I had been secretly in love with Falco Wenzel for six years. The night before I finally gathered the courage to confess, someone drugged my drink.

One thing led to another and I ended up spending the night with Falco.

Two months later, I found out I was pregnant. When I told him, he responded with cold indifference, saying he’d “take responsibility.”

But on the day of our wedding, I was blindsided—Falco stood there, holding a marriage certificate with his childhood crush, Yvone Koehler.

I went to confront him, demanding an explanation, but his twin brother, Fynn Schwarzmann, stopped me. And that’s when he dropped a bombshell—he was the one I had been with that night.

Right then and there, Fynn proposed to me.

After we got married, I lost one baby after birth and suffered three miscarriages. The doctors told me my body was too weak to carry a pregnancy to term.

Each time, Fynn was devastated. His eyes would turn red with grief and he would kneel and pray endlessly, begging the heavens to let our next child survive.

This time, I was finally pregnant again. Just as I was about to tell him the good news, I overheard Falco speaking to him:

"Bro, I heard Yosefina went to the hospital again. Why don’t you just trick her into getting a hysterectomy? That way, she won’t keep trying to have kids."

Fynn replied without hesitation, his voice steady and assured, "Relax. The family fortune is only meant for Yvone’s child. No matter how much medicine Yosefina takes, she’ll never give birth to a healthy baby."

I barely had time to process the betrayal before Falco sneered and scoffed,

"Oh, right. Yosefina’s first kid is still in the orphanage, isn’t he? Yvone’s been feeling lonely during her pregnancy—why not bring the kid over and let her have some fun?"

Without a second thought, Fynn agreed. "Fine. That kid is yours anyway. Just don’t let anything happen to him."

Falco laughed coldly.

"She drank that drugged wine and gave birth to a bastard that never should’ve existed. A worthless life like hers—she’d deserve it if she died…"

I couldn’t listen anymore.

From the very beginning, they had set me up.

I walked right into their trap.

My life—and my child’s—had been nothing more than a tool for them to please Yvone.

——

Fynn tossed a photo of a three-year-old onto the table, a flicker of disgust in his eyes.

“This one. I couldn’t even be bothered to name him. The orphanage director calls him Benedict. I saw him last year—starving, skin and bones.”

He let out a cold laugh. “Funny thing is, he actually looks a lot like you did as a kid.”

Falco picked up the photo with a lazy smirk, eyes full of ridicule.

“Just a bastard. A mistake from a one-night stand. I’ll never acknowledge him.”

As he spoke, he carefully unlocked his phone, his gaze softening as he looked at his wallpaper—a stunning woman in a maternity dress, glowing with happiness.

His voice turned gentle. “My child… can only come from Yvone.”

Then, his tone sharpened. “If it weren’t for that night four years ago—if Yosefina hadn’t schemed her way into drinking Jingyi’s wine—how the hell would she have ended up in my bed?”

I started shaking, my body ice-cold.

That’s not what happened.

***

Four years ago, I had planned to confess to Falco, but I got nervous and drank a little too much at the banquet.

My eyes had been on him the entire night. I never noticed someone had switched my drink.

I only learned the truth much later: the drugged wine had been meant for Yvone. But she was too busy flirting with some rich heir and by sheer accident, I ended up drinking it instead.

Dizzy and unsteady, I was helped upstairs to a room. Falco, his body burning with feverish heat, pulled me into his arms the moment I walked in.

He thought I was Yvone.

That night, he made me his.

But when morning came and he saw my face, his expression turned ice-cold. Still, he forced out the words: “I’ll take responsibility.”

Then, on the day of the wedding, I watched as Falco and Yvone held up their marriage certificate for the cameras, smiling like they had just won.

I went to demand an explanation.

But before I could reach him, Fynn—his twin brother—stepped in front of me.

And with a calm, matter-of-fact tone, he shattered my world.

“The man you were with that night… wasn’t Falco. It was me.”

The baby was Fynn’s too.

Eight months into our marriage, I drank a glass of fresh orange juice. I never expected it to trigger premature labor.

By the time I woke up in the hospital, Fynn was sitting beside me, eyes red, voice trembling as he told me—

Our baby didn’t make it.

