"Apologize!"

"Julian, I want you to apologize to Bill—right now!"

Louise didn't bother hiding the disgust in her eyes when she looked at me.

Bill, meanwhile, wore nothing but a smug grin.

Watching the two of them put on their little "devoted siblings" act, I couldn't help but laugh.

"Apologize... sure..."

I nodded.

The next second, under Louise's disbelieving stare, I grabbed the bottle off the table and smashed it over Bill's head.

Crack!

The bottle shattered on impact.

Crimson blood mingled with liquor, streaming down his face.

"Ahhh—!"

Bill clutched his head and let out a shrill, pig-like wail.

"Julian, you've lost your mind!"

Louise was livid. She rushed over with a towel, pressing it against Bill's wound, pulling him into her arms like he was something precious.

"It's okay, Bill. I'm here."

Bill's eyes rimmed red, his voice thick with pitiful, choked-back sobs:

"It's my fault, Louise. I'm the one who upset him. Please don't blame him."

Even now, Bill was still playing the innocent martyr.

Louise held him tighter and whipped around to snarl at me:

"You're an unreasonable lunatic, Julian."

"I want a divorce."

"Fine. I agree."

My voice was flat. Not a ripple of emotion.

Louise froze, clearly not expecting me to agree so easily.

Under her stunned gaze, I turned and walked out of the room.

On the drive home, I contacted a private investigator.

My instructions were clear:

"Look into Louise Sullivan. The past five years—every movement, phone record, transaction, anything you can dig up. The more detailed, the better."

I opened the front door. My five-year-old son, Alvin Gilbert, was in the living room playing with his toys.

"Daddy, what's wrong?"

He looked up at my expression and asked with concern.

I smiled and ruffled his hair.

Looking closely, Alvin didn't really look like me. He resembled his mother—Louise—much more.

But for the past five years, I'd trusted Louise completely. I had never once questioned Alvin's parentage.

Now, though, I'd heard that conversation with my own ears.

And suddenly, I couldn't bring myself to look this child in the eye—this child I'd raised with my own hands.

I pretended to pick something off his head and plucked two strands of his hair.

I called a same-day courier and sent the hair samples to two different paternity testing centers.

Rush orders. Both of them.

The wait was agonizing.

The moment the results came in, every nerve in my body pulled taut. My heart hammered without rhythm.

I opened the electronic report.

Skipped past everything else. Went straight to the last page.

Based on DNA analysis, the probability of excluding Julian Gilbert as the biological father of the submitted Alvin Gilbert is 99.99%.

Two reports. Same result.

"Ha... haha..."

A bitter, hollow laugh escaped my throat.

Five years.

One thousand eight hundred and twenty-five days.

I had poured everything I had into Louise, into Alvin, into this family—every ounce of devotion, every shred of effort I possessed.

And in the end, I was nothing but a fool who'd spent five years raising another man's son.

Bill was right.

I was a goddamn idiot.

Raising someone else's kid and feeling proud of myself for it.

There probably wasn't a bigger fool on the face of the earth.

I wondered how Louise and Bill laughed about me behind closed doors.

Rage. Humiliation. Bitter refusal to accept it—all of it crashed together inside my chest.

My fists clenched until my knuckles went white.

It took every ounce of strength I had to keep the all-consuming rage from tearing its way out.

I pulled out my phone and dialed.

"Attorney Matthews, I need you to prepare a divorce agreement."

I ignored his shock on the other end and calmly told him to make it fast.

Louise didn't come home that night.

The next morning, I was jolted awake by my phone ringing. I glanced at the caller ID and let a cold smile curl across my lips.

"Gilbert, you have ten minutes. Get your ass to the hospital—now!"

The second the call connected, Ann Sullivan's shrill voice sliced through the speaker. The same imperious tone she always used—a command, never a request.

Before I could respond, she hung up.

I let out a quiet, mirthless laugh.

So. They were holding court. And I was the one on trial.

I washed up, got in the car, and drove to the hospital.

Inside the room, Bill Henson lay in the hospital bed with gauze wrapped around his forehead, looking frail and pathetic. Louise sat at his bedside, her eyes swollen to the size of walnuts from crying.

When I walked in, Ivor Sullivan's face darkened, but he said nothing. Ann shot me a look dripping with contempt and let out a heavy, derisive snort.

Bill flinched, shrinking back against Louise as if terrified. She rubbed his back soothingly.

"You wanted to see me?" I looked at Ann, my expression blank.

"You have the nerve to ask?"

Her voice spiked to a shriek. She snatched the cup from the bedside table and hurled it straight at me.

"Julian Gilbert—look at what you've done! Look what you've reduced him to! He's shaking!"

"My daughter must have been blind to marry a violent thug like you."

"Do you have any idea—Louise was so traumatized she cried the entire night!"

Ann was hysterical, unleashing a torrent of accusations without pausing for breath.

Right on cue, Louise let out a couple of pitiful sobs, the picture of a woman who'd suffered some unforgivable wrong.

"Julian," Ivor spoke up, his tone measured and righteous, "last night, you went too far. Bill grew up under our watch. He and Louise are naturally close. You had no right to attack someone without hearing them out first. That was wrong."

I stared at his self-assured face and laughed—a cold, hollow sound.

"And then what?"

"And then what?"

Ann bristled like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

"You get on your knees and apologize. You kowtow until Bill and Louise forgive you. Only then do you get to stand back up."

She said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

In the past, the Sullivans had never hesitated to use my love for Louise as leverage. And for five years, I'd swallowed my pride every single time to keep the peace.

Ann was certain—absolutely certain—that I'd fold again, the way I always did.

Not this time.

"Are you finished?"

The room went still.

"Good. Because now it's my turn."

I locked eyes with Louise.

"Louise, let's get a divorce."

I slapped the agreement—the one my lawyer had drafted through the night—onto the bed in front of her.

Louise froze. The sobbing cut off mid-breath.

Ivor and Ann stared, blindsided. The word divorce coming from my mouth was something none of them had ever imagined.

Every pair of eyes in the room fixed on me in disbelief.

Every pair except one.

After a brief flash of surprise, Bill's eyes lit up with barely concealed elation.

"Julian Gilbert." Ivor's voice dropped low, his face like a gathering storm. "Don't bite the hand that feeds you. You'll only get this chance once."

"Honey—" Louise turned her tear-streaked face to me, eyes glistening, lashes clumped together. The tears fell in an endless stream, one after another, like a string of pearls snapping loose. She looked pitiful. Wounded. Utterly wronged.

"I already told you, last night was a misunderstanding. Why won't you listen to me?"

Bill grabbed my hand, his voice cracking with emotion.

"Julian, this is all my fault—every bit of it."

"I don't want your apology. Just please, don't fight with Louise anymore. If you can't stand having me around, I'll leave tomorrow. I'll disappear and never come back!"

"Louise truly loves you. Please don't divorce her. I'm begging you."

Looking at Bill and his nauseating little performance, my stomach turned.

"Get off me!"

I wrenched my hand free and shoved him back.

"Ahhh—!"

Bill crumpled to the floor, crying out in exaggerated pain.

"Julian! Have you lost your mind?!"

Louise rushed to help Bill up, cradling his reddened elbow. She whipped around and screamed at me.

"You want a divorce? Fine! I'll give you one!"

"It's not like I can't live without you."

She snatched up the divorce agreement and reached for a pen.

"Wait."

Ann stopped her.

"Julian, you can have your divorce. But you're leaving this marriage with nothing."

"And you'll publicly state that you had an affair during the marriage, causing the breakdown."