Chloe picked up the paper with two manicured fingers. Her eyes scanned the page, landing directly on the bold red seal at the bottom. NO BIOLOGICAL RELATIONSHIP. For a moment, the breath caught in her throat, her eyes sharpening with an intensity Ethan had never seen before. But there was no panic. No pale cheeks, no trembling hands, no desperate scramble for an excuse. Instead, she calmly gripped the paper with both hands. Rip. The sound of tearing paper echoed sharply across the room. She folded the halves together and tore them again, letting the scraps flutter down onto the table like snow, settling among the discarded lemon wedges and oyster shells. "What is this supposed to be?" she asked, her voice dangerously low. She brushed a stray piece of paper off her cuff. "Some kind of sick joke?" Ethan looked at the pile of shreds between them, his face devoid of emotion. He had known she wouldn't break down and beg for forgiveness. Chloe was a global sensation; she played

Ethan walked straight back into the bar, the heavy door thudding shut behind him. The air was thick with the smell of stale alcohol and lemon cleaner. Behind the counter stood the bar owner, wiping down a glass. She was blonde, with her hair pulled into a messy bun. "I need to see your surveillance footage from Wednesday night," Ethan said, leaning over the counter. "Just the entrance and the parking lot." The woman barely looked up as she continued polishing the glass with a rag. "Cameras are basically just for show, Doctor. Half of them don't work, and the ones that do overwrite every twelve hours. I can't help you." Ethan stared at her, the headache from his hangover still throbbing behind his temples. As he looked at her hair, a wild, impulsive question slipped out before he could stop himself. "Was it you? Were you the one who took me to the hotel last night?" The moment the words left his mouth, Ethan felt a sting of embarrassment. The bar owner paused, then let

Gavin Grant stared at the white paper on his desk, his hands trembling slightly. The expedited twenty-four-hour test results had just arrived from the genetics lab, stamped with the same damning red seal. ​PROBABILITY OF PATERNITY: 0.00%. ​Ethan and Sophia shared no biological relationship whatsoever. ​Ethan hadn't lied. He hadn't forged anything. The three separate lab reports he had shown Chloe were completely accurate. Gavin’s stomach dropped. This wasn't just a minor celebrity rumor—a scandal like this could destroy Chloe’s career, cost her countless brand endorsements, and trigger a media feeding frenzy that no publicist could ever contain. Gavin didn't dare make a decision on his own. He grabbed his jacket, locked the document in his briefcase, and drove straight to Chloe’s estate. Skipping the polite small talk with the house staff, he followed Chloe directly into her second-floor study and closed and locked the door behind them. ​He pulled out the document and

Ethan drained his glass in one sharp gulp, but the harsh burn of the whiskey did little to quell the rage brewing in his chest.Chloe was unbelievable.She had gone out and paid for her own private, expedited DNA test. She had held the same zero-percent result in her own hands. She knew as well as he did that Sophia had been conceived around the exact month they exchanged wedding vows sixteen years ago. Yet she still stood in front of him, looking down her nose, and denying the truth with a stern face.Why? Because she had money, power, and a household name, while he was just an ordinary staff doctor at Westbridge University Hospital. In her mind, he was easy to control. And as long as she kept her quiet, obedient husband tucked away in her luxury villa, she could play the devoted wife on television while living whatever secret life she wanted behind the scenes.“You make millions, sleep with whoever you want, and expect me to bow my head and thank you for it,” Ethan cursed under his