Artemis’s POV
The ticking clock on the wall felt louder every night.
For nearly eight months, I stayed. With her. With Luna. The woman who once shared my bed, my name, and now—allegedly—my child.
I slept on the couch in our penthouse. I showed up to every prenatal appointment. I took calls with a forced smile and signed papers with a shaking hand. Everyone said I was noble. Loyal. Devoted.
But I wasn’t.
I was watching. Waiting. Counting backwards through calendar days and sleepless nights. Trying to fit the timeline together and failing every time.
The math never worked.
The dates didn’t align.
And neither did the truth.
But suspicion wasn’t enough. I needed proof. Luna was a master at spinning lies so convincingly that even I sometimes started to believe them. So I stayed. Until
