Chris had long given up on finding peace in his own home. The only joy that kept him sane was Arabella his daughter.
"Daddy!" Arabella squealed as she ran into his office, her small hands clutching his pant leg. Chris immediately bent to lift her, kissing her temple with a smile that barely hid his exhaustion.
"Daddy's little princess. How are you?" he asked warmly, brushing her nose.
"I'm fine, Daddy. But you don't look fine. You have bags under your eyes," she said innocently. "Mum says that means you don't sleep."
Chris chuckled softly but his eyes were heavy. "I'm okay, sweetheart. Just stressed." He pinched her cheeks before turning to face Thelma, who stood in the doorway.
"Why are you here?" His tone was clipped, cold.
"We have an appointment with the event planner today," Thelma said smoothly.
"You can attend to it yourself. Anything you choose is fine." Chris's voice dripped with indifference. He didn't even look at her.
Thelma stiffened but forced a smile. "Come, Arabella. Daddy's busy."
Arabella frowned as she was tugged away. She always sensed the coldness in her father's voice whenever he spoke to her mother.
What Thelma didn't know was that Chris had been playing his own game all along.
For eight months, he had quietly investigated everything that happened the night Bella's world shattered. He never believed the sex tape. His gut screamed it was fake, and his gut was rarely wrong. He had Elliot dig deep, trace every upload, every shadow of the scandal. The threads led back to Lilian, Bella's so called "friend." Lilian had staged the video with Neil, doctoring Bella's face onto it, paid off by none other than Thelma Frederick.
Chris's rage nearly consumed him the day he uncovered that truth.
But he didn't stop there. He wanted Thelma exposed once and for all. He hired a team of private investigators who dug into the Frederick family's history. He uncovered tax fraud, laundering through their fashion brand, Denise (Thelma's manager) paying off journalists, and even Cindy's shady dealings with orphanages.
Still, there was Arabella. She was innocent. Chris needed to be sure about her. So he quietly took samples her toothbrush, a strand of hair, even the rim of her cup. Then he submitted them to seven different hospitals across Europe under false names.
Every single result came back the same.
Arabella was 99.999% his child.
The confirmation broke him and healed him all at once. He loved his daughter, but the betrayal surrounding her conception burned like acid.
And when he confronted his parents about Thelma, Cassandra had smirked while Frederick threatened him to "do the right thing." That was the day Chris severed ties.
"You are no longer my parents," he had said coldly, walking out of their mansion.
Now he was waiting. Waiting for the wedding. Waiting for the stage that Thelma so desperately wanted, so he could destroy her with the truth in front of the world.
Meanwhile in Toronto, Bella was struggling.
Her life revolved around Jessy now her unexpected blessing, her light in the storm. But the weight of her depression hung heavy. At night, she cried herself to sleep, whispering, "I wish you could know your father... but he chose another."
She hadn't told her friends about Jessy. Not even Bianca knew. Only her mother Vera, Aunt Joanna, and her cousins knew the truth.
Jessy's violet eyes haunted her reminders of Chris in every gaze.
At Hampson's estate, Cassandra was plotting. Clinton, her shadow, entered the living room with a brown envelope.
"Afternoon, ma'am," he greeted.
"What is it?" she asked impatiently.
Clinton handed her the photos: Bella leaving a hospital in Canada with a newborn strapped to her chest.
"Isn't this that girl?" Cassandra sneered.
"Yes, ma'am," Clinton replied flatly.
"And the child?"
"Her son. Born through a cryptic pregnancy. According to the timeline, very likely the young master's."
Cassandra's eyes hardened. "Get me the DNA. If the child is his, eliminate them both. Quietly."
"Yes, ma'am." Clinton bowed before leaving.
That night, Bella, restless, decided to take a walk with Jessy. She disguised herself with a cap and scarf, clutching her baby close as she slipped out the back door. She only wanted fresh air.
But at the bus station, her blood froze. A tall man covered in tattoos stood under a streetlamp, showing her photo to passersby.
Bella's stomach dropped. The airport man... the one who said he'd be the end of me.
Heart hammering, she turned and hurried down an alley. "Hold on, Jessy. Mama's here."
A van screeched to a halt ahead. Two masked men jumped out. Bella's scream pierced the night as she tried to run, but rough hands grabbed her arms.
"Help! Somebody help me!"
No one came.
A rag soaked in chloroform pressed against her face. Her vision blurred, her body weakened. Jessy wailed in her carrier as she reached out desperately but her grip failed.
"Take the baby gently," one man barked.
Darkness swallowed her.
Back at the Wendell's residence, Vera and Joanna waited for Bella's return. Minutes turned to hours. They checked her room but she was gone
"God, no..." Vera's knees buckled.
But Bella never came back that night.