PART 1

When the DNA results arrived, no one in the room could breathe. My husband, Adrian Villareal, stared at one line on the paper. Bianca Reyes, my best friend who had just given birth, turned pale. And for the first time in three years, I smiled.

Seven days earlier, on our wedding anniversary, I blocked the doorway of a private hospital delivery room in Makati. Inside, Bianca lay in bed with the baby Adrian proudly called his son. When the nurse asked for the father’s name on the birth certificate, I took the clipboard and said, “Wait. Let’s do a DNA test first.”

Adrian went cold. Bianca began crying, acting like she was the victim. But I had stayed silent for three years while Adrian humiliated me, while his mother called me useless, and while Bianca told me I had nothing to worry about. Not anymore.

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I called my lawyer, Atty. Salazar, and asked him to prepare a court-ordered paternity test. Through the speaker, he confirmed the papers were ready — including the divorce settlement. Everyone froze. Adrian repeated, “Divorce settlement?” I looked at him and said, “Isn’t that what you wanted from the beginning?”

PART 2

Three years earlier, Adrian had only married me because it was his grandmother Doña Elena’s final wish. I had cared for her during her last months, and after her funeral, Adrian told me we would live separate lives. He stayed in the main house. I stayed in the guest wing. For three years, we barely existed as husband and wife.

When my lawyer sent Adrian the divorce papers, he tore them up twice. So I brought the third copy to Villareal Prime Holdings myself. His assistant said Adrian was in a board meeting. I replied, “Good. Then everyone can hear it together.”

In front of the board, I placed the divorce papers on the table and plugged a USB drive into the laptop. The screen showed CCTV footage of Bianca at a hotel on Valentine’s Day — not with Adrian, but with his half-brother, Rafael. Adrian turned pale. Then Rafael walked into the room, saw the screen, and froze.