Cristy' s desperate cries faded as my security escorted her out. I didn' t care what she thought. I didn' t care what Kane would think. All I cared about was the tiny, innocent life sleeping upstairs. I clutched the railing of the grand staircase, my knuckles white, the cold marble a stark contrast to the burning fury inside me.

My assistant, Liam, a quiet man who had been with my family for years, approached cautiously. "Mrs. Powell, the security team has ensured Ms. Taylor will not bother you again." His voice was calm, professional, but I saw the subtle tension in his jaw. He knew what I had just commanded, and he knew the repercussions.

"Good," I said, my voice hoarse. "Ensure all necessary measures are put in place. I want her blacklisted from every studio, every agency. Every contact she' s ever made in that industry. Gone."

Liam nodded once, a silent acknowledgment of my absolute command. He turned to leave, his footsteps barely audible on the polished floors. My men were efficient. I heard a distant wail, followed by a harsh thud, then silence. A cold satisfaction settled over me. I felt nothing for her, only a chilling relief that my will had been done.

The house, once filled with Cristy' s shrill demands, was now quiet. Too quiet. I walked to the nursery, my footsteps heavy, the silence amplifying my exhaustion. My son was sleeping peacefully, his tiny chest rising and falling with each breath. I picked him up, cradling his warmth against my own cold skin. He was so small, so perfect. He was everything.

I sank onto the glider, holding him tight, the soft fabric of his blanket a comfort. I needed rest. I needed peace. I closed my eyes, trying to block out the images of Cristy' s terrified face, of Kane' s indifferent eyes. My mind was a whirlwind of anger and grief.

A sudden, violent crash from downstairs jolted me awake, my son crying out in fright at the sudden noise. His small body tensed in my arms, his cries echoing in the quiet house.

"Shh, my love, shh," I murmured, rocking him gently, my heart pounding in my chest. I glared towards the door, already knowing who would be standing there.

Kane.

He strode into the nursery, his face a mask of barely suppressed rage, his eyes red-rimmed. He looked like he hadn' t slept in days, but it wasn' t from worry over me or our son. It was fury over Cristy. He saw me holding our crying baby, but his gaze fixed on me, a venomous intensity.

"What have you done, Anastasia?!" he roared, his voice low and guttural. "What in God' s name did you do to her?"

My son whimpered, burying his face in my shoulder. I squeezed him closer. "I simply ensured she received the consequences for her actions."

"Consequences?!" He laughed, a bitter, humorless sound. "You call ruining her career, destroying her future, 'consequences' ? She' s in the hospital, Anastasia! Severely injured!"

My eyes narrowed. "She came into my home, Kane. She challenged me. She threatened my child. What else was I supposed to do? Roll over and give her everything she wanted?"

"You' re a monster!" he spat, taking a menacing step closer. "A cruel, heartless monster! You think you' re above everyone, don' t you? You think your power gives you the right to destroy lives?" He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my postpartum flesh, a sharp pain blooming. My son cried louder.

"What kind of retribution do you expect, Kane?" I asked, my voice dangerously calm despite the pain. "What would you have me suffer? Humiliation? Poverty? Death, perhaps? Like my family before me?"

He froze, his grip loosening slightly as he heard the raw edge in my voice. That name, Anastasia. The one he used in our early days, when he was just Kane, a hungry young entrepreneur trying to climb his way up.

I saw a flash of the past in his eyes, a memory of a time when he' d adored me, when he' d believed my every word. "You used to handle situations like this with such… finesse, Kane," I said, a bitter irony lacing my words. "Remember that conniving investor who tried to tank your first big deal? You dismantled his empire so quickly, so quietly, he didn' t even know what hit him until it was too late. He lost everything."

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He just stared at me, his eyes wide.

"You vowed to cherish me, Kane," I continued, my voice now trembling with a grief far deeper than his anger. "To protect me. To be faithful. In sickness and in health. Remember those vows in the chapel? Or were those just another 'business arrangement' ?"

He' d sworn his devotion in a small, ancient chapel, its stained-glass windows casting colorful light on his earnest face. He' d told me he' d never seen a woman like me, strong but kind, capable but vulnerable. He' d seemed so sincere, so loyal, willing to sacrifice everything to be with me, a woman from an old, established family like mine.

