The Zenith of His Deceit

It was surveillance footage. A piercing cry filled the air. I recognized it instantly. It was my son, Liam.

My fingers shaking, I scrubbed through the video.

Bonnie’s sickeningly sweet voice floated through the recording. "Are you sure about this, Edwin? Using your own son to help me practice... It feels wrong. What if something happens?"

Edwin answered nonchalantly, a hint of a smile in his voice. "What's the problem? People are always saying you can't handle an allergic reaction properly. Practicing with fake data is nothing compared to a real person. If he can't even handle a little test like this, he's no son of mine. Don't worry, I'm timing it. He won't die."

In the past, I had always thought Edwin was a good father. He went from initial clumsiness to being adept at feeding and changing diapers.

Especially after he started his frequent "business trips," he seemed even more attentive and experienced with the baby, always volunteering for one-on-one time with our son.

That's why I trusted him to take our son out alone.

I never imagined he could be so monstrous to his own flesh and blood.

In the video, Edwin forcibly held down our sobbing son while Bonnie, a nurse, calmly fed a spoonful of peanut butter into his tiny mouth.

My son's cries grew weaker, his little face turning red as he began to gasp for air. A vise gripped my heart, so tight I couldn't breathe. I wanted to smash through the screen and kill that despicable pair with my bare hands.

To show off for his lover, to help her practice her so-called medical skills, he was willing to gamble with his own son's life.

I bit my lip until I tasted blood, using the sharp pain to stop myself from calling the police right then and there.

No. I would make him lose everything at the peak of his pride.

Then, in the next second, my phone rang.

I took a deep breath and answered. Bonnie's shy, sweet voice came through the phone. "Ms. Hayes, the wedding might have to be moved up. Edwin's mother has chosen a date for us. We're getting married in Napa Valley in three days. Could you please speed up the process for the house?"

Almost simultaneously, a text from Edwin lit up my screen.

"Honey, I've got an urgent, last-minute business conference. I might have to fly to California as early as tomorrow morning. You and Liam be good at home. I'll bring back presents for you both. Love you."

I looked at my phone's wallpaper—a picture of my son sleeping peacefully, his face soft and innocent—and I suddenly laughed.

My husband was getting married. As his legal wife and his "real estate consultant," how could I possibly miss it?

I took my family's private jet and flew to Napa Valley, arriving a step ahead of Edwin.

The moment I landed and turned on my phone, his message popped up. "Honey, how are you and our son? I just got off the plane."

I replied, emotionless, with a photo of Liam and me from a month ago.

He texted back almost instantly. "Our son looks great. And you look beautiful, honey. I don't even want to go to this meeting; I just want to come home to you and our boy."

I stared at the words, a cold sneer playing on my lips.

That photo was a month old. I wasn't that thin back then. My son was also much smaller than he is now.

Edwin had taken that picture himself, yet he hadn't even looked closely enough to notice anything was wrong.