Chapter 2

The next morning, Ethan forced me into his car. He didn't speak, just drove with a grim determination.

"We're going to a fertility clinic," he said flatly. "A high-end one. They're discreet."

But it wasn't for a prenatal check-up. I knew what this was. It was another stage for my humiliation.

When we walked into the pristine, white waiting room, they were all there. His five friends. And Sabrina. They were lounging on the plush sofas, laughing and talking as if they were at a sports bar.

They all turned to look at me, their eyes filled with a leering, possessive amusement. Sabrina shot me a look of pure venom.

Ethan led me to the reception desk. "We're here for a paternity test," he announced loudly, ensuring everyone in the room could hear. "For Mrs. Scott. And these five gentlemen."

The receptionist's eyes widened. Sabrina let out a theatrical gasp.

"Oh, Ethan," she said, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. "Is this really necessary? Poor Jocelyn."

The clinic wasn't a prenatal center. It was a DNA testing facility. The sign on the wall made it clear. My hope that this was some kind of mistake died.

A doctor with a stern face came out. "Mr. Scott, we cannot perform a prenatal paternity test with multiple potential fathers without a court order. It's an ethical and procedural nightmare, especially with twins."

Ethan waved his hand dismissively. "Just do it. I'll pay whatever it takes."

Sabrina chimed in, her voice sharp. "What if the twins have different fathers? Is that even possible? How fascinatingly trashy."

His friends roared with laughter. The other people in the waiting room were staring, whispering. My face burned with shame.

"We need to test all of you," Ethan declared to his friends, a sick grin on his face. "Let's see who hit the jackpot."

Suddenly, a woman who had been sitting in the corner, listening to the whole exchange, jumped to her feet. Her eyes were wild.

"You're a disgrace!" she screamed, pointing at me. She grabbed her cup of coffee from a side table and threw its scalding contents directly at my face.

The hot liquid seared my skin. I cried out, stumbling backward.

For a split second, I saw a flicker of something in Ethan's eyes. Pity? Regret? It vanished as quickly as it appeared.

Sabrina immediately started crying. "Oh, Ethan, this is so stressful! That woman is crazy! Take me out of here."

He turned his back on me, his wife, who was standing there with coffee dripping from my burned face, and wrapped his arms around Sabrina.

"It's okay, baby," he cooed, leading her away. "Let's get you out of this madhouse."

He left me there. Alone.

A nurse finally came over, her expression a mixture of contempt and disgust. She dabbed at my face with a rough cloth.

"I heard what they were saying," she muttered, not even looking me in the eye. "Sleeping with all those men. You should be ashamed of yourself."

I was completely alone, surrounded by strangers who judged me, a husband who abandoned me, and a pain that was more than just the burn on my cheek. It was a deep, soul-crushing wound.

A deranged woman followed me out of the clinic, screaming obscenities at me as I hailed a taxi. "Whore! Disgusting!"

Even in the cab, I couldn't escape the feeling of being hunted. Every person on the street felt like an accuser. My trauma was a stain I couldn't wash off.

I finally made it home, my body aching, my face throbbing. The house was a mess. Clothes were strewn across the living room floor-Ethan's expensive shirts, Sabrina's slinky dresses.

And then I heard it. The sound of them. In our bedroom. My bedroom.

The door creaked open and Sabrina emerged, wearing my silk robe. My favorite one. The one my mother gave me.

She smiled, a slow, cruel smile. "He's amazing, isn't he? So much better when he's not pretending to be in love with a boring little heiress."

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