Seven years of marriage, and I'd lost count of the men my wife Serena Abbott had slept with.

The reason I'd turned a blind eye all this time?

She always made it worth my while.

Every young boy toy she kept earned me a limited-edition supercar. Every yacht party with male models got me an identical vessel of my own.

She paid for my silence—bought off every breakdown, every tear I might have shed.

Until she got pregnant with our child.

I thought the baby would change her. That she'd finally settle down, come home to our family.

I'd finished decorating the nursery, counting down the days until our child arrived, when the hospital called.

Serena had gone behind my back. She'd had an abortion.

I rushed to the hospital like a madman. But the moment I reached her room, a child's voice drifted through the door.

"Mommy, I hate the baby in your tummy! I won't let you have another kid!"

I froze.

Through the crack in the door, I saw a boy—maybe three years old—nestled in Serena's arms, whining for her attention.

And beside them stood a young, handsome man, tenderly tucking the blanket around her.

My world collapsed.

Serena's eyes met mine.

She sent the man and child away, then pulled out a blank check and held it toward me.

"Write whatever number you want."

I tore it to shreds.

I looked at her and smiled.

"Not this time, Serena. I don't want your money."

My hand trembled as I pointed toward the door—toward where the little boy had disappeared.

"I want that child."

——

"Otis Wiley, have you lost your mind?!"

Disbelief twisted Serena's features, as if she'd just heard the most absurd joke of her life.

I said it again. "I want that child."

Every word scraped against raw bone. The betrayal had hollowed me out.

"Stop this nonsense!" She dropped her voice to a hiss, laced with warning. "That's not your child!"

"Your child is gone—I made sure of that!"

Yes. My child was gone. She'd killed it with her own hands.

"Your child is my child, isn't it?"

My voice was soft, but my eyes had turned to ice.

"Or would you rather the Ashford family's firstborn grandson enter this world branded a bastard?"

Serena's mouth opened. Nothing came out.

She and I had grown up together—childhood sweethearts, both orphaned young, both raised under Old Mr. Abbott's roof.

She was the Ashford princess. I was the charity case they'd taken in.

The Ashfords were old money. Elite. They lived and died by reputation and rules.

Serena could play around, indulge her whims—but a scandal that threatened the family's foundation? Unforgivable.

That man. That child. They were her greatest liability.

Nathaniel Fox finally caught on. He burst into the room, voice shrill with panic.

"Serena! You can't give him our son! He's my only—"

His only leverage.

A nobody from nowhere, dreaming he could climb into the Ashford dynasty on the back of a child. Pathetic.

I watched Serena wrestle with herself, and something cold unfurled in my chest.

How perfectly absurd.

I gathered what remained of my strength, pushed past her, and walked toward Nathaniel.

He stumbled back, eyes darting with suspicion and hostility.

"Hello." I forced a rigid smile. "I'm Serena's husband. Otis Wiley."

Each word landed like a verdict.

"And starting today—I'm that boy's father."

I paused, savoring the way his face drained of color, then twisted the knife one final time.

"Remember this—your child was miscarried. Do you understand?"

I barely breathed the word miscarried, yet it cut through me like shattered glass.

"No!"

Nathaniel seized the vase from the nightstand and hurled it at my head.

"You're lying! That's my child! Mine!"

Serena appeared in the doorway, her expression strained.

"Rena, you can't let him take our baby!" Nathaniel turned to her, desperate. The word our scraped across my eardrums like a blade.

Serena's gaze shifted to me, conflicted.

"Otis..."

I leaned close to her ear and murmured, "The East River development site. Your grandfather has his heart set on it. And it just so happens to be in the hands of a very good friend of mine."

Her body went rigid.

That land was the cornerstone of the Ashford family's strategy for the next decade—and the key to proving her worth to Old Mr. Abbott.

She whipped around to face me. Fury. Resentment. And beneath it all, a flicker of fear.

She drew a slow breath, then turned to Nathaniel. "The child... stays with Otis. It's the only way to make this legitimate."

I addressed my assistant without looking back.

"Mason Grant. Bring the boy to my car."

I walked out of the hospital room and dialed another number.

"Handle every loose end."

"I need a medical certificate confirming my wife Serena Abbott suffered an accidental miscarriage. And I need a new birth certificate for the child—mother's name: Serena Abbott. Father's name: Otis Wiley. No one else."

Behind me, the room erupted—crashing furniture, screaming, and Nathaniel's raw, guttural howls tearing through the corridor.

I looked down at the boy who'd been forced into my car.

He stared back at me with eyes exactly like Serena's—wide with fear, sharp with hatred.

My lips curved into a smile that held no warmth at all.

Serena was discharged soon after. Her body came home. Her heart stayed with Nathaniel.

Her phone screen glowed constantly—message after message from that man.

