But only a few weeks later, he paid a small fortune to make sure his mistress delivered a boy in a private clinic.
What he didn’t know was that fate, on that very day, had already closed the trap he’d never escape.

Morning broke over the bright little town of Riviere-sur-Mont, the sky glazed in gold. In her tiny apartment in the Amandiers district, Nora moved slowly, palm pressed to the curve of her belly. Ready to bring life into the world. She whispered to her unborn child:

“Hold on, little sweetheart… I’ll see you soon.”

Victor didn’t even glance up. The gentle man she had married vanished the moment her pregnancy began, replaced by something colder, sharper, irritated by everything—her breathing, her sleepless nights, even the way she reached for a glass of water.

One night, while Nora was folding baby clothes, he snapped:

“You’re giving birth next month at your parents’ place in Montbrun. Costs me three times less there.”

She froze.
“Victor… I’m eight months along. It’s a long trip. What if I—”

“You’ll be fine,” he cut her off, already walking away.

Two days later, with burning eyes but her chin held high, Nora boarded a train to Montbrun. Her mother, Madame Delmas, waited on the platform and wrapped her in protective arms the moment she stepped off.

Meanwhile, Victor raced to Lina Marek—his young assistant—blinded by the idea that she’d give him the son he believed he deserved. He paid for the most expensive package at Val-Blanc Clinic, convinced he was about to live out his glorious moment.

That day arrived. He announced his “heir” everywhere, practically shouting it from rooftops. But minutes later, a nurse asked him to follow her to sign some documents. He strutted down the hallway, swollen with pride…

Until the door opened.

And his smile froze where it was born.

The doctor looked up with calm, steady eyes.
“Mr. Leroux… congratulations. You have a healthy baby girl.”

A girl.

The word hit him like metal.

His breath snagged. The numbers he’d paid, the gifts, the arrangements, the secrets—everything spun like a collapsing carousel.

And in one nauseating flash, he realized Lina had known all along.

Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away in Montbrun, Nora lay in a lavender-scented delivery room, gripping her mother’s hand as the baby’s first cry sliced through the quiet.

“It’s a girl,” the midwife said softly.

Nora burst into tears and pulled the baby to her chest.
“I knew it,” she whispered. “I always knew.”

Moments later, her father—stern, silver-haired, rarely emotional—pushed open the door, breathless from running. He looked at the tiny face cradled in Nora’s arms… and began to cry openly, without shame.

“Welcome to the world, little Amelie.”

Yes—he named her. Before anyone else could.

Back at Val-Blanc, Victor remained in the hallway, staring at the floor like a man who had finally met the consequences he’d been running from.

He wanted a son.
Fate gave him two daughters instead.

And as if destiny wanted to make it unmistakably clear who was in control, a nurse rushed out of the neonatal unit, pale and trembling.

“Mr. Leroux… we need you. Your baby needs to be moved to intensive care. There’s a complication.”

His heart thudded once—hard, painful.

He thought he was in charge.
He thought money guaranteed outcomes.
He thought he could discard one life and purchase another.

But the trap was already shut.

And now one of his daughters was fighting for hers.