In the video, Alaric and Calla entered my room. He wrapped his arms around her like a lover, not a brother.
“Brother,” she whispered, “isn’t this too much? She’s already eight months pregnant…”
Despite her words, her tone held no remorse—only twisted satisfaction.
Alaric looked down at my unconscious form with a chilling coldness.
“If she hadn’t forced you to leave back then, we’d never have been apart. Now she’ll learn the price of hurting you.”
He waved his hand, and a strange man stepped into the frame.
“Alaric,” the man said, eyeing me, “won’t this affect the bet?”
“The baby’s already formed. All we have to do is wait for the birth and run a DNA test,” Alaric replied flatly.
The man laughed, and Calla walked over and kicked me—hard.
“You’re sure the sedative was strong enough?”
“She’s been drugged like this for months. She won’t wake up.”
Alaric’s voice was calm, calculating.
“Once she gives birth, I’ll have the DNA results. Then I’ll publicly shame her—call her a whore, strip her of her dignity, and kick her out of the Vane family. No one will stop us from being together.”
A flicker of ruthlessness flashed in Alaric’s eyes—it pierced through me like a dagger. My chest tightened painfully.