I stand in front of the full-length mirror, the silk robe slipping off one shoulder. The ultrasound photo rests in my palm—our baby, twelve weeks along, already changing everything. A knock echoes through the bedroom door. "You’re late for breakfast," Axel says, voice low, controlled. I don’t answer. I can’t. Not after reading the encrypted file Marcus left on my tablet—the one showing Corrine’s DNA match to the donor log. It wasn’t a mistake. It was a setup.

He enters without waiting, dressed in a tailored black suit, eyes scanning me like he’s measuring how much I know. "We have the press conference in two hours. Smile, and don’t mention the clinic." His hand brushes my waist, possessive, electric. "Or are you finally ready to ask me what really happened?"

The air thickens. One word could引爆 this fragile peace. But if I confront him now, I risk losing protection—if not my life.