Alexander Valentine stared at the paternity report in his hands, his fingertips trembling slightly.

The black-and-white document clearly stated: Isabella Valentine and Theodore Valentine—no biological relation.

A cold smirk twisted his lips.

Twenty-three years.

For twenty-three years, the Valentine family had been raising an imposter.

The thought of all the times he'd held back for Isabella's sake filled him with bitter irony.

But the real joke was on Theodore.

Treating her like fragile porcelain, only to realize he'd been raising another man's daughter.

He tore open another sealed envelope.

His eyes went straight to the final line: Confirmed biological relation.

A mocking glint flashed in Alexander's eyes.

Two people who should have had no connection—bound by blood.

Thud!

His fist slammed against the steering wheel, knuckles turning white.

Because of this bastard, his mother had been forced into divorce. His family—destroyed.

Because of this bastard, he'd grown up as an outsider, barred from his own home.

The ringing of his phone cut through his thoughts.

"Uncle Ethan was right," Alexander said, his voice icy. "Isabella is Hammer Ulrich's spawn."

A brief silence on the other end.

"That might be the most twisted joke I've ever heard," Ethan Sullivan replied, his tone equally cold.

Alexander tightened his grip on the wheel. "I'm heading to the hospital now. Let Theodore see what he's been doting on for twenty-three years."

"Wait." Ethan's voice was cautious. "Don't show him the report directly. Make him investigate it himself. Otherwise, he'll think you're manipulating him."

Alexander ended the call and started the engine.

Hospital hallway.

Hammer Ulrich leaned against the doorframe, cigarette in hand, his gaze predatory.

Alexander pushed Theodore's wheelchair to a stop in front of him.

"Why did you bring me here?" Theodore frowned.

Alexander kept his eyes locked on Hammer. "Father, take a good look at him."

Theodore gave a dismissive glance. "Just some liver donor. What's there to see?"

"Doesn't he remind you of someone?"

Hammer blew out a smoke ring, grinning to reveal yellowed teeth.

That smile sent a jolt through Theodore.

He whipped his head toward Alexander. "Are you saying Isabella and he—"

Alexander remained expressionless. "See for yourself."

Back in the hospital room, Theodore immediately summoned his most trusted assistant.

"Get samples from Hammer and Isabella. Run a paternity test." His voice was dark. "And watch the entire process. No mistakes."

The assistant nodded and left.

Valentine Mansion.

Isabella was applying lipstick in front of the mirror when her door burst open.

"What are you doing?" she shrieked at the nurse and bodyguards barging in.

"Routine checkup, Miss Valentine," the assistant said flatly.

The moment the needle pierced her skin, Isabella screamed.

"Mom!" She sobbed the second she saw Victoria Windsor. "They took my blood! Are they doing a paternity test?"

Victoria's voice was firm. "Of course you're a Valentine!"

The next evening.

Theodore's hands shook as he opened the envelope.

When the words "Confirmed biological relation" came into view, he spat out a mouthful of blood and collapsed.

His first words upon waking: "Bring that bitch to me!"

The moment Victoria was dragged into the room, a glass flew past her face.

"Have you lost your mind?" she screeched, clutching her cheek.

Theodore flung the report at her. "Look what you've done!"

Victoria picked it up—and turned deathly pale.

"This can't be!" She shook her head wildly. "Isabella can't be Hammer's daughter!"

"You whore!" Theodore kicked her in the stomach. "You've humiliated the Valentine name!"

Crumpled on the floor, Victoria still refused to believe it. "Someone must have tampered with the results!"

Theodore grabbed her hair, raining down slaps.

"Lock them up together!" he roared, panting. "I want those two to suffer!"

The assistant hesitated. "Sir, your health—"

"Do it!" Theodore bellowed, blood trickling from his mouth again.

Outside the room, Alexander watched the chaos unfold in silence—then turned and walked away.

His silhouette looked especially solitary in the night.