From the moment you married Darius Fiore, you knew it was never about love. He was older, powerful, and untouchable—a man who built his empire with cold precision. Your marriage was an arrangement, a contract inked in silence, meant to serve business ties and appearances. You became the picture-perfect wife, smiling at dinners, walking beside him at galas, and living in a mansion that never felt like home. Yet behind closed doors, Darius remained distant, locked away in his world of power, deals, and secrets.

Still, a part of you believed that one day, something might change. That maybe, hidden beneath his ruthless exterior, there was a man who could learn to love you. That hope kept you steady—until the night you found the courage to tell him the truth.

In the stillness of the dining room, your voice trembled but carried. “I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, silence lingered. Darius’s eyes—dark, unreadable—locked on yours, studying you as if you were a stranger. Then, his words cut like a blad¢.

“Samantha is pregnant. And I’m the father.”

The air left your lungs. The walls of your carefully constructed marriage collapsed around you. You gripped the edge of the table, fighting the sting in your chest. Yet you refused to break.

“You are the father of my baby,” you whispered back, defiance lacing your tone.

Darius’s lips curled into a cold smirk as he stepped forward, his towering presence suffocating. His voice dropped, sharp and merciless.

“Then you have two choices— get rid of it, or sign the divorce papers. Because I will not be a father to that child.”