“HAPPY ANNIVERSARY, YOU LIARS!”—I Caught My Millionaire Husband Kissing His Mistress in His Private Office on Our FIFTH WEDDING ANNIVERSARY, Then Walked Out Without Looking Back! But Hours Later, a Doctor Turned a Monitor Toward Me—and What I Discovered Would Change Both Our Lives Forever... / Chapter 60 / 80

Chapter 60 - The Architect's Last Trap

The line went dead with a hollow electronic click.

The silence that fell inside the limestone cabin was heavier than the blizzard outside. The only sound was the snapping of pine logs in the woodstove and the distant, rhythmic wailing of the wind through the pines.

I slowly turned my eyes toward Dante.

He wouldn't look at me. His head was bowed, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscles bulged against his skin, his eyes fixed on the grain of the wooden table.

"Dante?" My voice was barely a whisper, thin and brittle like cracked glass. "What is she talking about?"

"Laura..." Dante began, his voice shaking with a terror I had never heard in him, not even when he was hanging over the eight-hundred-foot drop above Lake Michigan.

"Look at me!" I screamed, grabbing his collar, tearing open his shirt, forcing him to meet my gaze. "We spent three years in fertility clinics! We cried together in parking lots after every negative test! You held me every time I bled! You told me it was a miracle when the Zurich clinic finally found a viable match!"

Marcus stepped forward, his expression grave, and placed a newly decrypted PDF file on the screen of the terminal.

It was an international patient intake form from the St. Moritz Reproductive Institute, dated six years ago.

At the bottom of the page, under the section marked *Genetic Source: Maternal Line*, was my signature—forged with terrifying precision.

And directly beside it, under the section marked *Biological Father*, was not Dante’s name.

It was a classified sovereign registry number belonging to the Castiglione bloodline vault—a genetic lineage that had been preserved for three generations to ensure total control of the cartel's sovereign wealth fund.

"Dante..." The room began to spin, the edges of my vision fraying into cold blackness. "Who is Mateo's father?"

Before Dante could speak, the cabin’s tactical perimeter sensors shrieked in unison.

The exterior windows shattered simultaneously as three flashbang grenades bounced across the hardwood floor.

"Down!" Marcus yelled, diving across the table toward Mateo's bedroom.

The blinding white detonation tore through my senses, pitching the entire world into deafening, ringing chaos. Through the blinding smoke and fire, the front door was kicked off its hinges. Heavy tactical boots stormed into the room, their weapons aimed not at Dante, not at Marcus, but squarely at me.

And through the doorway stepped a woman in an immaculate charcoal cashmere coat, her silver hair pulled into an elegant chignon, her icy grey eyes scanning the room until they landed on my face.