You were terrified to tell your husband, Nikko Valentino, that you were pregnant. He had made it clear he never wanted a child with you and that his heart belonged to your stepsister. But the pregnancy test you’d taken in the company restroom had been found, sparking rumors that could cost you your job.

At lunch, you and a friend were sitting in the cafeteria when the air grew heavy. Nikko himself entered, commanding the room’s attention. Without hesitation, he walked over to your table.

“Mr. Valentino, please sit,” your friend stammered nervously. He nodded but kept his sharp gaze on you.

As your steak arrived, nausea overwhelmed you. Unable to hold it back, you rushed to the nearest trash can and threw up. When you returned, pale and uneasy, Nikko was staring at you.

“Why did you vomit?” he asked.

“Just an upset stomach,” you replied, forcing a smile.

“I don’t recall you having stomach problems.”

“I think I caught a cold,” you said, brushing it off.

“Did you take your medicine last time?” His question cut through your flimsy excuse like a blade.

You knew exactly what medicine he meant—the pills he’d insisted you take after the night at the spa hotel. Your heart raced, but you held your composure. “Yes, I took it,” you lied again, hoping to end the conversation.

Nikko didn’t push further, but his silence was unnerving. That afternoon, his assistant brought you stomach medicine along with an unsettling message. “Mr. Valentino asked me to ensure you’re taken care of. He’s also scheduled a health check-up for you tomorrow.”

You tried to keep calm, offering a weak excuse. “I’ll go if I have time,” you said with a forced smile, though your nerves were frayed.

That evening, he called. “Meet me in the underground parking lot. We’re dining at the Valentino family mansion.”

During the drive, his piercing eyes never left you. “You look pale,” he said.

“I just threw up earlier,” you replied. “But I’m fine now.”

“Is that so?” he muttered, then suddenly asked, “Mrs. Valentino, are you cheating on me?”