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.”

Falco’s words carried a sharp edge and he sneered as he spoke.

“Yosefina, who do you think you are?”

“Just because you married my brother doesn’t mean you can control Yvone and me. My brother took our mother’s last name—only the children born from Yvone and me are true Wenzels, the rightful heirs of Wenzel Enterprises.”

“Since when do you have the right to tell Yvone what to do?”

His voice was firm as he ordered me to let go of the child. Benedict, still in my arms, looked up at me gratefully but then took a step back, deliberately keeping some distance.

“Auntie, thank you, but it’s okay.”

“I’m used to this.”

Hearing that, my heart clenched with pain. Without thinking, I flipped the entire table over.

“Yvone, if nothing else, at least show some decency for the sake of the child in your belly. Stop being so cruel.”

Screw this so-called family dinner—I had no interest in playing along with their act any longer. I turned and walked away with Benedict.

But before I could step outside the villa, Fynn stepped in front of me, blocking my path with a cold expression.

“Yosefina, where do you think you’re going?”

I almost forgot—he was one of Yvone’s most loyal lapdogs.

Right on cue, Yvone clung to Fynn’s arm, her voice trembling with false tears. “Brother, I know you love and respect your wife, but this child was just adopted by us—it has nothing to do with her! She flipped the table and scared my baby!”

She dabbed at nonexistent tears, playing the delicate victim as always, instantly drawing sympathy.

Fynn shot me a frosty glare, his voice laced with reprimand. “You were the one who arranged this dinner. Yvone didn’t do anything wrong—she was just trying to discipline the child. Why are you making a scene?”

“Put the child down. Give him back to Yvone.”

I held Benedict tightly in my arms and let out a cold laugh. “No. I’ve taken a liking to this child. I want to adopt him.”

All three of them refused to back down, forcing me to release the child.

But I simply smiled calmly and turned to Yvone. “Yvone, I’d like a word with you in private.”

I led her up to the second-floor terrace and deliberately provoked her. Enraged and humiliated, she lost control and shoved me off the balcony.

Everyone saw it happen—both in person and on the security cameras. I crashed onto the lawn below. I was alive, but blood poured from my body, unstoppable.

Fynn’s face turned ghostly pale as he rushed to me. “Yosefina, are you okay?”

“Hurry… get me to a hospital!” I could feel something slipping away from me—something I could never get back. Tears blurred my vision as I turned to Yvone, who stood frozen in shock.

“Yvone, you killed my baby. I’m calling the police.”

The moment I said that, Fynn’s expression darkened. “Fini, don’t be rash. Yvone didn’t mean to…”

Falco, however, eyed me with suspicion. “Why would Yvone suddenly push you? That doesn’t make sense. You must be twisting the story.”

“What did you say to set her off this time?”

He studied me with concern, but Yvone refused to meet my gaze. Her face was ashen, her lips tightly sealed.

Then, suddenly, her eyes flickered and she clutched her stomach, her face twisting in pain. “H-Honey… hurry… I think I’m going into labor…”

At that, Fynn panicked and sprinted to her side.

“There’s no time to wait for an ambulance! Falco, carry Yvone to the car—I’ll drive her to the hospital myself.”

Falco hesitated for a moment, then glanced back at me.

“What about your wife?”

Fynn didn’t even turn around.

“We don’t have time for that. Yvone comes first.”

“It’s not like this is the first time Yosefina’s had a miscarriage. She’s used to it—she’ll survive.”

“Besides, if she hadn’t fallen from the balcony and scared Yvone, this wouldn’t be happening in the first place…”