His Belated Love for the Abandoned Ex-Wife Chapter 281: DNA Test Plan

Iris' mind went back to her father's last words before he passed, and suddenly, all the pieces fell into place.

Her hands trembled with anger; her heart felt clenched by an invisible fist. She drew a slow breath and asked, her voice deliberately calm, "Mom... I'm not really your daughter, am I?"

"Of course you are!" Grace sounded flustered.

"No, I'm not." Tears traced down Iris' pale cheeks. A dark, sickening thought took shape in her mind. "You had several daughters before, but you couldn't afford to keep them—so you gave them up, probably even got money for it. Then finally you had a son. You were so poor, you worried he'd never be able to marry later... so you stole a girl to raise as his future wife. But since arranged child marriage is illegal here, you passed me off as his twin sister instead. Isn't that right?"

Grace grew defensive, her voice sharp. "What kind of nonsense is that? Have you been studying so hard you've lost your mind?"

"I studied enough to learn to think for myself. That made me harder to control—is that why you tried to sell me off at one point?"

"You're out of your mind!" Grace shot back.

But the truth was obvious now, whether she admitted it or not.

Iris wiped her tears away, jaw tight, and spoke through gritted teeth. "Was I taken from my real parents? If you don't tell me the truth, I'll go to the police."

Grace panicked instantly. "Don't use that word 'stolen'—it sounds awful. Your birth parents didn't want a girl. They paid me and traded you for one of my sons."

They didn't want a girl?

They gave her away?

Iris placed a hand over her belly, where Braxton Hicks contractions had been coming and going. She steadied her breathing. "I don't believe a word of what you just said. Just wait until I..."

She caught herself before saying "after I give birth". "Just wait until this is all over. I'll find out the truth myself. You'd better not have done anything worse than what you're saying—because you know me. No matter how much you raised me, I won't hesitate to turn you in."

Grace's tone suddenly softened, pleading. "Iris, please..."

Iris ended the call immediately and turned off her phone.

She rested both hands on her taut stomach, closed her eyes, and took several long, deep breaths.

The practice contractions faded, and then she felt a gentle kick from within.

It was as if the baby was comforting her—and somehow, that small movement made her feel a little stronger, wrapped in a sense of love only her child could give.

Once Iris realized the likely truth about her origins, every time she switched her phone back on, it flooded with calls and long, emotional texts from Grace.

Grace played the victim, begging for sympathy, insisting on how much she'd sacrificed and how hard she'd worked over the years.

The more Grace tried to guilt-trip her, the more suspicious Iris grew. At first, she hadn't been completely sure whether her birth parents had willingly given her up.

Now she felt certain she'd been taken.

"I raised you, I put you through school..."

That was Grace's favorite refrain, and to Iris, it sounded cruelly ironic.

It reminded her of that saying, "They break your legs, hand you crutches, and say, 'You should be grateful—without me, you couldn't walk'."

Iris had never been one to let emotions cloud her judgment.

She wasn't going to wait until after the baby arrived to start looking for answers.

She would start today. Now.

Her first thought was Zoe, her closest and most trusted friend. She called her, explained her suspicions in detail, and asked Zoe to come by to collect a blood sample. She wanted it submitted to the national DNA database for missing persons and familial matching.

Iris texted Zoe the address of the villa and asked her to meet at the front gate around noon to pick up the sample.

Noon came and went. 12:00 passed, then 12:15, and still no sign of Zoe.

Iris stood on her bedroom balcony, looking out toward the entrance. In her hand was a small sterile vial containing a few drops of blood from her own finger.

Minutes ticked by. She tried Zoe's number again, but it went straight to voicemail.

Maybe her phone died on the way over?

Julian came into the room and spoke gently. "Everything okay, Iris? You look worried."

Iris turned, trying to sound casual. "Just getting some air."

"I've got a conference call coming up—should take about an hour. If you need anything, I'll be in the study."

"Okay."

"Make sure you eat lunch, then try to rest."

"I will." Iris nodded quietly.

Julian gave her a concerned glance, then headed out, phone in hand.

About thirty minutes later, her phone buzzed with a text from Zoe.

"Phone died earlier. I'm at the gate now. Can you bring it out?"

Iris grabbed the blood sample and made her way downstairs.

When she reached the wrought-iron front gate, she noticed the usual security guard wasn't at his post. The pedestrian side gate was slightly ajar, unlocked.

She pushed it open and stepped outside. The street was wide and unusually quiet in both directions—no cars, no people.

There was no sign of Zoe.

She looked down at her phone and called Zoe's number again.

This time, she heard a faint ringtone nearby, off to her left.

Iris followed the sound.

Less than twenty yards away, half-hidden in a low shrub beside the road, was Zoe's phone.

Why was it just lying there?

A cold dread crept up Iris' spine. As she bent to pick it up, a wave of instinctive fear washed over her.

Suddenly, footsteps sounded behind her. Before she could turn, a strong chemical smell filled her nostrils. A thick cloth was pressed firmly over her mouth and nose, and the world went dark.