Central Hospital, City Z.
Country S.
The door to the private recovery suite on the highest floor opened with a soft click.
A tall man stepped inside, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit that looked expensive enough to pay for half the hospital wing. In his arms rested yet another bouquet of crimson roses, their petals still jeweled with droplets of water.
His face lit with the same unrestrained happiness it had worn every day for the past week.
This was the seventh bouquet he had brought into this room in the past week, and if anyone asked him, he would have admitted without shame that he intended to bring even more.
Because one week ago, the woman he loved more than his own life had given him a daughter.
His daughter.
Even now, the thought still felt unreal.
On the large white hospital bed, a young woman rested against a stack of pillows, pale from exhaustion yet impossibly beautiful. Long black hair spilled over her shoulders in soft waves, framing delicate features that looked almost porcelain beneath the muted afternoon light.
The moment she saw him, her sapphire-blue eyes brightened instantly with warmth, love, and relief, blooming across her face in an instant.
Then her gaze shifted to the bouquet in his arms, and... her expression immediately soured.
"My love," she sighed, sounding both exasperated and fond at the same time, "I know you love me, and I love you too, but you really don't need to bring me roses every single day."
Her eyes drifted toward the six overflowing vases near the window.
The room already smelled overwhelmingly floral.
The man only chuckled softly.
He set the bouquet aside without protest before crossing the room in long strides. The teasing smile on his lips deepened as he leaned down and kissed her slowly, tenderly.
The woman melted into him at once.
God, she had missed him even though he'd only been gone for a few hours.
Childbirth had left her body aching in ways she had never imagined possible. Every muscle still felt weak. Her emotions had become frighteningly fragile. Sometimes she wanted to cry for no reason at all.
But every time he entered the room and looked at her like that — like she was the center of his entire universe — something inside her settled again.
"You deserve every single thing I can give you in this world," he whispered against her lips. "You made me the happiest man alive."
Her heart clenched painfully at the sincerity in his voice.
'How did I get this lucky?'
Then he turned immediately toward the small cot beside her bed. And just like every single day since their daughter had been born, the composed billionaire completely lost every shred of dignity.
A wide grin spread across his face as he bent over the sleeping infant.
"There's Daddy's little angel..."
His voice dropped to an awed murmur as he rubbed his nose gently against the baby's tiny cheek.
The infant remained asleep, her tiny fists curled near her face.
"Doesn't Mommy deserve all of Daddy's love for bringing you into this world?"
A laugh escaped the woman before she could stop it.
"Shh..." she whispered. "Careful. She just fell asleep again an hour ago."
The man's eyes widened immediately.
"Oh no. Daddy would never wake you."
He pressed an impossibly gentle kiss to the baby's cheek before straightening again.
The sheer tenderness in his expression made the young woman's chest ache.
She had always known he would make a wonderful father.
But this — this absolute devotion — it overwhelmed her in ways she couldn't explain.
"How are you feeling today?" he asked softly, sitting beside her on the bed. "Has little Marja been giving you trouble?"
The woman smiled instinctively at the mention of their daughter's name.
Marja.
Their Marja.
The name alone filled her chest with warmth.
"Not at all," she replied quietly.
But the words came with hesitation.
A tiny pause.
The man noticed immediately.
He always noticed.
His expression shifted.
Concern replaced the playful joy in his eyes as he took her hand gently into his own.
"What is it, love?"
The woman lowered her gaze toward the sleeping infant. For a moment, uncertainty flickered across her features.
Then she spoke quietly.
"My love..." Her fingers tightened slightly around his hand. "Is it just me, or does Marja seem... different today?"
Silence settled briefly over the room.
The man's body stiffened almost imperceptibly.
Different?
He turned back toward the cot at once.
The infant slept peacefully beneath the thin blanket, utterly unaware of the scrutiny now focused on her tiny face.
He examined her carefully.
The soft black hair.
The tiny nose.
The delicate lashes resting against her cheeks.
Nothing seemed strange or wrong. Yet his wife's voice had unsettled him instantly.
Because she was her mother, and mothers noticed things.
"What kind of different?" he asked slowly.
The woman bit her lip.
Embarrassment surfaced across her face almost immediately.
Then she forced out a laugh and shook her head.
"Maybe I'm just exhausted." She looked away awkwardly. "It's my first time being a mom. I'm probably overthinking every little thing."
Even as she said it, unease lingered inside her chest.
She couldn't explain it.
She only knew that when she'd looked at Marja earlier...
for one strange moment, the baby had felt unfamiliar.
Not wrong.
Not unloved.
Just—
different.
And the thought horrified her.
'What kind of mother even thinks something like that?'
At once, guilt crushed down on her.
She had carried that child for nine months.
She had nearly died bringing her into the world.
How could she even allow herself to think something so awful?
