After Divorcing Me for My Sister, CEO Discovers Our Secret Baby

“Samuel, will we always be together?”

Eighteen-year-old Yvonne Carrington, her cheeks flushed with the warmth of youth, curled herself into Samuel Blackwell’s embrace. Her gaze overflowed with adoration, as though the world contained nothing and no one else but him.

“We will.”

A single, resolute word. His deep, searing eyes locked onto her luminous, enchanting face, and with a sudden shift of his powerful frame—

Pain!

Yvonne’s back arched with the sharp, unfamiliar sensation, her fingers digging into the firm muscles of his lean, sinewy arm. It was almost unbearable, yet she tilted her head upward, offering him a smile as sweet as spring blossoms. “Samuel, I love you.”

The man kissed away the tears gathering at the corners of her eyes, tender yet unyielding as he cradled her close. His voice, low and commanding, resonated against her ear. “Von, you’re mine… You always will be.”

She clung tightly to his neck, trembling like a mermaid tasting her first bloom of love, her laughter radiant, her smile as dazzling as sunlight dancing on the water.

But later, much later, Yvonne would learn that their promises of "forever" were no more than the fevered echo of the moment’s heat. And the words I love you would one day drown beneath the cold weight of I hate you.

---

The courtroom loomed, forbidding and austere.

“Witness Yvonne, were you with the defendant Samuel on the night of June 6th?”

“I was.”

June 6th had been Yvonne’s eighteenth birthday. Instead of celebrating with her family, she’d chosen to stay locked away in Samuel’s tiny apartment, wrapped entirely in him. That night—its fervent intensity, its aching sweetness—was seared into her memory. It had been her first time. Though Samuel was careful, there were moments when his passion spilled over, leaving her aching and spent, yet impossibly whole.

Lifting her eyes slowly, Yvonne looked across the courtroom to where Samuel stood in the defendant’s dock. Dressed in the navy blue of prison overalls, his once-animated face now seemed worn and weary, his sharp black eyes stained red with sleeplessness. Yet, when he met her gaze, a quiet tenderness still lingered in their depths.

In the week since his arrest, Samuel had grown gaunt. Disheveled though he was, his imposing presence remained undiminished; even now, Yvonne found it impossible to look away.

Samuel Blackwell—an Aurelia University prodigy double-majoring in finance and law. With no family fortune to underwrite his ambitions, he had nonetheless carved a path destined for brilliance. His professors had once marveled at his extraordinary aptitude, especially in law, where his instincts verged on the preternatural. His acumen in investments and markets was, by all accounts, razor-sharp and unrivaled.

He had held the promise of a soaring future—in fact, he still did. Yet now... Yvonne felt a jagged pain twist through her chest.

“Witness Yvonne,” the prosecutor’s voice rang out again, clinical and cutting, “can you confirm that at ten p.m. on the night of June 6th, you saw the defendant driving a black Mercedes-Benz with the license plate Jing A66888 and striking the victim, Liu Ping?”

A hush descended over the courtroom.

One minute passed.

Then two.

Three.

The thud of the gavel shattered the silence.

The judge frowned, his tone sharp with reproof: “Witness Yvonne, please answer the question!”

On the night of June 6th, it wasn’t Samuel behind the wheel of the black Mercedes-Benz with the license plate Jing A66888. It had been her half-brother, Oliver Carrington, the only son of her father, Theodore Carrington. Beneath the cover of night on the outer arterial highway of Aurelia State, Oliver had run a man down—then driven away.

To shield his only son, Theodore Carrington had coerced the family driver’s son to take the fall. When Samuel refused to confess, Theodore turned to Yvonne, wielding the sharpest blade in his arsenal: her mother’s life.

Yvonne’s mother had suffered endlessly at Theodore’s hands. After Theodore’s first wife, Helena, fell down a staircase and was left in a vegetative coma, it took him less than six months to bring his mistress, Margot Pierce, and her son Oliver into their home. Margot wasted no time—inserting a knife against Helena’s fragile throat, she commanded Yvonne to implicate Samuel in the hit-and-run immediately.

