“Graham, how can you be so cruel?” Clarissa shrieked, her voice trembling with false vulnerability. “I’m carrying your child, and you can’t even show me the slightest bit of compassion?”
Milo rushed over to help her up from the ground, playing the part of the dutiful friend.
The confrontation instantly drew a crowd of reporters and furious netizens. Cameras zoomed in on my face as insults flew from every direction.
“Cold-blooded bastard!”
“Heartless scum!”
Clarissa turned toward the cameras, eyes brimming with tears. “Don’t blame my husband… it’s all my fault. I should’ve been more careful. Don’t take it out on him.”
I nearly laughed out loud at her performance. Looking at her pitiful face made me sick to my stomach.
I met her eyes, voice low but cutting. “Since you won’t agree to a divorce, don’t blame me for taking it to court.”
The mask dropped. Clarissa straightened and sneered, no longer bothering to pretend. “Fine. You’re shameless? Then don’t blame me when I kick you out of the house.”
She raised her voice for the media. “My child doesn’t need a father like you. Divorce? Let’s do it. See you in court!”
She thought she was in control. She had no idea I’d been completely in the dark until recently.
I said nothing. I focused on tying up company matters and quietly prepared for the trial.
By that evening, the internet was on fire.
I was now the villain—a heartless man who had abandoned his pregnant wife. Clarissa, on the other hand, had perfected her role as the fragile, betrayed woman.
Online, people claimed I’d forced her into multiple abortions, that I’d burned through my fortune spoiling my mistress, and that I was disgusted by the sight of a pregnant wife. Some even speculated I’d gone insane after the car crash and was now pretending not to remember anything.
The abuse was relentless. Even my parents cut me off.
“You’ve gone too far!” my mother screamed over the phone. “From today on, I don’t have a son!”
“Look at what you’ve done,” my father added. “You’ve shamed this entire family. I can’t even bear to hear your name.”
I faced it all in silence.
Three days later, I arrived at the courthouse.
The courtroom was packed—friends, family, strangers, livestreamers. All eager to watch the ‘monster’ get what he deserved.
As I took my seat, Clarissa reached out from the plaintiff’s side and hissed under her breath, “Are you really going to go through with this?”
“For the sake of our years together, I’ll give you one last chance. Apologize publicly, and I’ll let it go. We’ll say it was all a misunderstanding.”
“You have zero chance of winning. The whole country knows what you did to me. How can you still have the nerve to show your face?”
Milo smirked from beside her. Even my parents refused to look at me.
But I stayed calm, waiting for the session to begin.
Clarissa had hired one of the top lawyers in Las Vegas. The man rattled off a long list of my supposed offenses—emotional neglect, financial abuse, even endangering the child.
“If this were merely a case of the defendant helping a neighbor babysit, it might be forgivable,” the lawyer declared with mock sympathy. “But given the totality of evidence, it is clear: the defendant is solely at fault.”
“If no new evidence is presented,” the judge announced, “this court will grant the divorce and assign full responsibility to the defendant.”
The room broke into applause. Reporters whispered, cameras flashed. Clarissa and Milo hugged, celebrating early.
I raised my hand.
“I do have new evidence,” I said, my voice cutting through the noise.
“Surveillance footage—from Milo’s home.”
“And a paternity test on the child Clarissa claims is mine.”
The courtroom fell into stunned silence.
The smile dropped from Clarissa’s face. Panic flickered in her eyes.
