After His Mistress Claimed My AI Husband’s Baby

I didn't sit down. I stayed standing behind my desk, hands resting flat on the surface like I was about to grade another paper. The red pen was still there, next to my open planner. Tuesday's schedule stared back at me in neat blue ink. Office hours, 2-4 PM. I was right on time.

"Kinslee," I said. My voice came out level. Quiet. "Tell me about that night."

She blinked at me through her tears. For just a second, something flickered across her face — confusion, maybe, or surprise that I wasn't screaming. Then the crying started again, louder this time.

"I don't — I can't —"

"Which hotel?" I kept my eyes on hers. "You said it was a hotel. Which one?"

Brycen shifted in the doorway. I could see him in my peripheral vision, all shoulders and gold chains catching the light. He opened his mouth, but I spoke first.

"I'm asking Kinslee."

Ember's phone was still recording. The little red light blinked steady in the corner of my vision. Fifty-three thousand viewers now. I'd stopped checking my own phone, but I could hear it buzzing against the desk, a low angry hum that didn't stop.

"The — the one in Bellevue," Kinslee said finally. Her voice was small. Rehearsed. "The nice one. With the fountain out front."

"The Bellevue Hyatt."

"Yes."

"What day?"

"Friday. It was a Friday night." She pressed both hands to her stomach, like she was protecting something. Like I was the threat.

"What were you wearing?"

Her eyes went wide. "What?"

"When you went to meet him. What did you have on?"

"I — a dress. A black dress. Why does that matter?"

I didn't answer. I just wrote it down in my planner, right under Tuesday's schedule, in the same dark red ink I use for grading. Black dress. Friday. Bellevue Hyatt.

"And after," I said. "You said he took you to dinner first. Where?"

Kinslee's mouth opened. Then closed. She looked at Brycen.

"She doesn't have to answer that," he said, stepping forward now. "You don't get to interrogate her like she's on trial. She's the victim here."

"I'm just asking questions." I kept my tone flat. Clinical. "If this happened, there are details. I want to understand."

"Rosewood Grill," Kinslee said quickly. Too quickly. "We went to Rosewood Grill. In Bellevue. And then the hotel."

I wrote that down too. Rosewood Grill. Friday.

Then I looked up at her.

"Rosewood Grill is closed Fridays."

The room went very still.

Kinslee stared at me. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

"It's only open Tuesday through Thursday," I continued. "It's been that way for two years. I know because I tried to take a colleague there on a Friday once and couldn't."

Ember's camera swung toward Kinslee. For just a second, the frame caught her face — wide-eyed, frozen.

"She's confused," Brycen said, his voice rising now, louder than it needed to be. "She's pregnant and traumatized and you're trying to trip her up on restaurant schedules? Are you serious?"

He moved closer, filling the space between my desk and the door, using his size the way he always did. I'd seen him do it before, years ago, the first time I'd met him outside that trailer in West Virginia. He'd stood exactly like this then too, arms crossed, jaw set, daring anyone to challenge him.

I didn't move.

"I'm not trying to trip anyone up," I said. "I'm trying to understand what happened. That's all."

"What happened," Brycen said, jabbing a finger toward me, "is your husband raped my sister. And you're sitting here playing lawyer instead of doing the right thing."

Ember's voice cut in, breathless and performative. "You guys, she's clearly traumatized. Look at her. She's shaking."

Kinslee was shaking. I could see it from across the room, her shoulders trembling under that soft gray cardigan.

My phone buzzed again. The screen lit up with another wave of notifications. I could see the words even without unlocking it. Monster. Predator. Disgusting.

Outside my office window, more students had gathered. A small crowd now, phones raised, recording through the glass.

Then Kinslee reached into her bag.

She pulled out a folded piece of paper, edges crisp, and held it up with both hands like it was something holy.

"I have proof," she said. Her voice was stronger now. Steadier. "I have a paternity test."

Ember zoomed in immediately, the ring light catching every detail as Kinslee unfolded the paper.

It was printed on thick stock, official-looking, with a laboratory logo at the top. Genetic Analysis Report. I could read the numbers from where I stood. 99.99% probability of paternity. Alleged father: Maximilian Knight.

Ember held it up to her camera, rotating it slowly so every viewer could see.

"This is undeniable," she said, her voice trembling with what sounded like genuine awe. "You guys. This is proof."

The comment section exploded. I couldn't see it, but I could hear Ember reading some of them aloud, her voice rising with each one. Lock him up. Make him pay. She deserves millions.

Nelson Grant, still standing in the hallway just outside my door, took one look at that paper and stepped back. Actually stepped back, like the document itself was contagious.

Kinslee was crying again, but this time it looked different. Triumphant.

I looked at the paternity report in her hands. At the laboratory logo. At the certification number printed in small text at the bottom.

Then I picked up my phone.

I didn't look at the notifications. I didn't read the messages calling me a monster. I just opened my contacts, scrolled to the M's, and pressed call.

It rang twice.

"Maximilian," I said when he picked up. My voice was still calm. Still steady. "I need you to come to campus. Right now."

I paused.

"And bring the manual."