The air inside Room 304 of St. Jude Medical Center was thick with the suffocating scent of cheap perfume, expensive cologne, and unearned triumph. All seven members of the Hale family—Preston’s mother Evelyn, his father Richard, his sister Chloe, and two eager aunts—had packed into the narrow ultrasound suite.

Preston’s mind stalled. His throat went bone-dry. "I... what? That was... that was just a minor procedure. Lena and I were done having kids, so I—"

"So you are biologically incapable of conceiving a child naturally," Dr. Vance stated calmly, cutting through his stumble with surgical precision.

Evelyn’s head snapped toward Preston, her eyes wide with shock. "Preston! What is she talking about?!"

"Wait, Doctor, that’s impossible!" Brielle interjected, her voice rising an octave into a panic-laced pitch. "The machine must be wrong! He’s the father! Tell them he’s the father!"

Dr. Vance adjusted the transducer on Brielle’s abdomen and tapped a key on the monitor. "Furthermore, based on the femur length and anatomical development, this fetus is currently at 26 weeks gestation. Six and a half months."

Preston’s head spun as he did the quick math. Six and a half months ago... he was away on a three-week solo business trip in Singapore. He hadn't even met Brielle until five months ago at a local gallery opening.

"Twenty-six weeks?" Richard Hale finally spoke, his deep voice trembling with anger. "Preston, you said you met this girl in November!"

"And one final detail," Dr. Vance added, turning the monitor toward the family. She pointed a thin finger at the clear physical markers between the baby's legs. "The baby is not a boy. You are having a healthy, fully formed baby girl."

The silence in the room split wide open.

"A... a girl?" Evelyn gasped, her voice cracking. She looked at Brielle as if the woman had suddenly turned into a venomous snake. "Not a boy? And not... not Preston's?!"

"Brielle..." Preston stepped toward the bed, his voice trembling violently, all his arrogance evaporating like steam. "What is the doctor talking about? Whose baby is this?!"

Brielle pulled the paper sheet up to her chest, tears streaming down her face, but the soft, innocent look in her eyes was completely gone. Replacing it was a cold, trapped desperation. "Preston, listen to me—"

"Whose baby is it?!" Preston roared, grabbing the edge of the examination table.

"It doesn't matter whose it is!" Brielle shrieked back, dropping the polite facade entirely. "You wanted a son so badly to prove your pathetic manhood to your toxic family! You paid for my apartment! You bought me a car! You were so eager to throw away your real family for a boy that you didn't even check!"

Evelyn lunged forward, but Richard caught her arm. "You fraud! You lying little gold-digger!" Evelyn screamed, her face flushed red with fury.

In the middle of the screaming match, as his mother lunged at Brielle and his father shouted for security, Preston stood utterly frozen. The words he had uttered just thirty minutes ago in the mediator's office echoed inside his skull like a deafening gunshot:

“Take the girls, Lena. I have a son coming now.”

Cold sweat poured down his back. His real daughters. Maya and Lily. His true bloodline.