Chapter 6

Jace, who had been watching from the side, ran to Christian's side, his face a mask of innocence. "Mommy, are you mad because I didn't listen to you yesterday?"

His words were a calculated strike, designed to paint me as an unstable, erratic mother.

"Get away from me," I hissed, shoving him away. The revulsion was so strong, so visceral, I couldn't bear his touch. "You're not my son. You're a bastard."

The room fell silent.

"Carmen Duran," Christian said, his voice low and dangerous. He had never used my full name before. It was a clear sign. I had crossed a line. He was no longer playing the part of the doting husband. The mask was off.

"You are going home," he commanded, his eyes blazing with a fury that chilled me to the bone. "And you are going to stay in your room and think about what you've done."

He snapped his fingers, and two of his security guards moved towards me.

"You can't do this!" I cried, backing away.

But I was outnumbered. They grabbed my arms, their grips like iron, and dragged me from the ballroom, away from the wreckage of my life.

I was a prisoner in my own home. Locked in the master bedroom, the opulent space now a gilded cage. Christian didn't come to see me. The house was silent, except for the faint sounds of life from downstairs – laughter, the clatter of dishes, the murmur of the television.

I found a loophole in my confinement. Kassidy, in her arrogance, had unblocked me from her social media. I scrolled through her feed, a voyeuristic journey into the life that should have been mine. Pictures of her, Christian, and Jace at the park. At the zoo. At a fancy dinner. A perfect family of three, smiling for the camera while I rotted in my room.

A week later, the door opened. Christian stood there, his face a carefully constructed mask of contrition.

"I'm so sorry, Carmen," he said, his voice soft. "I overreacted. But you humiliated me. You forced my hand."

He held out a piece of paper. "I had another DNA test done. From a different lab."

I took it, my hands trembling. It was another lie, another piece of his elaborate gaslighting campaign. But this time, the lie was different.

Probability of Maternity: 99.99%. It declared Jace and I were mother and son.

"I don't know what happened with that first report," he said, his voice laced with sincerity. "But I'll get to the bottom of it. I promise. I think one of the new maids must have tampered with it."

He handed me a small plastic baggie containing a few strands of dark hair. "Here. Take this. Have it tested yourself. At any lab you choose. You'll see. I would never lie to you."

I stared at him, at the earnest expression on his face. He was a masterful actor. There was no flicker of doubt, no hint of deception. He was either the world's best liar or completely insane.

"Only Kassidy has the motive and the means to bribe my staff," I said, my voice cold.

"Carmen, please," he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Don't start this again. I love you. I would never, ever deceive you."

He pulled me into a hug, his arms a cage of false comfort. "There's a charity art auction next week. A friend of mine is donating a painting. I got us tickets. It'll be good for us to get out. I even had a new dress sent over for you."

"Fine," I said, pulling away from him.

The next day, I went to a hospital across town, a place where no one knew my name. I submitted the hair sample Christian had given me, along with my own.

The results came back in two days.

Conclusion: The tested parties share a maternal DNA link.

My breath caught in my throat. I read the words again, and then a third time. Hope, fierce and blinding, surged through me.

Christian, in his arrogant attempt to manipulate me, had made a mistake. He had intended to give me Jace's hair, to "prove" I was his mother and make me question my own sanity. But he had grabbed the wrong sample.

This hair... this was my son's hair. My biological son.

And he was alive.

The knowledge was a lifeline in a sea of despair. I had to be careful. I couldn't trust anyone Christian knew. I couldn't even trust a random courier.

I found a homeless man outside a coffee shop and paid him a hundred dollars to mail a small envelope for me. Inside was the hair sample and a cryptic note addressed to Britt. I knew she would understand.

The night of the auction, Christian was a perfect gentleman. He helped me with my coat, his hand lingering on my back. Kassidy was there, of course, seated at Christian's left hand. He claimed he brought her as a "thank you" for her support during my "episode." The excuse was so flimsy it was laughable.

I ignored them, focusing on the art. I had a new purpose now. Finding my son.

Suddenly, the lights flickered and went out. A collective gasp went through the crowd. Then, chaos erupted.

Masked men with guns stormed the room. People screamed, diving under tables. My first instinct was to find Christian. I saw him across the room, but he wasn't looking for me. He was shielding Kassidy, his body a protective wall around her.

I was an afterthought.

The realization was a cold, hard slap. He would not save me. He had chosen her.

A hand clamped over my mouth, and another arm wrapped around my waist, lifting me off my feet. I struggled, kicking and thrashing, but my attacker was too strong.

I saw Christian's head snap in my direction. Our eyes met for a fraction of a second. I saw a flicker of panic, of indecision.

"Christian!" I screamed, my voice muffled by the hand over my mouth.

He started to move towards me, but Kassidy let out a pained cry, clutching her arm. "Christian, I think it's broken!"

He hesitated, his gaze torn between me and her. In that moment of hesitation, my fate was sealed. He turned back to Kassidy, his face a mask of concern.

He chose her. He left me to the wolves.

A sharp blow to the side of my head sent stars exploding behind my eyes. The last thing I saw before the darkness took me was Christian, cradling Kassidy in his arms, completely oblivious to my abduction.