He finally found his voice, a low growl. "It was a mistake, Anastasia. A moment of weakness. Men make mistakes." He tried to dismiss it, to minimize it, to brush away years of betrayal with a wave of his hand.

"And I am supposed to simply forgive that 'mistake' ?" I asked, my voice rising again. "Just because you' ve decided you' re bored with your little actress now?"

He scoffed, his anger flaring anew. "You' re jealous, Anastasia. Always have been. You' re cold, unfeeling. You always disappointed me."

Then he turned on his heel and slammed out of the room, the reverberation shaking the whole house. He left me again, just like he always did when things got difficult. Left me with our still-crying son in my arms, my body aching, my heart hollow.

His words rang in my ears: cold, unfeeling, disappointed me. Was I? Had I been? I remembered my doctor' s stern warning after the delivery. My body was fragile. This child… he would likely be my only one. My only legacy. My only light.

I looked at my son, his tiny face still damp with tears, now nestled against my chest. My heart ached, a deep, hollow pain. Kane' s words, Cristy' s taunts-they swirled in my mind, a toxic fog. How dare that woman, that stranger, try to snatch away the one precious thing I had left in this world? My son.

I had been right to act. Right to protect him. My actions against Cristy were not just revenge; they were a declaration. A promise that no one would ever harm what was mine again. Not while I still drew breath.

I sat there through the night, cradling my baby, the first rays of dawn painting streaks of gray across the sky. By the time the sun fully rose, a cold, hard clarity had settled over me. I knew what I had to do.

I called Kane. The phone rang for a long moment, making me wonder if he' d even answer. He probably thought I was calling to apologize. Finally, he picked up, his voice guarded.

"What is it, Anastasia?"

"Come to the house," I stated, my voice calm and firm. "Now."

There was a beat of silence. "I' m busy."

"I' m sure you are," I replied, a sharp edge to my tone. "But this concerns both of us. And I assure you, you' ll want to hear what I have to say."

Another pause, longer this time. "Fine," he said, a sigh of exasperation in his voice. "I' ll be there in an hour."

Before I could hang up, a soft, high-pitched voice drifted through the phone. "Kane, darling, what' s wrong? Are you coming back to me?" It was Cristy, her voice weak, fragile, clearly meant for my ears. She was still with him. Still in his bed.

Kane' s voice dropped, suddenly tender. "Cristy, I thought you were asleep. Don' t worry, darling, I' ll be back soon. Don' t stir." He spoke as if I wasn' t listening, as if he hadn' t just told me he was "busy." I imagined him stroking her hair, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"You shouldn' t have provoked Anastasia, my love," he chided lightly, a note of warning in his voice, but no real anger. "But don' t worry, I' ll handle it."

Cristy whimpered. "But I' m so scared, Kane. My face… what if you don' t find me beautiful anymore? What if I' m disfigured?"

"Nonsense, my little bird," he soothed, his voice dripping with affection, the kind he hadn' t shown me in years. "You' re perfect. Always will be. Now, rest. I' ll be back to you."

A wave of nausea washed over me. I couldn' t listen anymore. I hung up, the phone clattering against the bedside table. My throat felt constricted, a burning pain clawing its way up. He never spoke to me like that. Not once. Not in eight years. The realization was a cold, hard stone in my stomach. He had never once shown me such tender, doting affection.

Less than an hour later, Kane arrived. He smelled of antiseptic, mixed with a faint, cloying sweetness of Cristy' s perfume. The scent made my stomach churn. I had to fight the urge to gag. He was dressed in a sharp suit, as if ready for a board meeting, not a confrontation with his wife.

I walked over to the coffee table, my movements deliberate, and placed a thick manila envelope on its polished surface.

"Kane," I said, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. "I think you' ll want to see this."

He raised an eyebrow, a hint of his usual arrogance. "What is it now, Anastasia? More fabricated evidence?"

I pushed the envelope towards him. "It' s a divorce agreement."

His eyes widened, his carefully constructed composure cracking. He stared at the document, then back at me, a flicker of disbelief in his gaze. "You' re joking."

I met his gaze, my own eyes cold. "Do I look like I' m joking, Kane?"

He snatched the papers, scanning them quickly, his face darkening with each line. Then, with a furious roar, he crumpled the document and tossed it into the nearest waste bin. "Never! I' ll never divorce you, Anastasia! Not unless I' m dead!"

