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.

The world outside the estate gates felt different, crisp and clean, like a slate wiped bare. In the car, I pulled out my phone, scrolling through the news. My eyes widened. A headline screamed: "Cristy Taylor' s Career in Shambles: Actress Faces Public Humiliation After Compromising Information Leaked." The article detailed her past misdeeds, her manipulations, the sordid details of her life that I had ensured would be public knowledge. It even mentioned a disfiguring accident from an "unknown assailant." My lips curved into a thin, grim smile. I might not have killed her, but I' d done something far worse in her world. I' d destroyed her future. My revenge was never about taking a life; it was about destroying what was most precious to them. For Kane, it would be his reputation. For Cristy, her looks and her career.

The comment section was a chaotic mix.

"Well, that' s what happens when you mess with a Harvey. Anastasia doesn' t play nice."

"The rich are ruthless. But honestly, good for her. Don' t mess with a woman' s family."

"She should just divorce him and go find some hot young thing to keep her company. She' s too powerful for Kane anyway."

I let out a soft, bitter laugh. No, I wasn' t looking for a "hot young thing." And I certainly wasn' t looking for love. I had enough money. Love had only brought me pain.

My phone rang. It was Liam.

"Mrs. Powell, the divorce proceedings are officially underway. It will be finalized in one month."

"Good," I said, my voice calm.

There was a slight hesitation from Liam. "Mrs. Powell, I… I haven' t been able to confirm the biological father of your son yet. The lead went cold." He sounded genuinely apologetic.

"It' s fine, Liam," I said, my voice soft. "No need to pursue it further. In some ways, it' s better not to know. No messy entanglements. No one else to complicate my son' s life."

The call ended. I put my phone down, watching the world outside my window. But the news about Cristy quickly disappeared. The articles were pulled, the comments deleted, the hashtags scrubbed. Kane. He was protecting her again, even after all this. He' d gone completely silent for the past two weeks, no calls, no messages. He' d delegated all his company work, disappearing from the public eye alongside Cristy.

That night, after coaxing my son to sleep, I returned to my room. Just as I was about to turn out the light, a tall, dark silhouette stood by the floor-to-ceiling window. Kane.

"Why are you here, Kane?" I asked, my voice devoid of surprise. "Shouldn' t you be with your injured lover?"

He turned, his imposing figure casting a long shadow across the room. He moved towards me, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "You went too far, Anastasia. What you did to Cristy… that was cruel."

My lips curled into a sneer. "Cruel? You come here to accuse me? After what you did? After what she did to my son?"

He flinched at the mention of our child, but his anger flared again. "You call that an act of mercy? Destroying a woman' s life just because she made a mistake?"

"Mistake?" I scoffed. "She manipulated a paternity test, Kane! She physically harmed our child! My son! My only child! And you stand there, defending her?"

His hand shot out, grabbing my wrist again, pulling me close. "You betrayed me, Anastasia! You carried another man' s child!" His voice was a low growl, filled with accusation.

A hot rage surged through me, eclipsing all pain. My free hand flew up, connecting with his cheek with a resounding slap. The sound echoed in the room.

My eyes burned, tears stinging, but I refused to let them fall. "I am innocent, Kane! I never betrayed you! You are the one who broke our vows, who shattered our family!"

He seemed taken aback by my force, by the raw emotion in my voice. His harsh grip softened, and he leaned in, his lips seeking mine. A twisted attempt at reconciliation, I knew. A way to smooth things over, to regain control. But his touch, his breath, filled me with utter disgust. His infidelity, the way he' d abandoned me, the coldness in his eyes-there was no coming back from that.

I bit down, hard, on his shoulder. He cried out, a sharp gasp of pain, but I held on, tasting blood. He struggled, trying to pull away, but I was beyond reason. This was not just anger; it was a desperate claw for dignity.

Just then, a small, tentative voice broke through my haze. "Kane?"

Cristy.

She stood at the doorway, her face still bandaged in places, her eyes wide and tearful as she looked at us, locked in our brutal embrace. She looked frail, vulnerable, the perfect damsel in distress.

Kane immediately pushed me away, his face a mask of panic. He rushed to Cristy, his arm around her, whispering apologies. "Cristy, darling, what are you doing here? You should be resting." He looked at me, then back at her, his eyes full of a sickening tenderness. "She' s leaving. We' ll talk later, Anastasia." He led Cristy away, his back to me, the two of them a picture of an intimate couple, leaving me standing there, feeling like the intruder.

I felt like an outsider in my own home, a third wheel in my own marriage. My phone buzzed. It was a message from Cristy. A photo of her clinging to Kane, his hand on her waist, and a text below: "He chose me, Anastasia. He' ll always choose me. You can' t win against this."