Rena, I miss Evan so much. Can't you make him give our baby back?

I don't want anything else. I just want our child.

Rena, I can't go on. His people shoved me that day—I hit my head. The doctor says I have a concussion. Am I going to die?

The pretty boy knew exactly how to play her.

He never attacked me directly. Instead, he painted himself as the suffering victim, pining for his stolen child—making me look like the monster, the heartless villain.

Every time she read his messages, the crease between her brows deepened. Then she'd invent some excuse and slip away.

One morning, Serena was gone. The boy was locked in his room.

And Nathaniel appeared at my doorstep like a ghost, his eyes venomous.

"Don't think you've won, Otis."

"That unlucky child of yours? I'm the one who made Rena get rid of it."

"That night, she'd been drinking. She kept calling me, over and over."

"All I did was mention that your baby would become an obstacle for me someday."

"I told her to spend more time with me."

"I never expected her to hang up and book the procedure right then. After that, well..."

"Your child is gone because you couldn't hold onto it. Don't blame anyone else."

"You're just raising my son for me. Don't celebrate too soon."

He smirked, satisfied with himself, and turned to leave.

Every word seared into me like a red-hot brand.

So that's how it happened.

I closed my eyes. My hands trembled at my sides, fingernails digging into my palms until the taste of iron flooded my mouth.

Drops of blood slid down my palm and splattered onto the pristine white carpet, blooming like crimson plum blossoms—beautiful and brutal.

That's when Serena came back.

She saw the blood on my hand and froze for a second before rushing forward to grab my wrist.

"What's wrong with you? Have you lost your mind again?"

She pulled out the first-aid kit, ready to bandage my hand. Her brow furrowed, and for a moment, there was something almost like genuine concern in her expression.

My whole body trembled. I wanted to scream. I wanted to demand answers. I wanted to lunge at her and tear her apart.

But I had no strength left.

"Just go," I said. "Go be with Nathaniel."

"I don't need you here."

Her phone rang. Nathaniel, no doubt, playing the victim again.

Without a moment's hesitation, Serena answered and hurried out the door.

I called Mason and told him to bring the car around.

"Take me to the estate."

Time to collect what was mine.

When I appeared at the gates of the Wiley estate with the child in my arms, the entire family erupted.

Grandparents on both sides. Uncles. Aunts. Everyone swarmed around us.

"Oh, my precious great-grandson!"

Grandmother carefully lifted the boy from my arms, her face splitting into the widest smile I'd seen in years.

"This child is... from when you two went abroad? That year you stayed overseas?"

Grandfather was so overcome that his hands shook. He looked at me with eyes brimming with pride and approval.

"You had a baby behind our backs! And kept him hidden for three whole years!"

I explained that the child had been sickly, requiring treatment abroad. We'd kept it quiet until he was healthy enough to bring home.

No one questioned the story.

No one knew that my heart had already died—back in that cold, sterile hospital room, alongside the child who never drew breath.

Grandfather glanced at the empty doorway, confused. "Where's Serena?"

"Busy, I suppose." I kept my voice light, indifferent. "Haven't seen much of her lately."

The rewards the elders heaped upon me were staggering.

Grandmother brought out her most treasured possessions—the jade signet ring she'd kept locked away for decades, antique calligraphy scrolls, paintings worth small fortunes. One piece after another, each priceless.

Grandfather transferred five percent of Wiley Group's shares directly into my name, making me the youngest member of the board overnight.

I smiled and accepted everything.

All of it was mine by right.

Paid for with my child's life.

No one knew that in the deepest corner of my walk-in closet, I had carved out a small, hidden space.

There were no expensive watches there. No designer suits.

Just a tiny memorial tablet, carved from red sandalwood.

No name was inscribed on it.

Before the tablet sat a wooden rattle drum I'd bought with my own hands—a gift I would never get to give. Beside it lay a few pitifully small baby clothes.

Every night, when the house fell silent, I would lock myself inside that closet.

I would hold that small wooden tablet and run my fingers over it, again and again.

Baby, Daddy's here.

Baby, Grandma and Grandpa bought so many toys today. If you were here, you'd have them too.

Baby, do you blame Daddy? Daddy was useless. Daddy couldn't protect—

I never cried aloud. I just let the tears fall in silence, soaking into the wood I clutched against my chest.

There was a hole where my heart used to be. A wound that would never heal. Cold wind howled through it endlessly, and the pain made it impossible to breathe.

That was my secret. Mine, and my lost child's.

Serena came back to the estate too, but she didn't dare come near me.

In front of the entire family, Grandfather pointed his cane at her and berated her publicly. Her husband and child had come home, and she couldn't even bother to show her face.

She was ordered to kneel in the family shrine for the entire night.

She probably couldn't understand it—how the Otis Wiley who once loved her desperately, who let her wrap him around her finger, had suddenly become this.