Her husband immediately wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kissed her forehead gently.
"I understand," he murmured. "This is all new for both of us."
He smiled softly.
"It's my first time being a father too."
Then his expression warmed further as he glanced toward the cot again.
"But we'll figure it out together. For Marja."
The woman felt her eyes sting suddenly.
God.
She loved this man so much.
A quiet smile curved across her lips as she leaned against his chest, allowing his warmth to soothe the strange anxiety clawing at her mind.
Yes.
She was probably just tired.
Overly emotional.
Sensitive.
There were more important things to focus on now.
She was a mother.
Nothing mattered more than her family.
And slowly, the strange feeling faded beneath the comfort of her husband's embrace.
—
A few floors lower, in another private room far less luxurious than the one above, another young woman sat against a hospital bed with hollow exhaustion written across her face.
Her blouse hung open carelessly, exposing one breast as she awkwardly held a newborn infant in her arms.
The woman was young, perhaps around the same age as the billionaire's wife upstairs, but that was where the similarities ended.
Her features were merely pleasant, if not forgettable.
Brown hair. Brown eyes.
No elegance. No softness. No warmth whatsoever.
Only tension. And bitterness.
The infant in her arms stared up at her with large sapphire-blue eyes.
Eyes that absolutely did not belong to her.
"Why isn't this thing drinking?" the woman muttered irritably.
She shoved her nipple toward the baby's mouth again, growing more frustrated when the infant turned away.
Her temper snapped instantly.
She whipped toward the nurse standing near the door.
"Aren't babies supposed to crave milk?"
The nurse crossed her arms with a sneer.
"They are."
Her eyes flicked pointedly toward the child.
"Maybe she's rejecting yours because you aren't actually her mother."
The room froze.
The young woman's face twisted violently.
"Don't you fucking say that out loud."
The fury in her voice came sharp enough to cut flesh.
"I paid you more than enough money. Keep your mouth shut."
The nurse only rolled her eyes.
Before she could answer, the infant suddenly started crying.
The shrill sound immediately deepened the rage already distorting the woman's expression.
"Oh dear God..." the nurse muttered mockingly as she walked over and snatched the baby away. "You can't even calm a crying newborn."
The infant quieted almost instantly in the nurse's arms.
That only made the young woman's expression uglier.
The nurse smirked.
"You don't know the first thing about being a mother, Sheila."
Something shattered inside Sheila at those words.
"You have no idea what I've sacrificed!" she screamed.
Her voice cracked violently through the room.
"I do have what it takes to be a mother!"
Tears gathered in her eyes, but rage burned hotter.
"That's why I'm willing to give my daughter a better life than I ever could!"
The nurse scoffed openly.
"Please." She adjusted the infant lazily in her arms. "You just got lucky."
Her lips curled cruelly.
"Your real daughter somehow inherited every feature from your dead husband, while the Ralpha baby came out with black hair and blue eyes too. Honestly, when I bathed them, even I almost mixed them up."
Sheila's breathing turned ragged.
"Shut. The fuck. Up."
The nurse laughed.
A dry, ugly sound.
Then she shoved the infant back into Sheila's arms.
"Whatever you say, you vicious bitch." She turned toward the door before pausing. "Oh, right. I need a name for the forms."
Silence followed.
Sheila stared down at the infant now resting quietly against her chest.
Not her daughter.
Someone else's child.
The billionaire couple upstairs had no idea their real daughter was here.
Just like Sheila had no idea what her own daughter looked like at this exact moment.
Was she crying?
Sleeping?
Had that rich woman held her yet?
Had she fed her?
The thought alone nearly broke Sheila apart.
Tears slid down her cheeks uncontrollably.
One drop landed against the infant's face.
The baby blinked slowly.
Then smiled.
That innocent little smile pierced straight through Sheila's heart like a blade.
Because somewhere upstairs, her real daughter was probably smiling too.
Drinking another woman's milk.
Being soothed by another woman's voice.
Being loved by another woman.
Her chest tightened so painfully she thought she might suffocate.
But then another thought followed.
Her daughter would never know hunger.
Never know fear.
Never grow up poor.
Never suffer the way Sheila had suffered.
She would have wealth.
Power.
A future.
Everything Sheila could never give her.
And wasn't that what mothers were supposed to do?
Sacrifice?
Even if it destroyed them?
Her trembling fingers brushed lightly against the baby's tiny cheek.
"Kaija," she whispered brokenly.
More tears spilled free.
"This one will be Kaija."
If the Ralphas had named her daughter Marja...
then she would choose something close enough that maybe—
somehow—
it would feel like her real child was still beside her.
The nurse smirked from the doorway.
Cruel amusement flickered across her face as she scribbled onto the forms in her hand.
"Kaija Sepala it is, then."