“What the hell is wrong with you?” he spat. “Didn’t I give you Adrian because you wanted him? You begged me to approve that marriage! And now this nonsense?”
Tears pricked my eyes. “Because I was a fool!”
He leaned in, voice rising. “If I had known, I would have given him to Seraphine instead. At least she’s grateful. She knows how to handle him—and the company. You see, the merger is happening soon, and you—”
“Then give him to her,” I interrupted, cutting him off sharply. “They’ve already been cheating on me anyway.”
His eyes widened in shock. “What?”
I reached into my bag, pulling out a sealed envelope, placing it decisively on the desk between us. “Proof. The DNA test. Elias isn’t my son.”
He glanced at the envelope but didn’t touch it. His jaw tightened, his expression unreadable.
“I told you,” I continued, voice steady despite the tears, “you chose Adrian because I loved him. But maybe Seraphine is the daughter you actually raised to perfection. Maybe she deserves him more—because she’s just like you.”
He froze, mouth opening, no words escaping. Silence weighed heavy in the room.
Before he could respond, I turned and walked out, my face burning, my back straight. I didn’t look back.
Hours later, my phone rang again. It was Adrian’s mother.
“Vivienne, darling,” she said warmly, her voice always gentle and kind. “We’re having a small birthday dinner for my husband tonight. I’d love for you and Elias to come.”
For a moment, I wanted to refuse. I didn’t want to see Adrian. I didn’t want to see any of them. But she had always treated me with kindness—the only person in that household who had ever made me feel like family.
So I agreed.
That evening, I arrived in a white dress, my hair neatly tied. I smiled when people greeted me, laughed politely at their small talk, and acted as though my life wasn’t crumbling. Adrian stood beside me, hand on my back, playing the role of the perfect husband.
We looked enviably happy, the kind of couple people admired.
But beneath the façade, his grip tightened, too tight, possessive.
“Come with me,” he whispered, teeth clenched.
He pulled me toward the balcony, away from prying eyes. The mask slipped.
“What’s wrong with you?” he hissed, voice low but seething. “Why are you acting so… strange tonight?”
I gave him a cold, measured look. “Strange?”