CHAPTER 276: CHAPTER 276: THE FINAL ULTIMATUM

~Zayn’s POV~

The breath left my body. My smile vanished, replaced by an icy fury far worse than the anger this morning.

"What did you just say now?" I asked, my voice dangerously low, turning to face her fully.

She didn’t flinch this time; she was enjoying the power. "You heard me clearly, Mr. Bottom."

The insult, the shaming, the disgusting homophobia, it worked. It finally broke the last thread of guilt and patience. She wasn’t an innocent mother; she was a bully using hate to destroy my life. But I refused to lose control again. I inhaled sharply, channeling the rage into cold, decisive action.

"Meera," I stated, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. "Tomorrow, you pack your things and you leave my house."

She started to protest, but I cut her off.

"You had all day. You had all the time you asked for. You did not provide the child, and you did not cooperate with the DNA test you agreed to. Therefore, there is no reason to keep you here, and no reason for you to stay."

I gripped the box and the bouquet tightly. "If there is truly a child, and if you ever become serious about me being his father, you call me when you are ready for the DNA test. Until then, we are done."

I turned my back on her, walked straight into the bedroom, and placed my man’s precious package and flowers on the dresser. I locked the door securely, shutting out the silence and the hatred, leaving Meera alone in the living room with the blaring television.

The next morning, Saturday, I woke up with a sense of grim anticipation. This was it—the deadline. I decided not to go to the restaurant and just stay home, conserve my energy, and try to relax until it was time for me to go and meet Evric at the hotel.

When I finally stepped outside the bedroom, I found Meera at the dining table, eating breakfast. She looked up and greeted me with a soft tone.

"Good morning, Zayn."

I did not reply. I walked over to the kitchen island to pour myself a glass of water, maintaining my rigid distance.

Meera immediately stood up and rushed over to me, attempting a hug. I held myself stiffly. "Zayn, I’m sorry," she pleaded, her voice filled with manufactured remorse. "I’m so sorry for calling you those names last night. Please, think about our son and forgive me."

I looked at her for a long moment, my expression giving away none of the exhaustion I felt. I finally spoke, my voice low and calm. "If you are truly sorry, Meera, and if you truly want me to forgive you and step up as a father, then you can easily settle this right now."

I walked around her and took a seat at the table, keeping my tone steady. "Meera, if I’m truly the father, then show me something. A photo, his name... anything that proves he’s real. I’m the father, right?"

Meera nodded quickly, "Yes, of course, you are."

"Then please," I begged, leaning forward, all my desperation focused on this single request. "Allow me to see what he looks like. Just a picture, Meera. I need a connection."

Meera sat back down, picking up her fork. She shook her head softly. "There’s no need, Zayn."

My blood ran cold. "No need for what?"

"There’s no need for us to waste your money on the DNA test," she said casually, as if talking about the weather. She continued, a strangely triumphant look in her eyes. "I already got that done."

I stared at her, speechless. "What?"

"I told you I wasn’t sure at first because of everything that happened in the past," she said, her tone suddenly calm. "But when I did my calculations, I became certain it was you, not the stranger I was forced to sleep with. Still, to be completely sure, the second day after I returned to your house, I quietly took the samples I needed from you. You didn’t even notice. I ran the DNA test, and it returned a 99.99% probability. You’re the father, Zayn."

A rush of relief—tangled with confusion—washed over me. "And if I don’t trust your results?"

"Then run your own test," she replied simply, completely unbothered.

"Show me the result," I demanded, the command sharp.

Meera didn’t argue. She stood up, walked into the room (the sheer audacity of her feeling so comfortable infuriated me), and returned with a folded document. She slid it across the table.

I grabbed it, my hands shaking. I scanned the document: the accredited lab, the date, the samples used, and the staggering number confirming my worst fear and my greatest hope: 99.99%.

The child was mine. Meera had been telling the truth about that one, a defining fact.

I set the document down, my mind reeling. "Meera, I... I need to see him now. Please, let me meet my son. What’s his name? Just give me details, Meera, please."

But now that she had played her final trump card, she retreated again.

Meera walked back to the dining table, ignoring my plea, and calmly continued eating her breakfast. "No," she said, her voice flat. "That’s my choice. You wanted the truth; now you have it. You can enjoy your life with your partner, and you can keep my son out of it."

"That’s nonsense, Meera!" I burst out, the brief relief crashing into raw frustration. "Why won’t you let me see my son? Why can’t you show me what he looks like, his face, his name, anything? Just give me something, Meera. Please!"

She didn’t even look up. "You made your choice clear, Zayn. You don’t want me. Fine. You don’t get the child. I have accepted to leave your house tomorrow," she added, chewing slowly. "And I promise you, I will leave and never return. Now go. You have a rendezvous tonight."

I looked at the woman who was holding the key to my future, the confirmation of paternity still burning in my hands. The thought of losing my son the very moment I confirmed his existence was too much to bear.

I walked toward her and dropped to my knees beside her chair, abandoning my dignity. "Meera, please, don’t do this," I pleaded, my voice hoarse. "I will be a good father. I will be forever responsible. I will set up a trust fund, I’ll visit regularly, and I’ll be everything he needs. Just let me be his father. Please, Meera."

She finally looked at me, a cold, hard look of triumph in her eyes. "You have two options, Zayn. Two options to choose from, and you just have to pick one. And if you pick the right one, I’ll take you to your son."

"Okay," I choked out, desperation blinding me. I was desperate to hear it because I couldn’t wait another minute to meet my son. "What are the options?"

Meera savored the moment, leaning back in her chair.

"One: Break up with Evric."