Theodore, the Governor of Westreach City in Aurelia State, had the means and the cruelty to orchestrate Samuel’s imprisonment through the local courts. Resistance would only doom them all. If Yvonne dared defy him, her mother’s life would be forfeit. Samuel’s too, perhaps in ways she dared not imagine.

She was out of choices… utterly, heartbreakingly out of choices.

Yvonne drew a deep breath, lifted her gaze to the judge, and replied, her words sharp and deliberate, "Yes. On the night of June 6th, at ten o'clock, I was sitting in the passenger seat next to Samuel. I saw with my own eyes—he hit someone with the car and killed them."

Samuel, standing at the defendant's table, froze. Every muscle in his body seemed to lock in place as the light in his eyes extinguished in an instant.

"Defendant Samuel, do you have anything else to say for yourself?"

His gaze, cold as a winter's grave, burned crimson at the edges as he stared at Yvonne. A hollow, mirthless laugh scraped out of his throat, bitter with despair and rage.

He spoke clearly, enunciating every word. "No. I have nothing to say."

The girl he had cherished, cradled like a rare and fragile treasure, now stood in opposition to him. Without hesitation, she condemned him, branding him a murderer.

The world could betray him—Samuel could bear that. But why, why did it have to be her? Why Yvonne?

Bang.

The gavel cracked sharply against the sound block once more.

"The defendant, Samuel, having violated Article 133 of the Criminal Law, causing the death of the plaintiff, Liu Ping, is hereby sentenced by this court to three years of imprisonment and a fine of five hundred thousand dollars."

The trial concluded, and the guards escorted Samuel away, clad in his prison uniform.

He turned back once—just once—to look at her. That look was an arrow tipped with venom, dripping with an unyielding bitterness.

Yvonne knew. She knew he now despised her with every fiber of his being. She had personally destroyed him—Samuel, who once brimmed with confidence, a man destined for greatness.

Her slender fingertips dug deep into her palm, sharp nails slicing skin until blood spilled freely.

Three days later, Yvonne managed to secure a visitation slot.

Separated by a thick pane of glass, they sat face to face, speaking over the phone.

"Samuel," she began, her voice trembling but resolute, "I’ll find a way to get you out of here."

His laugh was ice, sharp enough to cut. "Yvonne, it’s over. Don’t come here pretending anymore. From now on, you go be Young Madam Carrington, and I’ll remain what I’ve become—a prisoner."

"Samuel, I’m sorry…"

Tears welled, hot and brimming, only to retreat inward where they burned anew. The pain stole her breath, caving in her chest.

"This prison," he said, his tone flat and pitiless, "is no place for Young Madam Carrington."

From his pocket, Samuel pulled out a small sketchbook. With slow deliberation, he held it up for her to see.

Inside were her drawings—sketches of him she’d made secretly once upon a time. Every page held his likeness, soft and alive, rendered with the tender care she thought he’d recognized.

He had once cherished this book like a prized possession.

Now, his slim fingers gripped the edge and, with a savage tug, ripped out the pages one by one. He tore them to shreds, scattering the pieces into the air where they fluttered to the ground like dead leaves.

Samuel laughed, cold and guttural, his expression a storm of contempt and finality. "Yvonne, there’s nothing left between us. Nothing. Thanks to you."

The words came like blows, deliberate and merciless: Thanks. To. You.

Each syllable was a dagger, plunging straight into her heart.

Visitation time ended.

The guard came to take Samuel away. As he rose, he stepped on the fragments of paper beneath him, grinding them into the floor. Grinding her heart into dust.

"Samuel…!" she yelled, her voice cracking as she cried out for him.

But he never once looked back.

Yvonne pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, muffling her raw, uncontrollable sobbing. Broken, she whispered, "I’m pregnant… Samuel… We have a child."

Her words felt as though they fell into the void, unheard by anyone.

The sharp, twisting ache in her lower abdomen broke through her spiraling emotions. Instinctively, she placed her hand over her belly and glanced down.

The pristine white of her trousers had bloomed with a vivid, violent stain—blood, dark and spreading.

(Trigger warning: Earnest melodrama. Expect highly emotional twists and turns, painful reconciliations, and bittersweet resolutions forthcoming. Dual perspectives, intense romance.)