All Chapters of The Sweetest Stepmom: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

Amelia stared at the glass cylinder, her breath catching in her throat. The pale blue liquid pulsed with a faint, rhythmic glow, illuminating the tiny, perfectly formed fetus suspended inside. Ethan stepped up beside her, his shoulder pressing firmly against hers. He read the text message on her phone, his jaw tightening until a muscle jumped visibly along his cheek. Passed her legacy to the next generation, Ethan repeated, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. What does that mean, Amelia. What is that thing. Patrice hurried over, her tablet scanning the tank with a handheld biometric reader. Her face went pale in the dim basement light. It is an artificial womb, Patrice said, her fingers flying across her screen. Military grade. Accelerated gestation technology. But Amelia, look at the genetic markers on my screen. This fetus is not a natural conception. It is a clone. A clone of who, Ethan demanded, his hand instinctively moving to rest on the small of Amelia's back, grounding

Amelia stared at the man who had held her, who had cried over a drawing of a dinosaur, who had promised to protect them. The betrayal was a physical blow, but her mind was racing, analyzing the clone's posture, the slight tremor in its hands, the shallow, rapid rise and fall of its chest. Wait, Amelia thought, the pieces clicking together. The accelerated growth. The artificial womb. She looked at the heavy pipes running along the ceiling, labeled with bright yellow warning signs. Liquid nitrogen. The primary coolant for the massive server racks. Ethan, Amelia whispered, her voice barely audible. The coolant pipes. Above her head. Ethan didn't question her. He didn't look at Daniel. He trusted her completely. With a sudden, violent motion, he hurled the heavy tactical knife upward. The blade struck the main valve of the liquid nitrogen pipe. The metal shrieked, then ruptured. A massive, blinding cloud of freezing white vapor exploded downward, engulfing the clone in a torrential

Amelia stared at the glass cylinder, her breath catching in her throat. The pale blue liquid pulsed with a faint, rhythmic glow, illuminating the tiny, perfectly formed fetus suspended inside. The hum of the machine was the only sound in the cavernous basement, a steady, mechanical heartbeat that made her skin crawl. Ethan stepped up beside her, his shoulder pressing firmly against hers. He read the text message on her phone, his jaw tightening until a muscle jumped visibly along his cheek. He reached out and gently took the phone from her trembling hand, his thumb brushing against her knuckles in a silent gesture of support. Passed her legacy to the next generation, Ethan repeated, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated through the quiet room. What does that mean. What is that thing. Patrice hurried over, her tablet scanning the tank with a handheld biometric reader. The screen cast a harsh, artificial light over her face, highlighting the deep lines of exhaustion and sho

Margaret stood perfectly still in the cold night air, the small sleek remote held firmly in her manicured hand. Her thumb rested lightly on the red button, her eyes gleaming with a terrifying mix of maternal pride and ruthless calculation. You will sign the transfer documents, Ethan, Margaret said, her voice smooth and devoid of any warmth. You will transfer full controlling interest of the Whitmore Group and the Bennett trust to the heir in that incubator. If you refuse, I will overload the neural lace. The feedback will kill the child instantly. Ethan stepped forward, his body shielding Amelia and the trunk. His jaw was locked so tight a muscle jumped visibly along his cheek. You are my mother, he said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated through the quiet driveway. You held me when I was a child. You taught me how to ride a bike. How could you stand there and threaten to murder a newborn. Margaret expression didn't waver. I am protecting the legacy, Ethan. Something

Amelia's mind raced as the red laser sights danced across Ethan's chest. The tactical team's fingers were tightening on their triggers, their faces pale and sweating as they fought the invisible, digital chains binding their motor functions. Running was not an option. They were completely surrounded, and the moment they turned their backs, the compromised officers would fire. Ethan pulled her behind him, his body acting as a human shield. He raised his hands slowly, his eyes locked on his son's glowing blue eyes. Noah, listen to me, Ethan said, his voice cracking with a desperate, raw emotion. I am your father. I know you are in there. Fight her. Please, buddy, just fight her. The boy just smiled, a cold, cruel expression that did not belong on a five-year-old's face. Your father is a sentimental fool, the Original Amelia purred through Noah's lips. And you, Amelia, are a predictable martyr. I knew you would try to protect him. It is your greatest weakness. Amelia stepped out fro