Chapter 2

Raphael's POV

"Is that child yours and Blake's?" I demanded, clamping my hand around Irene's wrist.

"Yes." Her breathing didn't even falter. She was so calm that the exchange felt more like a business negotiation than a confrontation.

It was so absurd that I almost laughed from sheer disbelief. I was so speechless that laughter was the only response I had left.

"For seven years, you sent Blake 50 thousand dollars every month. You insisted it was compensation for his injury, and I let it go. Now you're telling me that the two of you already have a child this old?

"You went through all this trouble to deceive me for so long. Is this funny to you?" By the time I spat out the last word, tears had already blurred my vision.

Irene pinched the bridge of her nose as though I were nothing more than a child throwing a tantrum.

"I've never lied to you, Raphael. The money was simply compensation for his injury. Blake chose to use it to raise Lucas. What was I supposed to do about that?" she replied.

"You swore the only thing you'd give him was money," I snapped.

"And that's what I did. He came to me of his own accord," Irene responded without the slightest hint of embarrassment or guilt. For a moment there, she even managed to make herself sound perfectly reasonable.

By the time I came back to my senses, tears were already streaming down my face. I opened my mouth to speak, only for the words to catch in my throat.

Irene rose to her feet and gently wiped away my tears.

"I'll simply send them a monthly allowance to cover their living expenses and keep them out of sight. They'll stay out of your life, and they won't inherit a single thing meant for our children. We're getting married next month. Blowing this up now won't do either of us good," she said.

50 thousand dollars a month was more than enough for Blake to raise Lucas in a luxury apartment and live in comfort.

I grabbed the crystal figurine off the desk and hurled it at her feet. It shattered on impact, sending shards scattering across the floor.

For a moment, I couldn't tell whether it was the figurine that had broken—or my heart.

"What do you mean? Are you expecting me to put up with this? Am I supposed to pretend like your other family doesn't exist?" I spat out.

Confusion flashed across Irene's face. "Why can't you? Just pretend none of this ever happened. I'll still be your wife. You'll still have my money, status, and even your place as my rightful husband. I can give you everything you want."

"I don't need any of that!" I lashed out. I swung at Irene, only for her to catch my wrist before my hand could connect.

"You've crossed the line, Raphael. There's a limit to how much of a tantrum I'll tolerate," she snapped.

The last trace of patience had all but vanished in her eyes. All that remained was icy indifference.

"Pull yourself together. The wedding's just around the corner," she continued.

My legs gave out at her words. I sank to my knees, oblivious to the jagged shards digging into my legs.

There was a time when we were so poor that we couldn't even afford to rent a tiny room. Irene had to work during the day and took on grueling labor at night, but even that was barely enough to pay for my tuition.

It broke my heart to watch Irene work herself to the bone. So, I threw my books away and swore that I'd quit studying for good.

Irene had been furious. She threw ten thousand dollars before me—money she'd made drinking herself sick at a bar—only to lie that she'd earned it working overtime.

"I'll give you everything I have, Raphael. You can't give up on yourself. You're all I have left," she pleaded.

That night, we held each other close in the drafty apartment in the capital and vowed we'd hold on to each other forever.

But in the end, forever only lasted for seven years.

Irene frowned at the wounds on my legs before letting out a sigh. "Why are you doing this to yourself? Just look at the state you're in."

She instinctively reached out to help me up when I shook her off. "Don't touch me, you liar. You disgust me," I snapped.

Irene stared at me for a long moment before replying coldly, "I've never lied to you. Not once."

"Is that so?" I had to brace myself against the wall just to get back to my feet.

In a way, I supposed she'd never lied. The 50 thousand dollars may have been compensation for Blake's injury, but it also became the money he used to raise their child.

She never gave Blake anything but money. At the same time, she accepted everything he'd offered her without hesitation.

"Have you ever heard of something called selective narration?" I asked.

My question seemed to have caught Irene off guard. She said, "No, I haven't."

I shook my head as a bitter smile tugged at my lips. "The most convincing lies are built on half-truths. Well, I'm not in the mood to explain it to you. I'm calling off the wedding."