“Not My Son”
“Its not my child,” the millionaire said coldly, his voice echoing through the marble hall. “Take your things and leave. Both of you.” He pointed to the door. His wife clutched the baby tighter, tears welling in her eyes. If only he knew
The storm outside mirrored the one within. Eleanor stood frozen, her fingers white from gripping little Oliver so tightly to her chest. Her husband, Gregory Blackwood, a multimillionaire magnate and head of the Blackwood family, glared at her with a fury she had never seen in their ten years of marriage.
“Gregory, please,” Eleanor whispered, her voice shaking. “You dont know what youre saying.”
“Oh, I do,” he snapped. “This boy isnt mine. I had a DNA test done last week. The results are clear.”
The accusation struck harder than a slap. Her knees nearly gave way.
“You tested him without telling me?”
“I had to. He doesnt look like me. He doesnt act like me. And I couldnt ignore the rumours any longer.”
“Rumours? Gregory, hes a baby! And he *is* yours! I swear on everything I have!”
But Gregory had already made up his mind.
“Your things will be sent to your fathers house. Dont ever come back. Never.”
Eleanor lingered, half-hoping it was just one of his impulsive moods, the kind that usually passed by morning. But the ice in his voice left no room for doubt. She turned and walked out, the click of her heels echoing on marble as thunder cracked above the manor.
Eleanor had grown up in modest comfort but had entered a world of privilege when she married Gregory. Elegant, poised, and clevereverything the society pages praised and high society envied. None of it mattered now.
As the old Rover carried her and Oliver back to her fathers cottage in the countryside, her mind raced. She had been faithful. She had loved Gregory, stood by him when the markets crashed, when the press tore into him, even when his mother shunned her. And now she was cast out like a stranger.
Her father, Thomas Greenwood, opened the door, eyes wide with shock.
“Ellie? Whats happened?”
She collapsed into his arms. “He said Oliver isnt his He threw us out.”
Thomass jaw tightened. “Come inside, love.”
In the days that followed, Eleanor adjusted to her new reality. The house was small, her old bedroom barely changed. Oliver, blissfully unaware, babbled and played, giving her moments of peace amid the pain.
But something gnawed at herthe DNA test. How could it be wrong?
Desperate for answers, she went to the lab where Gregory had the test done. She still had connectionsand favours to call in. What she discovered turned her blood to ice.
The test had been tampered with.
Meanwhile, Gregory sat alone in his London mansion, tormented by silence. He told himself he had done what was necessarythat he couldnt raise another mans child. Yet the battle with his conscience ate at him. He avoided Olivers old nursery, but one day, curiosity overcame him. Seeing the empty crib, the stuffed giraffe, the tiny shoes lined on the shelfsomething inside him shattered.
Even his mother, Lady Agatha, offered no comfort.
“I warned you, Gregory,” she said, sipping her expensive tea. “That Greenwood girl was never right for you.”
But even she frowned when Gregory didnt respond.
A day passed. Then a week.
Then, a letter arrived.
No return address. Just a single page and a photograph.
Gregorys hands trembled as he read.
*”Gregory,
You were wrong. Horribly wrong.
You wanted proofhere it is. I found the original results. The test was rigged. And the photo tucked inside? I found it in your mothers study You know what it means.
Eleanor.”*
Gregory slumped into his chair, the paper slipping from his fingers. The photograph landed face-up on the polished floorLady Agatha, brazenly plucking strands of hair from the babys pillow, her smile cold and triumphant.
Everything exploded inside him. Here was the proof. His own mother had stolen the samples, ruining everything.
He sprang to his feet, shaking with fury. What kind of monster would
And then it hit him. The photograph showed his father with the same bright blue eyes as Oliver, proving how Aunt Agatha had falsified the DNA test in her madness to break their marriage. The paper crumpled in his trembling grip.
Now, alone in the cold hall, no amount of *pounds* in his accounts matteredonly the heavy tears staining the letter and the desperate urge to run back to Eleanor and the child hed been so afraid to love.
