All Chapters of Pregnant by Two Secrets: My Ex and His Father: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

100 Chapters

Chapter 61: A door with no handle

The click of the lock was soft. Lucien turned the key from the outside, withdrew it, and slipped it into his jacket pocket without a word. Just the quiet finality of metal meeting metal.She had been standing near the window when he entered their bedroom… his bedroom, really, though she had slept in it for twenty years. He’d asked her to come upstairs “for a moment.” She had followed, expecting another measured conversation about regret or truth, the kind he’d been dropping like breadcrumbs since the night Chase reappeared. Instead, he guided her inside, closed the door behind them both, and turned the key.Now the handle refused to move.She tried it anyway. Once. Twice. The mechanism didn’t even rattle.“Lucien,” she said through the wood.No answer.She pressed her ear to the door and heard footsteps retreating down the hallway… slow, even, unhurried. Then silence. She turned to look around the room.His room.Heavy drapes drawn halfway. The scent of his cologne lingering in the

Chapter 62: A truth that wasn't

He did not rush the upload. Precision mattered more than speed.He inserted the memory card into the encrypted laptop he kept in the wall safe… never the house network, never anything traceable back to a single device. From there, he opened the pre-prepared distribution list.Twenty-seven recipients.Major news desks in London, New York. The Sinclair Empire’s internal board server, priority flagged. The national police cybercrime unit through an anonymous tip line. Three tabloid editors who owed him favors. Lucy’s private PO box email forwarder. And one final blind carbon copy to a burner account that would auto-forward to Chase’s last known secure line.He attached the video file titled simply “Confession_LSinclair.mp4” and four zipped folders labeled “Supporting Evidence.”No subject line.No message body.Just the attachments and a single line in the body field:Watch. Then decide who to believe.He clicked Send.The progress bar moved slowly. Deliberately. Like blood through a nar

Chapter 63: The city turns

The sirens arrived first as a low wail in the distance… then louder, closer, splitting the night like glass.Red and blue light pulsed through the gaps in the heavy drapes, painting the bedroom walls in frantic strokes. She stayed on the floor, back pressed to the locked door, knees to her chest, listening as the sound multiplied.Two cars.Then three.Then the crunch of tires on the gravel drive.Doors slamming.Boots on stone.Voices… sharp, overlapping, official.“Sinclair residence! Open up!”No one answered from inside the house.Because no one was left to answer.She pressed her palms flat to the wood behind her, as if she could push the door open with will alone.Footsteps echoed in the foyer downstairs… many sets now. Glass shattered somewhere near the front entrance. Not a window. The side door, probably… the one the staff used.They were inside.“Police! Identify yourselves!”The house swallowed their voices and gave nothing back.She whispered to the empty room, “Lucien?”N

Chapter 64: The smile in death

The paramedics were the first to confirm it.Male. Mid-forties. Silver hair still perfectly combed. Charcoal Brioni suit barely wrinkled. One arm draped over the side of the armchair, palm open as if offering something no one would ever take.The small amber bottle lay on the carpet beside the overturned whisky glass… twenty pills missing from thirty-two.Cause of death: acute barbiturate overdose. Self-administered. No signs of struggle. No note.Just the smile.Small. Private. Almost serene. The kind that lingers when a man knows the board has finally voted his way.The lead detective, Inspector Theo, forty-two, twenty years on the force, stood over the body for a long moment before motioning for the photographer.“Every angle,” he said quietly. “Especially the face.”The crime scene tech nodded and began clicking.Theo crouched and studied the expression up close.It wasn’t the rictus of agony some overdoses left behind. It wasn’t peaceful surrender either.It was satisfaction.Lik

Chapter 65: A crack in the frame

(Chase’s POV)The phone buzzed once on the kitchen table in Lucy’s modest Jersey City apartment… then kept buzzing.Chase wheeled himself closer, the chair’s tires whispering against the linoleum. He glanced at the screen.CNN push notification.BREAKING: Billionaire Lucien Sinclair Dead by Apparent Suicide; Video Accuses Wife of Orchestrating Decades of Crimes.Below it, a still frame from the video… Lucien’s face, calm, silver hair catching the light, mid-sentence.Chase’s hand hovered.He tapped.The article loaded. Photos of the Sinclair estate gates swarmed with police cruisers. Flashing lights. Reporters shouting into microphones.Then a grainy embedded clip… Lucien’s voice filling the small kitchen.“…the woman responsible has always been under my roof.”Chase hit pause.His chest tightened… not from shock, but from something colder.Recognition.This wasn’t Lucien running.This was Lucien finishing.Lucy appeared in the doorway, bathrobe cinched tight, hair still damp from the