The grief hit me so hard I could barely breathe. I sobbed until my body gave out, slipping in and out of consciousness.

Fynn never left my side.

He stayed up all night, holding me, whispering soft reassurances against my skin, pressing gentle kisses to my forehead.

“Fini, it’s okay…”

“We’ll have another one. A second, a third… We’re still young.”

He never let go—not in those first impossible days, not as he helped me claw my way out of the darkness.

But in the years that followed, I lost three more pregnancies.

The doctors said my body was too weak to carry a child to term.

Desperate, Fynn spared no expense, hiring the world’s top private specialists. I thought he was trying to help me.

I never realized that from the very beginning, they had all been working against me.

***

“Fini, are you home?”

I heard Fynn’s familiar footsteps climbing the stairs, coming closer.

The door creaked open.

His gaze settled on me, warm and gentle as always.

“The driver said you just got back from the hospital.”

“What did the doctor say?”

Then his eyes lifted—landing on the pregnancy report I had left on the table.

I hadn’t even noticed it was still there.

Before I could move, the paper was already in his hands.

His brow furrowed as he read it.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, forcing myself to ask, “I’m pregnant. Aren’t you happy?”

For a moment, Fynn just stared at me.

Then, slowly, he smiled.

A bright, effortless grin—just a little too perfect. Just a little too forced.

"How could I not be happy? Fini, this is incredible! All our efforts have finally paid off—we’re going to have a baby."

Fynn pulled me into his arms, his voice warm, his excitement seemingly genuine.

"I need to call Dr. Kass right away. He’ll make sure you get the best prenatal care."

But even as he held me, I felt it—the stiffness in his body, the hesitation in his touch.

His arms were around me, but his heart wasn’t.

A moment later, he let go, phone already in hand and walked toward his study.

The door didn’t close all the way.

And through the gap, his voice drifted out, low and sharp.

"Dr. Kass, what the hell are you doing?"

"Didn’t I tell you to increase the dosage? She wasn’t supposed to get pregnant—ever. So how the hell did this happen?"

"Fix it. Now. Make sure she loses this baby. Just like before—swap out her meds. Make it look natural."

I pressed my back against the wall, my legs weak beneath me.

And then—I laughed.

Tears burned my eyes as bitter laughter bubbled up from my throat.

So this was my husband.

The man I had loved for three years. The man I had trusted completely.

A moment later, Fynn walked back in, all tenderness and warmth.

He reached for me, steadying me with gentle hands, then knelt down, pressing his ear to my stomach as if listening for our child.

"I need to say hello to our little one," he murmured, voice soft, eyes filled with warmth. "Be good, okay? Don’t give Mommy a hard time."

His tenderness was flawless. His affection, almost convincing.

Almost.

And for the first time, I was truly in awe—not of the man, but of his ability to lie so beautifully.

"Fini, since you're already pregnant, why don’t you take a year off from the university? Focus on resting and taking care of the baby."

Fynn had spent half the day in his study, meticulously putting together a pregnancy care plan. Now, he suddenly looked up and asked me this, his tone casual—almost considerate.

I was a university professor. My schedule was light, just two classes a day.

But I knew the real reason behind his suggestion.

He wanted me under his control. Completely.

Before, I would have agreed without hesitation—probably even felt lucky to have such a thoughtful husband.

But now?

I kept my expression blank and shook my head.

"There’s no need. Who knows if this baby will even make it?"

Fynn studied me for a moment, but when he saw how firm I was, he didn’t push further.

Instead, he simply scheduled a private doctor to come by tomorrow for a check-up.

That night, I locked myself in the study, claiming I needed to prepare for class.

The moment Fynn left, I started searching the fastest I could.

That photo had been hidden deep within the bookshelf, wedged between the layers.

I searched through every shelf, every crevice, until finally—inside a thick, dusty book—I found it.

The moment I pulled it out, my eyes burned with tears.

The little boy in the picture—his nose, his mouth—they were identical to mine when I was a child.

But his eyes… they were unmistakably Falco’s.

From Fynn’s conversation yesterday, all I had managed to gather was that the child was in an orphanage.