"Why?" I asked, my voice edged with a new kind of pain. "Why won' t you let me go?"

He laughed, a harsh, brittle sound. "You think it' s that easy? We got married in the Cayman Islands, Anastasia. Under their laws. It' s… complicated." He savored the word, using it as a weapon against me. "You can' t just walk away."

Before I could respond, a frantic knocking echoed from the front door. Liam opened it, his face etched with worry. Standing there, frail and pale, was Cristy. She looked like a ghost, her face bandaged in places, her delicate frame shivering.

"Kane, my love?" she whimpered, her eyes wide and tearful as she saw him.

Kane rushed to her side, his earlier fury towards me forgotten. "Cristy! What are you doing here? You should be in the hospital!" His voice was laced with genuine concern, with a tenderness that twisted a knife in my gut. He truly cared for her. I was just a distant observer, watching their drama unfold, realizing I had never been the leading lady in his life.

"I… I had to come," Cristy stammered, her gaze darting to me, then back to Kane. "I have something important to tell you. Something the reporters told me."

Kane looked at her, his expression softening. "What is it, my love?"

Cristy hesitated, then took a deep, shaky breath, her eyes locking onto mine, a malicious glint in their depths. "They said… they said your son… Anastasia' s son… isn' t yours."

My mind went blank. The world spun. My son? Not Kane' s? What was she saying?

"That' s a lie!" I screamed, my voice raw and desperate. "How dare you?"

Cristy cowered, clutching Kane' s arm, her body trembling. "She' s so scary, Kane! But the reporters said… they said it' s true! They said we should do a paternity test to prove it!"

Kane' s head whipped towards me, his eyes now cold and accusing. "A paternity test," he echoed, his voice dangerously low. "A paternity test it is." He snapped his fingers, and a security guard immediately moved to arrange it.

My heart shattered. He believed her. He truly believed her.

The night air was thick with tension, heavy and suffocating. The paternity test results had arrived, delivered by a grim-faced assistant just after midnight. My hands shook as I held the sealed envelope. Kane stood opposite me, his face unreadable, while Cristy hovered nearby, a predatory glint in her bandaged eyes.

I ripped open the envelope. The words swam before my eyes, then slammed into me with the force of a physical blow: Probability of Paternity: 0%.

My breath hitched. My mind went blank. This couldn' t be real.

"No," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "This is a mistake. It has to be." I looked at Kane, pleading, searching for understanding, for a flicker of doubt in his eyes.

"I never betrayed you, Kane," I insisted, my voice rising. "Never!"

Cristy stepped forward, a triumphant smirk twisting her lips beneath the bandages. "See? I told you! She' s been cheating on you, Kane. All this time, pretending to be the innocent wife, while carrying another man' s child!"

Kane cut her off with a sharp glare. "That' s enough, Cristy." His voice was cold, distant.

"But Kane, she-"

"I said enough." His tone was absolute, brooking no argument. Cristy flinched, her smirk faltering, and she retreated to the corner of the room, her shoulders slumping in defeat as Kane' s attention shifted away from her.

The silence that followed was deafening, suffocating. My fingers trembled around the damning paper.

Kane finally spoke, his voice low and dangerous. "Explain this, Anastasia. Explain how a child I believed was mine, born of our marriage, carries no trace of my blood."

I clutched the paper tighter, my knuckles white. "I… I don' t know. This isn' t right. I haven' t… I never…" Words failed me. How could I explain something that defied my own reality?

He scoffed, a sneer twisting his lips. "Don' t tell me this is a lab error. We had a private, reputable lab conduct the test, right here, with no external interference."

My head spun. I had no defense, no explanation. All I could do was stare at the impossible results. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "Then let' s get a divorce, Kane. It' s what you wanted, isn' t it?"

He lunged forward, grabbing my arm, his grip like steel. "Divorce? Oh, no. I' m not letting you off that easily, Anastasia. You' ve been waiting for this, haven' t you? To walk away, to leave me with this… this shame." He pulled me closer, his eyes burning into mine. "Who is it, Anastasia? Who is the father of that child?"

My breath caught in my throat. I shook my head, tears welling in my eyes. "I… I don' t know. I swear, I don' t know."

