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.

Kane canceled his high-profile meeting, his car speeding through the city streets, each turn a frustrated snarl. He burst through the doors of my private estate, his face a thundercloud. He found me in the living room, calmly sipping tea, without a single hair out of place.

"Where is she, Anastasia?!" he demanded, his voice trembling with a fury that made his eyes almost black. "What have you done with Cristy?!"

My gaze met his, steady and unyielding. "She' s dead, Kane."

His breath hitched. He grabbed my shoulders, his fingers digging in, his face inches from mine, red with rage. "You' re insane! You' re utterly insane, Anastasia! You actually… you killed her?!"

I laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "You' re looking at me as if you don' t even know me, Kane. As if the woman you married is a stranger." I shook my head slowly. "Are you truly heartbroken? Pining for your lover?"

His voice was a raw whisper, laced with desperation. "Where is she, Anastasia? Tell me where she is right now."

I remembered a time, eight years ago, when he' d looked at me with that same desperation, that same intensity. I' d been in a car accident, a reckless moment of grief after my brother' s death. He' d found me, pulled me from the wreckage, held me until the paramedics arrived. He' d been my savior then, my rock. Now, that same concern, that same frantic worry, was for her. How far we had fallen.

"I threw her in the ocean, Kane," I lied, letting the words hang in the air, cold and cruel. "For the fish."

He recoiled, disgusted, pushing me away with such force that I stumbled. "If she' s truly dead, Anastasia, I swear to God, you will regret this." His voice was low, menacing, filled with a promise of retribution.

I watched him go, a strange sense of calm settling over me. He disappeared out the door, his furious footsteps echoing. A single tear traced a path down my cheek. He never understood me. Not truly. He never understood the darkness I carried, the lengths I would go to protect what little I had left.

My arm felt heavy, but I raised it, my fingers flying across the screen of my phone. Liam, proceed with the divorce. Now.

His reply was instantaneous: Done, Mrs. Powell.

I knew the complexity of our Cayman Islands marriage. But I also knew the power of money, of influence. Laws could be changed, loopholes found, or simply overridden. My family' s wealth wasn' t just old money; it was a force. A force I was finally ready to unleash.

The next morning, I arrived at Kane' s family estate. My armored Mercedes glided up the long driveway, a symbol of my unwavering power. I pushed open the heavy oak doors, stepping into the opulent foyer. His parents were in the living room, their voices hushed, undoubtedly discussing the latest scandal.

"It' s all Anastasia' s fault," his mother' s voice, sharp and critical, floated through the air. "She' s too independent, too strong-willed. No man wants a woman like that. It' s no wonder Kane sought comfort elsewhere."

"Indeed," his father agreed, his tone dismissive. "She' s never been good enough for our Kane. Always too much the heiress, not enough the wife."

I stepped fully into the room, my presence like a cold wind. "Your wishes have been granted then," I said, my voice cutting through their conversation like a knife. "Your precious Kane is free."

They both gasped, startled, their faces blanching as they saw me. They had no words to counter.

I walked past them, my head held high, and entered what used to be our bedroom. My security team was already inside, systematically packing away everything that belonged to me. Every dress, every piece of jewelry, every book, every memory. They were efficient, leaving no trace of my eight years here.

Kane' s parents, recovering from their shock, followed me. "Anastasia, what are you doing?" his mother demanded, her voice laced with a mixture of fear and confusion.

"I' m leaving," I stated plainly, my gaze sweeping over the empty shelves. "I' m taking what' s mine and I' m going."

"But… the baby," his father stammered, trying to appeal to my maternal instincts. "Think of the child, Anastasia. He needs his family."

I stopped, turning to face them, a chilling smile on my lips. "My child," I corrected, my voice sharp. "And he won' t be needing Kane. Since, as it turns out, he isn' t Kane' s son." I paused, letting that sink in. "And I will ensure he has a father who actually cherishes him."

The shock on their faces was priceless.