I Found Out My Fiancée Has a Kid

A month before my wedding, I've discovered a series of suspicious transfers made by my fiancee, Irene Lambert. The recipient is none other than her first love, Blake Chandler—the man she has never truly forgotten. For seven years, she has sent him 50 thousand dollars every month without fail. When I place the bank statements before Irene and demand an explanation, she barely looks up from her work. "Blake injured his right hand saving me. The money is simply compensation for what happened. Don't worry, money's the only thing I'll ever give him," she says evenly. I refuse to let the matter go, but even my friends urge me to overlook it. "It's only 50 thousand dollars. With how wealthy Irene is, she'd consider a watch at that price too cheap to buy for you. As a man, you've got to be the bigger person," they argue. With our wedding only a month away and seven years of history between us, I finally give in. That is, until I discover that our housekeeper, Olivia Harper, prepares a child's meal every afternoon and delivers it to Irene's office. When I confront Olivia, she stares at me in confusion. "Isn't that your child, Mr. Sanford? He's already around five or six years old—and he calls Ms. Lambert 'Mommy'." Chapter 1 Raphael's POV The living room instantly fell silent. The housekeeper, Olivia Harper, went deathly pale the moment she realized that she'd said too much. I forced a smile before gesturing for her to take a seat. "Just answer whatever I ask you," I said calmly. Olivia tightened her grip on her apron and nodded. "When did you start delivering the meals?" I asked. "Two weeks ago," she replied. Thinking back, I'd been so consumed by preparations for my studio's grand opening that I'd eventually worked myself into a fever and ended up bedridden. I'd reached out to my fiancee, Irene Lambert, for help—only to learn that she was leaving on a business trip. In the end, all I got was a half-hearted reminder to take my medicine on time. I took a deep breath as I tried to remain calm. "How old is the child?" I asked. "He's a young boy—around five or six years old. He looks a lot like Ms. Lambert," Olivia replied. The child's age echoed in my mind. This year marked the seventh year Irene and I had been together. I lowered my gaze to the lunchbox on the table. It was filled with chicken nuggets and spaghetti—comfort food children loved. Food I'd never cared for. When I remained silent for a long time, Olivia cautiously continued, "Mr. Sanford… I honestly didn't know about this. I wasn't deliberately hiding it from you." She pleaded, "Please don't fire me. I really need this job." I'd personally hired Olivia as my housekeeper because she was quiet, followed instructions, and cooked well. Even though she only needed to prepare one meal a day, I still paid her 20 thousand dollars a month. But I never imagined that the housekeeper I'd hired on such a generous salary would end up cooking for my fiancee's illegitimate child. "I'm the one who's paying your salary. From now on, ignore any instructions Irene gives you," I ordered. Olivia nodded frantically. "Yes, sir." Then, I got to my feet and picked up the lunchbox from the table. "You can take the rest of the day off. I'll deliver the lunch myself," I said. I couldn't tell if the air conditioning was too cold, but a chill spread through my body as I sat behind the wheel. How could this be? Irene and I had been together for seven years, and we were going to get married next month. I found myself wondering whether it was all just a misunderstanding. Even so, my thoughts kept drifting back to five years ago when Irene had been posted overseas for a year. We hadn't seen each other once for that entire year. Could the child have been born then? I floored the accelerator. By the time I pulled up outside Lambert Group, my palms were slick with cold sweat. Contrary to what I'd expected, her office was empty. I pulled out my phone and called Irene. Before the call could connect, the door suddenly swung open. The young boy who walked in looked just like a miniature version of Irene. He was dressed head to toe in designer children's clothing, and even the watch on his wrist matched mine. "Are you the butler Mommy hired?" he asked. With a slight tilt of his head and a smile, the boy casually took the lunchbox from my hand. "Okay, you can leave now. Mommy's busy right now," he continued. There he sat in Irene's million-dollar antique chair, using the company's confidential documents as a placemat. In the past, Irene would've lost her temper if I so much as laid a finger on any of those things. The young boy's patience began to wear thin as I remained rooted to the spot, my expression cold. "Did you hear what I just said? My mom's not here now. The conference room isn't a place for you to rest," he snapped. The call finally connected, and Irene's familiar, indifferent voice came through the line. "I'm busy, Raphael. What is it?" "I'm in your office, and your son's about to kick me out. Well, he's certainly got your temper." I couldn't keep the sarcasm out of my