Ch43 - She lied

Marcus froze for a second, instinctively catching the envelope before it slipped from his hand.

Allison didn’t even look back. She turned on her heel and walked out.

When the door clicked shut behind her, Marcus knew there was no point trying to chase her now — not while she was still burning with anger. He tore the report open anyway. Inside was a single page and a sonogram print. Male fetus.

He exhaled hard, dropped back onto the couch, the report still clutched in his hand. His thoughts spun in chaotic loops.

He had no idea how long he sat there until his phone buzzed against the table — his secretary, calling about work. He pressed the phone to his ear and wandered to the window. Outside, the sky had turned dusky red. Late autumn, nearly winter. Dusk came early now.

He stared at the leafless branches swaying in the wind. Early summer, he thought. That’s when the baby was due. By then, the streets would be green again, flowers blooming everywhere…

The voice on the phone broke through his silence:

“Sorry, sir — just to confirm, for the latest test data, we’re only using the numbers from the third report, right?”

“Yes.” Marcus’s reply was clipped, distracted.

The secretary hesitated a second before continuing professionally. “Understood. I’ll have it ready soon.”

“Wait,” Marcus said just before she hung up. “Those luxury brands — have any new limited collections out? Something rare. Handbags, jewelry, watches — anything that’d make a woman happy.”

“Yes, sir. I can contact the reps and have them send their latest pieces over to Miss Allison’s residence, same as usual?”

It was a routine exchange by now. Whenever they fought, Marcus would placate Allison the only way he knew how — expensive jewelry, fresh flowers, exclusive dinner reservations. The secretary barely had to think anymore; it was muscle memory.

“No,” Marcus interrupted. “Have them bring the items here. I’ll choose them myself this time. Tomorrow morning.”

A pause. That was new. The boss, personally picking out gifts? “Of course, sir.”

When the line went dead, Marcus’s gaze darkened.

The thought gnawed at him — this child was still tied to the shares, his standing.

If the wedding with Allison fell through, the Ashford partnership would take a hit.

And if his mother was right — if the infertility really ran in the family — then this boy might be the only child he’d ever have. His only chance at an heir.

Even if… even if there was a chance the kid wasn’t his.

He clenched his fists until his knuckles went white, shaking the thought out of his head. No. He refused to believe that. The baby’s mine.

What mattered now was securing control of the company. Everything else — feelings, pride, marriage — could wait.

Still, the frustration in his chest wouldn’t go away. His fist hit the wall with a dull thud.

Days later, he got a call from the brand rep — Allison had returned everything. Every last item.

Didn’t take the gifts. Didn’t answer his calls. Didn’t reply to a single message.

Even the diamond-studded handbag — one of only three in the world — she’d sent straight back, unopened.

The phone slammed down onto the desk with a crack.

“Fine,” he muttered through his teeth. “Perfect. Just perfect.”

The wedding was only twenty-something days away. Invitations were already out. Media coverage locked in. Canceling now would be a PR disaster — for him, at least.

She could afford to walk away. He couldn’t.

Grinding his teeth, he grabbed the phone again. “Clear my entire afternoon,” he told his secretary. “Everything.”

Still holding the phone, he snatched up his car keys and strode out.

He drove straight to Allison’s apartment.

By the time he came out again, night had fallen. His shoulders sagged with exhaustion, but his expression wasn’t as tight as when he’d gone in.

He drew a long breath, yanked at his tie until it came loose, and tossed it onto the passenger seat of his car.

Then he climbed in, shut the door, and sat there — engine off, hands still on the wheel — staring into the dark, saying nothing at all.

The phone rang just as Marcus was about to start the car. His mother’s name lit up the screen.

“Did you get the test results yet?” Nora’s voice came through, calm but expectant.

Marcus rubbed at his temple. He’d known this call was coming — it was always going to come. “Mom, leave it alone, okay? I’ve already talked to her. No matter what happens, we’re still getting married.”

There was a pause on the other end. “What’s that supposed to mean? So is the baby yours or not?”

He hesitated for a second before answering vaguely, “Once we’re married, and there’s a child, the shares transfer automatically, right? That’s all that matters.”

“You’re going to drive me insane, Marcus!” For once, the ever-graceful Nora actually sounded frustrated. “So she refused the test, didn’t she?”

Marcus’s pulse jumped. “No. No, that’s not it,” he said quickly. “It’s something we both agreed on. If we don’t have trust, what’s the point of being married? And come on — she’s been with me the whole time. How could it be anyone else’s?”

He’d just barely managed to calm Allison down; the last thing he needed was his mother stirring things up again. If those two ever clashed, Allison would walk and never look back.

Nora sighed. “You’re being naïve. What if—just what if—you’re wrong?”

She didn’t stop there. “And have you even thought this through? The family trust isn’t going to skip verification just because you say so. The lawyers will require proof of paternity before they transfer the shares. Whether you like it or not, the test will have to be done eventually. What then? You’d rather find out after you’ve been raising someone else’s kid for free?”

Each word hit him like a slow punch to the gut.

He had thought about it, of course. But he couldn’t gamble his entire relationship on a one-in-a-hundred chance. The odds were still in his favor. “I’m not risking my marriage over this,” he muttered. “I’ve already done enough damage.”

“Marcus…” Nora’s tone softened slightly but stayed firm. “Better a clean break now than a scandal later. If it turns out badly after you’re legally tied, it’ll be ten times worse — for you and for the company. Even the stock price could take a hit.”

Silence filled the line for a long moment. Then Nora spoke again, her voice calm but decisive. “Fine. There’s another way. Do a full physical. Start there. We’ll see what the results say.”

Marcus didn’t answer right away. Then, quietly: “Okay.”

“Good,” Nora said, her tone turning brisk again. “I’ll make the arrangements.”

He hung up feeling restless, like his skin didn’t fit right. Running a hand through his hair, he muttered, “Guess that’s the only option left.”

He rolled down the window, reached into his pocket out of habit — empty. Right. He’d thrown out the last pack of cigarettes days ago. A heavy sigh left him; his chest felt tight, suffocating.

The appointment was set for noon the next day.

When the doctor finally walked in, report in hand, his expression was grave. He cleared his throat before speaking. “Mr. Ashford… regarding your semen analysis — the results show a sperm count of zero.”

Marcus blinked. “Zero? That’s impossible. You must’ve mixed up the samples.”

The doctor’s voice stayed level, clinical. “We ran the test twice to confirm. Both results were identical. There were no motile sperm present — what we call azoospermia in medical terms.”

He hesitated, then added carefully, “There can be several causes, but given your family history, it’s likely due to a genetic condition — something hereditary.”

Marcus wasn’t even listening anymore. The words zero and hereditary just echoed in his skull, over and over, until everything else blurred out.

His face drained of color. The shock twisted into humiliation… and then into pure, boiling rage.

She LIED to me.

She fucking lied to me.

The thought hit him like ice water. Every nerve in his body buzzed with fury. His hands trembled; even his hair felt like it was standing on end.

The doctor adjusted his glasses, startled by the sudden silence. “Mr. Ashford, I’d recommend a follow-up — perhaps a testicular function assessment, to see if—”

But before he could finish, Marcus stood abruptly. The chair legs scraped harshly against the tile.

Without a word, he turned and stormed out of the office — a gust of cold air rushing in behind him as the door slammed shut.