But something had.
Because two sons now stood in a hall full of power and light, holding the weight of betrayal in their chests, and wondering…
If the blood that made them was ever truly their own.
Lu Ting Zhou stood frozen, the opulence of the ballroom fading into a muted blur. His fingers, once twitching from nerves, now curled into fists—not from fear, but from something far colder. Betrayal had a weight, and now it sat heavy in his chest, making it hard to breathe.
Lu Ting Cheng didn't move either. He stared at the floor where his mother had just stood, his jaw tight enough to crack. His entire life had been about discipline, control, and proving himself worthy. But now, a truth he had never imagined festered in his blood.
Stolen life. Borrowed womb. Manufactured legacy.
Yes, they had known she had stolen his sperm, but again, it was through surrogacy? What did she mean by saying they were a project? What kind of a project was it? Test tube babies? Aliens? Rare dainties?