voice. Five minutes later, Irene pushed open the office door. "Mommy!" The boy threw himself into her arms before shooting a glance at me. "The new butler is acting weird. Can you fire him?" he asked. Irene crouched down and patiently comforted him. "Why don't you go and find your dad first? I'll take care of this man." A figure stood beyond the glass door. He had a lean frame, broad shoulders, and a pair of soulful eyes that always seemed to brim with affection. Even though I'd never met him before, I recognized him at first glance. He was Blake Chandler—Irene's first love. Blake raised an eyebrow and shot me a challenging look when he met my gaze. "Come on, Lucas. It's time to go. Remember to say goodbye to the butler," he said. The young boy, Lucas Chandler, turned back and gave me a wave. The two of them then walked away as though they'd come to the office countless times before. In the end, I was the only one left frozen in shock. 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." Chapter 3 Raphael's POV By the time I arrived home, the blood on my legs had already dried. I didn't even bother to turn on the lights. I sank into the couch as the last of my strength slipped away. From the furniture to the wall colors and even the potted plants, I'd poured my heart into making this place a home. Back when we were still living in a rented room, all I'd ever wished for every birthday was a place we could finally call our own. But now, it was no different from a prison to me. The lights in the living room suddenly flicked on. I forced my aching eyes open to see Irene walk in, but she didn't even spare me a glance as I lay on the couch before heading straight for the kitchen. It didn't take long for the smell of food to drift into the room as my empty stomach twisted with hunger. Irene finally noticed me when she came out carrying a plate of food. By then, my face had turned deathly pale. Taken aback, she asked, "When did you get back? Have you finally calmed down?" I didn't answer. Instead, my gaze settled on the plate of mac and cheese in her hands. In all the years I'd known her, Irene had never cooked a single meal. Once, when I was burning with a high fever and on the verge of passing out, I'd begged her to make me a bowl of plain congee. Even then, she'd only shaken her head and said, "Isn't that what the housekeeper is for?" Before I could say a single word, Irene explained, "Lucas was craving the dish. You should take some time to sort out your emotions. I'll be back after I drop off the food." I pressed a hand to my throbbing temple and let out a bitter laugh. "You can't even be bothered to put on an act around me anymore. What, should I pack my bags tomorrow and make room for Blake and his son?" Irene continued packing the food without so much as a glance at me. "Stop making a big deal out of nothing." Before I could say another word, the electronic lock beeped. Blake let himself in with practiced ease before draping his suit over the antique cabinet I'd carefully chosen after comparing countless options at a vintage market. Lucas came in right behind him. "Mommy!" He skipped across the room and plopped himself down in the hanging chair I'd picked out myself. Clearly, this wasn't the first time they'd come to my apartment. For all I know, they might've been here while I was buried in work, when I'd gone back home to visit my family, or even while I was hospitalized. My stomach suddenly churned as a wave of nausea washed over me. "Why is the butler still here?" Lucas looked at me with obvious confusion, as though I were nothing more than a piece of trash that didn't belong here. "Don't be rude, Lucas." Blake scolded him halfheartedly before turning to me. "We're here to look at the apartment today. After all, we'll be moving in next week." Then, he covered his mouth as if he'd let something slip. "Didn't Irene tell you?" Irene lowered her gaze as she avoided my eyes. "We can always buy another apartment, Raphael. Lucas is starting school soon, and he needs to live in a good school district. I'll get you something else. What about another investment for your studio? I can bring in 500 thousand dollars for your funding," she suggested. That wasn't even enough to cover a year's worth of Blake's living expenses. I stared at Irene. The woman I'd loved with all my heart for the past seven years felt like a stranger now. She'd bought this apartment for me with the first paycheck she'd earned after her business took off. I still remembered the day we got the keys. Tears streamed down her face as she held my hands and smiled. "We finally have our own home!" she exclaimed. But now, she was forcing me to hand over our home to another man when our wedding was just around the corner. I pulled out my phone and did the math. "Alright. I'll ask the property management for the security footage now. Blake's going to pay rent for every time he's set foot in this apartment over the years," I stated. Blake was left speechless at my words. "You've got a problem with that?" I asked. Then, I raised an eyebrow before enunciating every