Chapter 83: He is the father...
"I said," she declared, her words slow and deliberate, "Tryson is the father of my child. Not you. He has every right to claim that—you don’t."
She enunciated every word deliberately, just in case Arthur hadn’t fully grasped the weight of what she was saying.
Arthur inhaled sharply, the words sinking deep into his chest like jagged shards of glass. It felt as though she had just ripped something out of him—something fragile, something he wasn’t prepared to lose.
His grip on the phone tightened, knuckles white, as his heart pounded against his ribs.
"You’re lying... aren’t you?" he asked, his voice laced with both disbelief and desperate hope.
He fought to keep his composure, but the walls of the car felt suffocating, boxing him in, trapping the rage and pain swirling inside him.
If he weren’t confined to his seat, he might have exploded right then and there—yelling, demanding, pleading. But instead, he sat there, his patience hanging by a thread.
"Arthur," Angel continued, her tone softer now, but no less firm, "you asked me a few days ago how I knew Tryson, how he came into my life. If you really want to know, then hear me now—Tryson has always been the father of my child. Before you, there was him. Before I ever met you, he was already a part of my story."
She paused, her breath hitching, emotions threatening to surface. "He was the one who left me broken, the one who pushed me into that darkest place... the very place where you found me."
Silence filled the car, thick and suffocating. And in that moment, the world outside faded—leaving only the weight of her confession hanging between them like an impending storm.
Not because she had run out of words—no, far from it.