As thunderous applause filled the room, I took the microphone and swept my gaze across every face in the crowd.
"Distinguished guests, dear friends and family—today isn't just the successful conclusion of the Calloway-Ashford partnership. It's also the fifth anniversary of my marriage to Damian."
"Tonight, I have a very special gift for him. I'd like everyone here to witness Damian Ashford's five years of devotion to me."
The applause died down. Several bodyguards carried in two enormous crates, each wrapped in silk ribbon tied into elaborate bows.
I smiled softly and nudged Damian toward the crates, gesturing for him to open them.
The entire room went still. Necks craned. Every pair of eyes fixed on those oversized crates, wondering what extravagant gift could possibly be inside.
Damian gave my cheek an indulgent pinch, then reached for the latch. The clasp snapped open with a sharp click, and he threw back the lid.
Under his stunned gaze, a woman slowly rose from inside the crate. The instant her eyes landed on Damian, she burst into tears and threw herself into his arms.
"Honey! You scared me half to death! Didn't you tell me to bring our son back for the celebration?"
"We'd barely gotten off the plane before someone shoved us into a crate—you're awful! You can't scare people like that!"
Her tears dissolved into giggles as she wrapped her arms around Damian's neck.
Three seconds of dead silence.
Then the room erupted.
"What's going on? Why is this woman calling Damian her husband?"
"She has a son? I thought Damian couldn't have children!"
The color drained from Damian's face. He spun around and wrenched open the second crate. Inside, his son lay with his eyes shut tight, fast asleep.
Damian lunged forward and scooped the boy into his arms, shouting his name.
But the little one just slumped against his shoulder, limp and motionless.
Panic flooded Damian's eyes. He patted the child's back once, twice, three times—then his gaze snapped to me.
"Serena, what did you do to Hugo?"
I walked forward with a cold smile, my gaze cutting into him like a blade.
"Damian, why are you so worked up? Don't tell me this is your son."
"Oh, right—I almost forgot. Our dear Mr. Ashford suffered that terrible car accident. He shouldn't be able to father such an adorable child."
As I spoke, I let the tip of my manicured nail trace lightly down the boy's cheek, leaving a thin red line.