
Already in love with a thief. Already a shadow for a man who never existed.
Tears blurred my vision. In this life, I hadn't just loved the wrong person—I'd repaid the wrong debt. My entire tragedy was built on one grotesque lie.
I clenched my fists until nails bit flesh. Years of buried hatred erupted. Henry wouldn't just pay. He would bleed. Principal and interest—everything he owed me, everything he stole from Caleb.
