He stroked his pregnant mistress’s belly and declared he’d finally secured an heir… but a single letter dismantled his entire empire

Claudia’s smile vanished.

“Open it,” Isabel added softly.
“Or are you afraid of what the truth might do to your kingdom?”

The piano stopped mid-note.

The room fell into complete silence.

Héctor picked up the envelope, forcing a smile that barely held.

“You’ve always loved theatrics,” he said, opening it. “What could this possibly change?”

He scanned the first line.
Then the second.

The color drained from his face.

Claudia grabbed her stomach. “What is it?”

Héctor didn’t answer. He read the report again. And again.

“Confirmed diagnosis: permanent infertility.”

His wine glass slipped from his hand and shattered.

“That’s impossible,” he whispered. “I have two children.”

Isabel’s voice was calm—and devastating.

“You have them because I chose to. We used a donor. You signed the consent forms without reading.”

The silence was suffocating.

“The diagnosis is twelve years old,” she continued. “The same year doctors told you that you’d never father a biological child.”

Continue reading…