Betrayed by the Father Reborn in His Rival's Arms novel Chapter 480

The laugh was brief, incredibly brief, almost just a sharp exhale.

But Madeline recognized what it meant—he didn't find it funny; it was the sheer contempt of a man who had seen every dirty trick in the book brushing off a pathetic, low-level threat.

"Tristan, I wasn't going to say anything, but since you had the decency to make this call, I'll tell you one thing."

Quentin's voice returned to its usual icy composure, sounding even more relaxed than before.

"The child in Penelope's stomach is most likely not mine."

Tristan was stunned. "What?"

"Madeline and I used protection that night in your guest room. But I have my own habits."

Quentin delivered the statement as casually as commenting on the weather.

"Every time I'm finished, I deal with the aftermath personally.

"I would never leave behind anything that someone else could extract usable material from."

He paused, adding,

"Whatever your family managed to scrape up was either thoroughly destroyed or never mine to begin with. I am absolutely certain of that."

Tristan sounded bewildered and horrified.

"But... but you were the only couple staying there that night..."

"Yes, we were the only couple who would use that."

Quentin shot back seamlessly.

"So logically speaking, if they dug it out of our room, it had to be ours.

"If she took that for IVF and ended up pregnant, everyone is going to automatically assume the child is mine.

"That includes the York family, Penelope herself, and even you, Tristan."

He abruptly stopped talking.

"Whether or not she's actually carrying my child, I'll cooperate with a paternity test in a month. But until then, no matter what I say, none of you will believe me.

"So there's no point in me saying anything right now." His tone was perfectly flat, but beneath that calm lay a brutally cold clarity.

"The fact that your family wants to target me and utilize all their resources for Penelope is just hilarious to me. Because when this all blows up, the only person who is going to be ruined by this pregnancy is your precious princess. It won't affect me in the slightest."

Tristan stayed silent for a long time.

Finally, he forced the words out. "I understand. I... I've already said too much today. If my dad finds out I called you, he won't spare me."

"Then hang up," Quentin said, his voice entirely devoid of blame or gratitude, simply stating a fact.

"Quentin." Tristan called his name one last time.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "For everything."

Quentin didn't reply. He simply ended the call.

The bedroom plunged back into silence.

Quentin tossed the phone onto the nightstand and turned around, meeting Madeline's eyes.

She was still frozen in the exact same position from before he turned on the speaker—clutching the blanket, sitting upright.

Her face was deathly pale, her lips pressed into a tight line, completely wound up like a bowstring pulled to its absolute limit.

"Did you hear?" he asked.

She nodded.

Quentin walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, placing his hand over hers where she death-gripped the blanket.