Chapter 7

I thought back—yes, about two months. But my stomach was only slightly bloated; I had assumed I’d gained a little weight from all the stress-free luxury.

I was surprised and whispered, “No way…?”

Before I could say more, Damien flipped off the bed, threw on clothes, and dashed out to call our private doctor. In less than half an hour the top obstetrician was in our bedroom.

He checked me thoroughly, brows furrowed, shaking his head then nodding repeatedly. The room was deathly quiet. Damien watched me with intense worry and love all over his handsome face.

Then the doctor stood, smiling broadly. “Congratulations, Mr. Voss. Madam is two months pregnant—and it looks like we have triplets. The little ones will be born in just a few days due to the accelerated alliance bloodline response.”

Once we knew I was pregnant with triplets, Damien’s protectiveness went into overdrive. He followed me around the penthouse feeding me the best supplements, refusing to let me do a single chore. He hired extra staff, installed new security, and even bought three priceless rare moonblossom-equivalent fertility and prenatal supplements that cost more than most people’s houses. They were worth a fortune—the ultimate dream for any pregnant woman in our circles.

In my past life Alex had only given me half of one during my entire pregnancy.

The Voss family was supposed to be dirt poor—how could they afford three at once without blinking?

“How did you afford these? Isn’t the Voss family struggling publicly?” I asked one evening as he hand-fed me one, sliced and perfectly prepared.

Damien sat beside me on the silk sofa, smiling softly as he pressed the piece to my lips. “Sophia, who said we’re poor? Look around our home—from the floors to the art on the walls, every single item is priceless and chosen with care.”

The penthouse was simple, clean, and minimalist on the surface. I had never looked closely before because I was too focused on revenge. Now I saw it—every piece screamed quiet, understated ultra-luxury. The kind of wealth that didn’t need to shout.

“But everyone in the business world says the Voss family is the lowest tier, cut off from real resources and struggling with market share?”

Damien chuckled softly, a rare warm sound. “We keep an extremely low profile on purpose, Sophia. We make our money through smart, discreet global trade, private equity, and high-level finance—not flashy power grabs and media stunts like the others. If you rank families by actual net worth and hidden assets, the Voss family is second to none. No one dares claim first place because they don’t even know we hold it.”

Hearing that, everything clicked. No wonder every Voss property I had visited was lavishly understated. They weren’t short on cash—they were swimming in it. Their “declining” image was a brilliant long-term strategy.

Once I knew the Voss family was secretly the wealthiest, I made Damien take me shopping the very next day. I wanted to feel the power of my new life.

But halfway down Fifth Avenue, we ran into Isabella—belly noticeably round again—clinging intimately to Alex’s arm as they picked out obscenely expensive jewelry. Since she had gotten pregnant again through whatever desperate means, Alex had temporarily forgiven her cheating. They were back to being lovey-dovey in public.

With Alex watching her like a hawk this time, the child in her belly could only be his—if it survived.

“Sister, what brings you out shopping in the middle of the day?” Isabella asked loudly, deliberately rubbing both hands over her belly so no one could miss it.

I smiled faintly. “Father’s birthday banquet is soon. Planning to pick a thoughtful gift for him.”

Isabella eyed our empty hands and smirked dismissively. “Well, choose carefully. Can’t embarrass Father with cheap stuff if you’re still broke from that Voss ‘alliance.’”

The Voss family still hadn’t announced my pregnancy publicly. Damien worried I would get upset by her taunts. He stepped in front of me protectively, voice cool and commanding. “Our family matters aren’t your concern, Miss Isabella. We will prepare a more than thoughtful gift for Father-in-law.”

Isabella huffed, flicked her sleeve, and dragged Alex away.

Seven days later at Father’s grand birthday banquet in the White family’s flagship hotel, Isabella and I were seated on either side of him. Isabella’s belly was freakishly huge this time—clearly multiples. Mine was still just a slight, elegant swell hidden under a flowing designer gown.

“Sophia, you clearly know how to get pregnant but hid it from me on purpose,” Isabella sneered across the table, loud enough for nearby guests to hear. “But I beat you to it this time. You can’t win.”

I was about to ask exactly what she meant by “beat me” when a sharp cramp hit my stomach—labor starting far earlier than expected.

Damien noticed instantly. He jumped up, scooped me into his strong arms as if I weighed nothing, and headed straight for the private medical suite we had prepared.

As people started asking what was wrong, Isabella behind us suddenly clutched her own belly and yelled in pain, collapsing dramatically. Someone shouted, “Miss Isabella is in labor too! Get her to the birthing suite immediately!”

The entire banquet hall erupted in chaos. Before I blacked out from the first real contraction, I heard the crowd cheering loudly.

“This child—or these children—will lead our families to greater power!”