Chapter 66: Threads Unraveling

The fluorescent light buzzed overhead like a trapped insect.Ophelia sat straighter now, cuffs still on one wrist, the chain short enough that her hand rested palm up on the scarred metal table. Her lawyer, Marcus Hale, silver haired, sharp suited, one of the best white collar defenders in Manhattan, sat to her right, briefcase open, yellow legal pad already half filled with notes.Inspector Theo entered again, this time with a file folder and a second detective, a younger woman named Ramirez who carried a laptop and said nothing.Theo sat across from them.No tablet this time. Just the folder.He opened it slowly.“Mrs. Sinclair,” he began, voice even, almost conversational. “Your lawyer’s here. We’re on record now. Everything from this point forward is formal.”Hale leaned forward. “My client has already stated she had no involvement in the allegations made in that video. She maintains her innocence. If you have evidence beyond what Mr. Sinclair fabricated…”Theo raised a hand, not

Chapter 67: Evidence speaks

Newark Federal Courthouse, Afternoon, Day After Lucien’s DeathThe small conference room adjacent to the U.S. Attorney’s office smelled of burnt coffee and printer ink. Doctor Julian Cole, late fifties, thinning gray hair, hands that still shook slightly from years of precise surgical work, sat across from two FBI agents and a junior prosecutor. No cuffs. No orange jumpsuit. Just a man who had seen the viral video that morning and decided silence was no longer an option.Agent Ramirez, the same one who had sat in on Ophelia’s interrogation, placed a recorder on the table.“Doctor Cole,” she began, “you’ve asked for immunity in exchange for full cooperation. We’re recording this. State your name for the record.”“Julian Cole. Former chief of obstetrics at Sinclair Private Medical Center. Personal physician to Lucien Sinclair for twenty three years.”The prosecutor leaned in.“You were present at the twin delivery on August 5th. You signed the original birth records.”Cole nodded once.

Chapter 68: The fall of Sinclair Empire

Sinclair Empire Headquarters, Midtown Manhattan, Late MorningThe elevators opened on the seventy second floor to the sound of shouted orders and the low hum of agents in navy windbreakers stamped FBI.Black gloved hands moved methodically, servers being imaged, file cabinets pried open, executive offices cordoned with yellow tape. The marble reception desk, once polished to a mirror shine, now held stacks of seized laptops and external drives.Agent Ramirez led the team through the executive wing, warrant in hand.“Focus on Lucien Sinclair’s private suite,” she directed. “Anything encrypted, offline, or labeled ‘personal trust.’ We’re looking for dead man switches, offshore ledgers, anything tied to the video distribution or contingency drops Tessa mentioned.”The COO, still in yesterday’s suit, sleeves rolled, stood in the hallway, arms crossed, face ashen.“You can’t just…”“We can,” Ramirez cut in. “Federal warrant. Probable cause from Doctor Cole’s sworn statement and intercepted

Chapter 69: The son I lost

The small park in Montclair, New Jersey, was quiet in the late afternoon light… late September sun slanting through the maples, leaves just beginning to turn gold at the edges. Benches lined the path, empty except for one near the pond where Sloane waited, arms wrapped around herself like she was holding something fragile together.Ophelia walked slowly from the parking lot, still in the plain gray sweater and jeans she’d worn out of the courthouse that morning. No makeup. No jewelry. No armor. Just a woman who had spent twenty years believing her second child was dead.Sloane saw her first.Stood.Waved once… small, uncertain.Then stepped aside.Marcus was behind her.Tall now… taller than she remembered any infant could grow. Brown skin like Chase’s, eyes the exact shade of hazel she had seen in hospital photos Lucy had shown her years ago. The birthmark on his neck, a small crescent moon, was visible above the collar of his hoodie.He didn’t move at first.Just watched her approac

Chapter 70: Healing Isn’t instant

The same bench by the pond.Different light now… twilight, the sky bruised purple, streetlamps flickering on one by one.Ophelia sat alone this time, hands clasped in her lap, coat pulled tight against the early autumn chill. Chase had stayed home with Marcus… giving space, he’d said. Giving her this.Footsteps on the gravel path.She looked up.Elara… Sloane, though the name still felt foreign on Ophelia’s tongue… approached slowly. No designer coat tonight. Just jeans, an oversized sweater, hair loose and unstyled. She looked younger. Smaller. Like the girl who used to bring home report cards and ask for extra allowance.Elara stopped a few feet away.“Hi,” she said. Voice small.Ophelia stood.“Hi.”They stared at each other… two women who had shared a house for twenty years, yet never truly shared a life.Elara spoke first.“I don’t know what to call you.”Ophelia swallowed.“You don’t have to call me anything yet. We can start with names. Or silence. Whatever feels safest.”Elara

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