Dr. Elena Voss looked up from a stack of charts, her white coat immaculate, hair pulled back sharply.
“You’ve got the Kessler file,” she said, eyes narrowing, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
She leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
“If you’ve seen the label, you know it’s more than paperwork. There’s a paternity test in there… altered, forged.”
A cold ripple ran through my skin. “Altered how?”
Elena’s gaze flicked to the sealed envelope, then back to me, as if weighing how much to reveal.
Truth Unfolds
She slid the file across the low table, the paper rustling like a restless heart.
“Damon’s DNA matched the baby’s,” Elena murmured, tapping a glossy page. “Not Tessa’s.”
My breath caught, a gasp swallowed by the metallic scent of the room.
“He paid someone to switch the results months ago,” she continued, voice barely audible over the distant beeping of monitors.
My fingers trembled, the folder slick with sweat.
“Why would he do that?” I whispered, the words trembling like the faint humming of the air‑conditioner.
Elena’s eyes hardened. “Reputation. He wanted a clean narrative—no scandal, no question of his masculinity.”
Ezoic
The truth slammed into me, hard and unforgiving, as the baby’s distant cry echoed through the walls.
Suddenly, the fire alarm screeched, a blaring wail that shattered the quiet.
Red lights flashed, casting the lounge in a frantic glow.
Elena’s hand jerked, the file slipping from her grasp, the paper dancing in the air.
Ezoic
In that instant, Damon burst through the doorway, his face a mask of fury.
He lunged, fingers outstretched, trying to snatch the fluttering dossier as smoke began to curl around the ceiling.
Tessa Confronts Me
“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” Tessa snapped, her voice trembling as she stepped into the lounge.
“I’m not trying to ruin anything,” I whispered, feeling the weight of Elena’s stare.
She glared, eyes narrowed on the sealed file still tucked under Elena’s arm. “You’ve been snooping, trying to steal my son’s future. I won’t let you tear this family apart.”
My heart hammered. “Your son is mine—no, his father’s name is on the paperwork, and it isn’t yours.”
A sudden wail sliced through the tension. The baby, cradled in Tessa’s arms, began to sob, his tiny fists clawing at the air.
Both of us froze, the crying filling the room like a warning siren.
“What do you want?” Tessa hissed, her fingers tightening around the infant.
“The truth,” I said, barely louder than the baby’s cries. “About who really fathered him.”
She stared at the child, eyes flickering between anger and fear, as the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor.