single word. "The deed's in my name. I'm the owner of this apartment. Besides, can you honestly swear that you've never been here before?" Chapter 4 Raphael's POV Blake's expression instantly crumpled as though my words had wounded him. "Raphael, you've gone too far." Irene rushed to defend the man she cherished, while Lucas pointed at me and hurled insults. "You're a bad man. Don't you dare bully my mom! This apartment belongs to Daddy, and you're just the butler. Why should he have to pay you?" he shouted. Irene looked at me warily while she kept one arm protectively around Lucas. "You can lose your temper all you want, but don't you dare lay a hand on my son," she warned. I let out a cold sneer before crouching down to Lucas' eye level. "Why? Because this is my apartment. Your dad doesn't own it, and you're nothing more than a bastard." No sooner had the words left my mouth than Irene slapped me hard across the face. In the seven years we'd been together, this was the first time she'd ever struck me. The force of the blow left my head spinning. "How could you say that in front of Lucas? You've gone too far!" she snapped. Irene let out a cold laugh as she shook out her hand. For a moment, it felt like I'd lost my hearing. All I could feel was the searing pain across my cheek. "Take the money and leave," she said coldly. I stared at the endless string of zeros on the check before a bitter laugh escaped me. Money had once been the greatest obstacle in our lives. Now, it'd become the very tool she used to get rid of me. "Go on," she urged, her patience running thin. I turned and headed for the bedroom as I quickly packed my belongings. I even took the stack of wedding invitations I'd written by hand with me. Irene didn't even spare me a glance when I stood by the entrance. Once I was in the back of the cab, I pulled out the wedding invitations and ripped them to shreds under the driver's stunned gaze. "Could you throw these away for me? I'll give you an extra 500 dollars as a tip." I forced a smile as I fought down the sob rising in my throat. Just then, my phone buzzed with a message from Irene. She'd just shared the location of a cramped, run-down apartment located in an older part of the city. "From now on, this will be our new home. Blake's rent is included in the check I just gave you, so don't go around bothering him and Lucas again," she texted. She'd given the luxurious, spacious apartment to Blake, while I was left with a run-down dump. "I'll take a look at it," I replied calmly. It didn't take long for me to get in touch with a realtor who handled properties in the old neighbourhood. "Hello, I need to sell an apartment as quickly as possible. You can price it at 100 thousand dollars below market value. The sooner it's sold, the better," I said. The realtor immediately agreed. "Absolutely. I'll arrange for some potential buyers to view it right away." … The next day, I was still resting at the hotel when an urgent call came in from the studio. The moment I answered, my assistant Leo Spencer's helpless voice came through the line. "What should we do, Raphael? Ms. Lambert's signing the studio over to someone else!" he exclaimed. "What did you say?" I asked. "It's true! She said that this is your punishment for bullying Lucas. Raphael, we've spent over a year building this studio. Is it all just going to be for nothing?" he asked, his voice filled with despair. Only then did I realize I'd received more than a dozen calls and hundreds of messages from Irene. It turned out that Lucas had come down with diarrhea and was hospitalized after he'd eaten the mac and cheese yesterday. Irene was convinced that I'd tampered with the food to get revenge on them. Her furious voice came through the phone when I called her back. "It was you, wasn't it? Didn't I warn you to stay away from the kid? Wasn't that slap enough to teach you a lesson? "If you still want to go through with the wedding and get your studio back, you have until the end of today to go to the hospital and apologize to Blake and Lucas in person," she threatened. "Don't worry. I'll be there. I've already sent out the invitations. There's no way I'm handing over the studio too," I replied calmly. Then, I blocked Irene's number the moment I hung up. She'd played me for a fool with an elaborate web of half-truths. Now, it was my turn to give Irene a taste of her own medicine. I took a cab to the studio and hired ten workers to smash the place to pieces. After all, Irene was the one who'd invested in it. I had no reason to treat it with care. Besides, I'd already booked my flight. I was leaving this place for good. Confusion was written all over Leo's face when he asked, "Can you really bring yourself to give all this up?" I stared at the wreckage before me, utterly unmoved. "I've already given up on the woman I'd loved for seven years. What's one studio? The world's a big place. I can always build another one elsewhere," I replied. That night, I boarded my flight and left. The moment I stepped out of the airport, my phone was flooded with so many messages that it froze.