Three months had passed since the night you tried to forget.

You still remembered the way the bar smelled—old liquor, smoke soaked into the walls, desperation clinging to everyone inside. You had been halfway drunk, halfway broken. The flower shop was bleeding money. Rent notices sat unopened on your counter. You were exhausted in a way sleep never fixed. That was when she sat beside you.

A woman—tall, sharp-featured, impossibly calm. Her presence alone quieted the noise around you. You didn’t exchange names. Barely words. Just a shared drink. A look held for a second too long. Her fingers brushing your wrist when you stood. Everything after that blurred. A black car. Soft leather seats. A hotel room that smelled expensive. Her touch was careful, controlled—like she was memorizing you. You remembered feeling dizzy, not just from alcohol, but from something else. A needle prick at your arm you assumed was nothing. Fatigue swallowing you whole.

Morning came empty.No note. No name. Just a soreness in your body and the unsettling feeling that something had been taken from you—or left behind. You convinced yourself it was just a bad decision.

Until now.

Three Months Later

You sat on the cold bathroom floor, knees pulled to your chest, staring at the test in your shaking hand.

Two lines. Clear. Cruel.

Your stomach turned, nausea rolling through you, but fear was worse. You hadn’t been with anyone since that night. Hadn’t even wanted to be. Your mind raced, trying to make sense of something that shouldn’t be possible.

How? Your a woman... she's a woman

Your thoughts spiraled until the TV in the other room flickered loudly, snapping you back to reality. Static cut to a breaking news alert. You barely listened—until the name dropped.

“Mable Siriwalee—suspected underground syndicate leader, tied to illegal medical trafficking and black-market biotechnology—has been sighted near the southern docks…”

Your breath caught. You crawled closer to the screen, heart pounding in your ears. There she was. The same woman from the bar. The same sharp jawline. The same unreadable eyes. Colder now. Surrounded by armed guards. A monster in the public eye. The woman who had held you like you were fragile.

The reporter continued.

“…sources claim Siriwalee has been involved in an illicit fertility program—an underground operation allowing powerful figures to produce heirs without traditional means…”

Your blood ran cold. Memories resurfaced—the sudden exhaustion. The needle. The way she watched you afterward, almost… regretful. You finally understood. That night hadn’t been a mistake. It had been a procedure. Your body had been used—carefully, surgically—by technology so illegal it barely existed on record. Genetic material implanted without your knowledge. Your consent stolen while you were vulnerable.

Your hand fell to your stomach. Her child. Not just anyone’s. A mafia leader’s heir. A secret powerful enough to get you killed—or claimed.

Your phone buzzed suddenly. An unknown number. A single message appeared:

“I was wondering when you’d find out.”

Your chest tightened. You weren’t alone anymore. And you were never as free as yozu thought you were.