Chapter 32 The Paternity Test
"I want a paternity test. Now."
Damian's voice tore through the room like shrapnel. He stood by the window, fists clenched, eyes blazing - a storm barely contained behind his calm exterior.
Isla flinched, clutching her silk robe tighter around her. "You're shouting," she said quietly, but her tone was edged with mock fragility - the kind she knew made him hesitate.
"I said I want a test, Isla!" Damian snapped again, his voice cracking under the weight of weeks of confusion and guilt. "You've been playing this game for weeks, and I'm done guessing!"
She blinked, tears springing instantly - too fast, too practiced. "You think I'd lie about something like this? About our child?"
He let out a sharp laugh. "Don't twist this. You disappeared for months, and now you show up, pregnant and acting like nothing happened? You think I don't deserve answers?"
Isla straightened slowly, her face shifting - the soft trembling giving way to quiet defiance. "You don't get to talk to me like that, Damian. Not after what you did."
He froze, jaw tight. "We're not doing this right now."
"Oh, we are," she said, stepping closer. "You cheated on me, remember? You broke me. And now you want to play the victim because I got pregnant? How convenient."
"Stop," he said, but his voice had softened. She noticed - and pressed harder.
"You think I wanted this?" she continued, her voice cracking, eyes glassy with just the right measure of pain. "I've gone to every appointment alone. I've heard the heartbeat alone. Every night, I sit there wondering if my child will grow up without a father, because you-"
"Enough," Damian cut in, dragging a hand through his hair. "We'll settle this with facts. A test. If it's mine, I'll take responsibility. But until then, I want the truth - not guilt."
Isla stared at him for a long moment. Then, with a trembling sigh, she nodded. "Fine. You'll get your test."
The hospital smelled of antiseptic and anxiety. Damian paced the narrow corridor outside the examination room, his nerves pulled tight.
Inside, Isla sat on the bed, her phone in hand, pretending to scroll. Her stomach twisted, not from the pregnancy - but from fear.
Because she already knew what the test would say.
A week ago, she had taken one privately. The result had gutted her.
Father: Richard Cross.
Probability of paternity: 99.8%.
Damian's uncle.
She clenched her jaw. Richard had been a one-time mistake - a drunken, desperate attempt to get back at Damian for cheating. But when the pregnancy test turned positive, revenge turned to regret.
Now she couldn't stand the idea of raising Richard's child. Not him. Not that man.
So she did what she always did best - adapted. Lied. Controlled the narrative before it could control her.
The nurse entered, polite and professional. "Ms. Rios? We'll need a small blood sample."
Isla smiled sweetly. "Of course."
Her pulse raced as the nurse inserted the needle. She kept her expression calm, careful - the image of a wronged woman doing everything right.
When it was over, Damian stepped back into the room, his jaw set. "How long until the results?"
"A few hours," the nurse replied. "You can wait in the lounge."
They sat in silence.
Damian's knee bounced restlessly. Isla pretended to nap, one hand resting on her belly. The gesture was deliberate, delicate - and effective. He noticed. He always noticed.
Finally, she spoke, voice soft and fragile. "You've missed everything, Damian."
He exhaled slowly. "You didn't exactly make it easy to be there."
"I tried," she whispered. "But you shut me out. Do you know what it's like going through this alone? Sitting in the waiting room, hearing other couples laugh, hold hands - and I have to explain why the father isn't around?"
"Don't," he said, tone sharp. "Don't make this about guilt."
"I'm not," she said, staring at him. "I just want you to care."
Her voice trembled perfectly - but inside, her mind raced. If she could make him stay long enough, convince him just enough, the truth would never come out.
Hours later, the doctor reappeared, a sealed folder in her hand.
"Mr. Cross. Ms. Rios," she said evenly. "We have your results."
Damian stood instantly. Isla kept her head down, breathing through her nose to keep her expression steady.
"The test confirms with 99.8% probability that Mr. Damian Cross is the biological father of the child."
The words seemed to freeze the air.
Damian stared blankly, as if trying to make sense of the syllables. Isla's shoulders shook with soft sobs, and she covered her face with trembling hands.
"Oh God," she whispered. "I told you... I told you it was yours."
The doctor murmured something about follow-up appointments, then left quietly.
Isla waited until the door clicked shut before lifting her head. "Say something," she whispered.
Damian's voice came out rough. "I don't even know what to say."
"You don't have to," she said quickly. "I'm not asking for anything. I just... wanted you to know."
He stared at the test result again. His throat burned. "I guess that settles it, then."
"It doesn't have to change everything," she murmured.
"Doesn't it?" He met her gaze, eyes hollow. "You think I can just forget how we got here? The lies, the cheating-"
"You cheated first!" she shot back suddenly, the mask slipping for a heartbeat. "Don't act like you're some saint in all this!"
He closed his eyes. "I'm done fighting, Isla."
He turned for the door. She almost let him leave. Almost.
But her hand shot out, catching his wrist. "Don't walk away again."
He pulled free gently. "I already have."
Then he was gone.
Back in the car, Damian sat in silence. The test paper lay open on the passenger seat, the words blurring as he stared at them.
99.8% probability.
Father: Mr Damian Cross.
He laughed - low and bitter.
After everything, maybe this was his punishment. The universe closing the loop. The past coming back to collect its debt.
He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "Fine," he muttered. "Then I'll own it."
But even as he said it, something deep in his gut whispered wrong.
He didn't know if it was instinct, or guilt, or the quiet echo of everything about Isla that never quite added up.
Still, he pulled out his phone.
Damian: "Elena, please. I just need to see you."
Damian: "The test came back. It's mine."
Damian: "But if it isn't... I'll prove it. I swear."
All messages delivered. None read.
He leaned back, eyes closing. Maybe this was how fate worked - take everything, then give you just enough hope to make you suffer longer.
Then, through the windshield, his phone screen lit up. A notification flashed across it - from Isla.
Isla: "Thank you for coming today. I knew you'd do the right thing. Maybe this baby will fix what we broke."
He didn't respond. Couldn't. Every breath felt like swallowing glass.