I didn't hesitate. I met his gaze and said, "Yes."

Gasps rippled through the crowd, quickly followed by an explosion of outrage.

"Damn! If I hadn't seen it myself, I wouldn't believe someone could be so heartless."

"If you love your dog so much, just spend your life with it! Why did you even bother get married and ruin someone else's life?!"

"Exactly! Why wasn't it you in that car accident instead? Scum like you don't deserve to live!"

The streamers had gotten what they wanted. My answer had poured gasoline on the fire. The mob's voices rose in a deafening chorus of insults. Some even looked like they wanted to rush at me and beat me up right then and there.

Amidst the verbal onslaught, movement in the crowd caught my eye. My parents appeared, pushing Wanda in a wheelchair.

Wanda's face was deathly pale, her once vibrant features drained of all color. She looked frail, slumped weakly in the chair.

And then, to my shock, she smiled at me.

It was faint, barely there, but her eyes shone with something soft. Concern.

"Honey, are you okay?"

Her voice was barely above a whisper, trembling with exhaustion, yet all she cared about was me.

I stared at her, shaking my head in response but didn't say a word.

Seeing my reaction, my father suddenly stepped forward, his face dark with fury.

"Damian," he said coldly, "your mother and I spent the whole night trying to figure out why you're suddenly treating Wanda like this."

"We thought—maybe you had some kind of misunderstanding about her and the baby. Maybe there was a reason for all of this insanity."

His gaze bore into me, sharp and accusing. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded document.

"So, we rushed to get a paternity test done."

The words slammed into me like a hammer.

"Wanda's child is indeed yours!" he roared. "You bastard, how could you abandon them for a damn dog?!"

As he spoke, my father shoved the paternity test results toward me.

I didn't even glance at them. Instead, I let out a faint "Oh" and said nothing more.

My mother's brows knitted together as she exhaled sharply. Her voice was firm yet restrained.

"Damian, Wanda saw the livestream of you being attacked online. She was so worried about you that she rushed over here despite her condition. Even the doctors couldn't stop her."

"She always puts you first. You can't keep hurting her like this."

"Be reasonable. Apologize to her and admit you were wrong."

I gently stroked Duke in my arms, feeling the steady rise and fall of its body. My fingers curled slightly as I answered with quiet conviction.

"I only wanted to save my dog. What did I do wrong?"

Smack!

A sharp, burning pain exploded across my cheek.

My father had slapped me—hard.

"You ungrateful bastard!" he roared, his voice raw with fury. "You abandoned your pregnant wife on the road after a car accident just to save a damn dog!"

"You ignored your premature son, who is still fighting for his life in an incubator! Have you even asked about him? Have you shown even the slightest concern?!"

"And after all that, you still have the audacity to say you did nothing wrong?!"

His chest heaved with rage. His eyes—usually calm—were ablaze with an emotion I had never seen before.

That slap had landed with full force. My skin burned, a dull throb spreading from my cheekbone to my temple.

Wanda, who had been silent all this time, flinched at the sight. Her lips parted slightly before she turned to my father, her expression pained.

"Dad, don't be mad," she said softly. "Let's talk this out. Don't hit Damian."

Her fingers clutched the edge of her dress, her frail shoulders trembling.

"He was just desperate to save Duke, but I believe—deep down—he still loves me and our son."

Just as she finished speaking, her phone rang.

The sudden sound cut through the heavy tension like a blade.

She fumbled to answer, pressing the device to her ear. The moment she did, a strained, urgent voice came through the speaker.

"Ms. Wanda, your baby is in critical condition and needs an immediate blood transfusion!"

It was the attending doctor.

Wanda froze, her breath catching in her throat.

"He has a rare blood type—Rh-negative," the doctor continued, his tone tight with urgency. "We can't find a match in time!"

"Between you and the father, whoever has the matching blood type, please come to the hospital immediately. If we don't act fast, the baby's life will be in danger!"

A shudder passed through her thin frame.

Her grip on the phone tightened before she turned to me, her wide, desperate eyes searching my face.

"Damian," she whispered. "You have the same blood type, don't you?"

Her fingers reached out, latching onto my wrist as she pleaded.

"Hurry, we have to go save our son!"

I shook off Wanda's hand without hesitation and said flatly, "I'm not going. I still have to take care of Duke."

Wanda's breath hitched as she stared at me, her eyes wide with disbelief. Her already pale face turned even paler and for a moment, she looked like she might collapse.

My mother, unable to contain her fury any longer, exploded. "Damian, have you lost your mind? That's your own son!"

"Wanda got into a car accident and you ignored her. Now your son's life is on the line and you're just going to stand by and watch him die?"

Her voice trembled, a mixture of rage and disbelief contorting her expression.

I met her gaze with indifference. "The doctor said Duke is very weak and needs care. I have to go home and give him a nutritious meal."

"Besides, I'm anemic. If something happens to me after donating blood, what will happen to Duke?"

Silence fell over the crowd.

Wanda's lips quivered, a failed attempt to vocalize the thoughts swirling within her. Her hands trembled at her sides before she slowly lowered her gaze.

Then, with great effort, she pushed herself out of her wheelchair. Her legs were shaky, but she forced herself to kneel before me.

"Damian..." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

She clutched the hem of my sleeve. Tears pooled in her eyes as she choked out, "We've been together for so many years and I've never asked you for anything."

"I don't care how you treat me, but our child is innocent."

"I'm begging you, please save him. He's just been born—he hasn't even seen the world yet."

Her voice was hoarse and full of desperation, her entire being trembling as she clung to me.

But I remained unmoved.

"If you want to save him, then do it yourself," I said calmly. "I need to take care of Duke. I don't have time to go to the hospital."

As soon as I turned to leave, my father grabbed my arm in a tight grip, his fingers digging into my flesh. His body shook with rage.

"You beast!" he bellowed. "Are you really going to let your own child die just for a dog?"

My mother was no better. Her hands clenched into fists as she trembled in anger, her eyes red with unshed tears.

"Damian, you've completely disappointed me!" she shouted.

"From today onward, we're cutting all ties. I have no son as cold-blooded and heartless as you!"

The moment her words fell, the crowd erupted.

The livestream chat exploded in fury, filling the screen with an endless flood of comments.

[I thought ignoring his wife to save a dog was already the lowest a person could go, but now he won't even save his son just because he wants to take care of a dog? Is he even human?]

[This is disgusting. He can spend an entire night in a pet hospital with a dog, but he refuses to take a little time to go to the hospital and donate blood to save his son. He's worse than an animal!]

[I'm so furious. A person like this doesn't deserve to live, let alone have a wife and child!]

[I really hope karma gets him and he drops dead on the spot!]

The crowd grew even more enraged. Vicious insults and curses rained down on me, their voices brimming with contempt and fury. Some, driven by their emotions, began throwing trash in my direction. Plastic bottles, paper scraps and bits of food pelted me, while others spat at my feet, their faces twisted with disgust.

The way they looked at me—it was as if I wasn't even human, as if I were the filth they were so desperate to trample beneath their feet.

Just as I was drowning in this storm of garbage and verbal abuse, a cold, sharp voice suddenly rang out.

"None of you have the right to judge him."

The atmosphere shifted in an instant. The shouting faltered and the crowd turned toward the source of the voice.

I looked at the woman who had spoken and smiled.

Finally. The real show was about to begin.