He searched my face, his grasp tightening, a raw anguish flashing in his eyes. He squeezed my arm, almost painfully, as if trying to force the truth out of me. Then, just as I felt myself blacking out, his grip softened. He pulled me into a tight embrace, burying his face in my hair.

"We' re even now, Anastasia," he murmured, his voice hoarse. "You had your secret, I had mine. We' re even. So we stay married. I' ll raise the child as my own. We' ll pretend none of this ever happened."

His words were a twisted parody of comfort, an insult wrapped in an offer of false peace. My mind reeled, unable to process his pronouncement. His scent, the sterile smell of the hospital, mingled with Cristy' s perfume, made my stomach churn. I felt faint, my vision blurring at the edges.

Kane stayed up all night, smoking furiously on the terrace outside my dressing room, the acrid smell of nicotine seeping into the air. He left abruptly just before dawn, a hurried phone call pulling him away, a new emergency, no doubt, but not for me.

The moment he was gone, a cold clarity washed over me. I sat up, my body still weak, but my mind sharp. I knew instinctively that the paternity test was wrong. I knew I had not betrayed Kane. Not like that. I reached for the phone, dialing Liam' s number.

"Liam," I said, my voice low and steady. "I need you to investigate something for me. This paternity test." I handed him the crumpled document. "Find out how it was manipulated. And find out who the real father of my son is."

Liam nodded, his face serious, and left without a word.

Just as he vanished, the nanny, a young woman I barely knew, rushed into the room, her face pale with alarm. "Mrs. Powell, the baby… he has marks on him."

My heart seized. "Marks? What kind of marks?"

I rushed to the nursery, my weak body moving faster than I thought possible. My son lay in his crib, his tiny arms and legs covered in small, angry bruises, purplish and unmistakable.

"My baby!" I cried, scooping him up, my blood running cold. I immediately called for the family doctor, my voice an urgent whisper.

Dr. Harrison arrived within minutes, his kind face etched with concern. He examined my son carefully. "These are… finger marks, Mrs. Powell. He was pinched, quite forcefully."

My mind raced. The nanny had been with him all night, but she was a gentle woman, terrified of me. She wouldn' t do this. My gaze darted to the baby monitor. A thought, cold and horrifying, pierced through me.

"Liam," I called out, remembering he hadn' t left the house yet. "Bring me the security footage from last night. From the nursery."

The footage flickered to life on the large screen in my study. It showed Cristy, her bandaged face contorted with malice, creeping into the nursery while Liam was collecting the paternity test results. She leaned over the crib, her hands reaching for my sleeping child. I remembered the blood draw for the test, how dizzy and disoriented I had been. I hadn' t noticed her absence. I hadn't noticed.

My breath hitched. My hands clenched. The video showed Cristy, her face twisted, pinching my baby, a cruel smile on her lips. She had done this. While I was fighting for my life, while I was confused and heartbroken, she had hurt my son.

A primal scream tore from my throat. All the grief, all the betrayal, all the pain coalesced into a single, burning rage.

"Get her," I snarled, my voice low and dangerous, each word laced with venom. "Bring Cristy Taylor to me. Now."

An hour later, Cristy was dragged into my living room, bound to a chair, her eyes wide with terror. She tried to maintain her defiant facade. "You think you can get away with this, Anastasia? Kane will protect me! He loves me!"

My arm moved before I even thought about it. The sharp crack of my palm against her cheek echoed through the silent room. Her head snapped to the side, a crimson mark blossoming on her pale skin.

"You pathetic excuse for a woman," I hissed, my voice dripping with contempt. "You think you' re clever, don' t you? Manipulating a paternity test, hurting my child? You' re not just a homewrecker, Cristy, you' re a monster."

I pulled out my phone, dialing Kane' s number. He picked up on the second ring, his voice curt. "What is it now, Anastasia? I' m busy."

Cristy, seeing her chance, let out a pathetic whimper, trying to appear vulnerable. "Kane! Help me! She' s… she' s hurting me!"

I silenced her instantly. My high heel, sharp and pointed, pressed down on her cheek, just below her eye. A tiny gasp escaped her lips.

"Don' t speak," I warned, my voice cold as ice. "You think you can call out to your knight in shining armor? He' s not here for you, Cristy. He' s never truly been." I disconnected the call.

The bloodcurdling scream that ripped from Cristy' s throat filled the villa, shattering the eerie silence.