But which one? That, I still didn’t know.

***

The next day, I hosted a family gathering at the villa.

On the surface, it was to celebrate a joyous occasion—both Yvone and I were pregnant, a double blessing for the family.

But in reality, I had only one goal:

To get them to slip up and reveal the orphanage’s location.

***

Fynn glanced at me, curious. “Why the sudden idea to host a family gathering? I thought you had your check-up scheduled today.”

I smiled. “Yvone is pregnant too. It’s a double celebration—shouldn’t we all come together for it?”

“Alright, if that’s what you want.”

The moment he realized he’d get to see Yvone at the gathering, his mood noticeably lifted.

That morning, he spent an absurd amount of time in front of the mirror, meticulously fixing his hair. He even put on his most expensive, custom-tailored suit.

Watching him, a memory stirred—

Shortly after we got married, I had stumbled upon Fynn’s secret hideout in the basement.

The room was packed with photo albums, stacks of journals filled with page after page of longing.

Every word, every image—dedicated to one woman.

I had asked him then, “Who is she?”

Fynn’s expression stiffened for a moment before he quickly brushed it off.

"She was my first love."

It was a vague, careless answer, but I didn’t push. Everyone has a past and I had no reason to pry.

I just never imagined that she was Yvone.

By the time I arrived, Falco and Yvone were already seated on the lawn.

Her six-month pregnant belly stretched against the fabric of her dress as she loomed over a small boy—no older than three—her voice sharp with disgust.

“You filthy little bastard, are you blind?”

“Do you have any idea how expensive this dress is? Even if I sold your heart and liver, it wouldn’t be enough to pay for it. Maybe I should just cut off your hands so you’ll learn to be more careful.”

I stopped dead in my tracks.

The boy’s face—his nose, his mouth—was almost identical to my own when I was his age.

And his eyes… were just like Falco’s.

It was him.

Benedict.

He had been carrying a tray of coffee when, by accident, a few drops spilled onto Yvone’s dress.

For that, she had whipped him.

He lay curled on the ground, trembling, his tiny hands clutching the dirt as he choked out desperate pleas.

“I-I didn’t mean to!”

“Please, I’m sorry—please don’t hit me!”

Then I saw them.

Scars.

Some old, some fresh. Thin, deliberate slashes across his arms, his legs—marks from a blade. Others were deep, red welts, as if someone had struck him over and over with a whip.

And through it all, Falco stood nearby, watching with nothing but cold amusement.

His lips curled into a smirk.

“Apologize to Aunt Yvone like your life depends on it.”

“If she’s in a good mood, maybe she’ll let you get up.”

“Don’t forget—you only got out of that miserable orphanage because Aunt Yvone was generous enough to bring you here. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll learn to be a good little dog.”

Falco chuckled as he fed Yvone a grape, his gaze filled with indulgence. She leaned into him, basking in his affection, while just a few feet away, a child was being humiliated.

Benedict—only three years old—lowered his head, his small hands clenched into fists. His eyes, far too calm for a boy his age, held a quiet defiance.

Still, he obeyed. He dropped to his knees. “I’m sorry.”

Yvone smirked, crossing her arms as she lifted a perfectly manicured foot.

“If you’re really sorry, then prove it. Lick my shoe clean.”

I felt my breath catch.

Benedict hesitated. And then—he actually started leaning forward.

“Stop!” My voice rang out sharp.

In an instant, I stepped between them, pulling Benedict into my arms. My heart pounded as I glared at Yvone, fury blazing in my chest.

“He’s just a child! Have you completely lost your mind?”

I had once called Yvone my friend. My sister.

But the woman standing before me now? She was nothing but a monster.

Yvone tilted her head, amused by my outburst. Her lips curled into a mocking smile.

“Oh, it’s you, sister-in-law. Relax. He’s just a worthless little orphan, a charity case from the welfare home. No parents, no family—he should be grateful I even let him breathe the same air as me.”

She glanced down at Benedict, then back up at me, a knowing gleam in her eyes.

“Funny, though. The way you’re protecting him like this… Anyone would think he’s your own son.”