AGAINST THE RULES: their scentless omega-Chapter 49: the bloody secret

Mrs. Gray lounged comfortably in the backseat of her sleek black luxury car, legs crossed, a designer handbag beside her. The soft hum of the engine mixed with her bright laughter as she talked animatedly into her phone.

"Oh my goodness, Clara, have you seen the latest trend on the runway?" she said, nearly breathless from laughing. "I swear, these new designers think anything oversized counts as ’fashion-forward.’ I looked like I was being swallowed by a blanket!"

Her friend cackled on the other end, and Mrs. Gray joined in wholeheartedly, throwing her head back. Her laughter filled the car like glitter, light, loud, and indulgent. They drifted from gossip to personal life, and Clara made a comment about husbands being "high-maintenance children."

Mrs. Gray nearly snorted.

"Tell me about it! You think running a company is hard? Try taking care of the males in my house. I have to remind my husband where he left his wallet, deal with Timothys mood swings, and please when it gets to Timothy and make sure his schedule is up to date ?,don’t even get me started on that boy." She sighed dramatically. "Honestly, sometimes I wish I could trade them in for a spa membership."

Her friend howled with laughter, and Mrs. Gray giggled along, waving her hand dismissively as if she could swat away the exhaustion.

The car slowed to a stop at the Gray estate’s front entrance, tall, polished, and intimidating in its perfection. The chauffeur opened her door, and she stepped out gracefully, still mid-conversation.

"Yes, yes, I’ll try that new place you mentioned," she chimed. "You have to send me the details though, last time you recommended something you accidentally sent me a dog grooming salon."

Both women giggled again.

Finally, she said her goodbyes:

"Alright, darling, I’ll call you tomorrow. Kiss, kiss."

She ended the call just as she stepped into the foyer. The smell of polished wood and expensive candles greeted her. Before she could even take two steps inside, her husband’s voice carried from the living room.

"Hey, honey," Mr. Gray called warmly.

Mrs. Gray slipped into her softer, more refined tone, her "wife voice," gentle but brisk.

"Hey, sweetheart," she replied as she walked in, still holding her phone. "How was your meeting?"

They exchanged a quick kiss before effortlessly slipping into business talk,their shared language. They moved through topics like upcoming partnerships, company updates, and the latest investor drama. Mrs. Gray nodded along, shedding her glamorous exterior bit by bit.

By the time she reached the couch, she let out a sigh that came from her entire soul. She plopped down, finally free, and kicked off her heels, one sliding under the table, the other flopping to the side. She massaged her aching feet, mumbling,

"Lord, these things are torture devices."

Her husband chuckled and sat beside her, but Mrs. Gray simply leaned back, eyelids fluttering closed for the briefest moment of peace in a house full of sharp edges, sharp tongues, and even sharper secrets.

Mrs. Gray lay back on the plush couch, finally letting her shoulders relax, her phone chimed sharply beside her. The sound sliced right through her moment of peace. She frowned, no one important ever emailed her this late.

She reached for the phone lazily... until she saw the subject line.

Unknown Sender.

Attachment: "Footage of hospital."

Her breath hitched.

Her husband immediately caught the shift in her expression.

"What’s wrong?" he asked, concerned but casual.

Mrs. Gray forced a smile so quickly it nearly cracked. "Oh—nothing. Just... work. I need to answer this real quick." She clutched the phone to her chest, already rising.

Before he could question it, she rushed toward the hallway, heels dangling from her fingers, pace fast and uneven. She slipped into the master bedroom and shut the door behind her quietly, then firmly, turning the lock with a click that echoed in the stillness.

She leaned against the door for a long second, breathing hard. Her hand trembled as she brought the phone up again.

The link sat there, blinking innocently.

She swallowed, clicked it.

A video opened, blurry at first, grainy like footage from an old security camera. The angle was off, slightly tilted. But still,

Still unmistakable.

Mrs. Gray leaned closer, eyes narrowing, heart pounding louder with every second.

The frame steadied enough to reveal her.

Her younger self.

In a hospital gown, face tired but composed, a baby wrapped in a soft white blanket held against her chest.

And on the hospital bed beside her, Lucy. Pale. Exhausted. Eyes swollen from crying. A young Lucy, clutching her newborn twins, tiny, fragile, their little chests rising and falling under the warm glow of the incubator lights.

Mrs. Gray’s stomach twisted.

"No..." she whispered.

The grainy image continued. The camera angle shifted slightly, refocusing.

Her younger self moved toward the incubators.

She hesitated, just for a breath, then reached inside. One twin slept soundly, curled like a small petal. The other twin stirred weakly, letting out the faintest whimper.

Mrs. Gray watched herself as she gently, deliberately, placed her own limp, lifeless infant inside the incubator.

Her hands were practiced. Too practiced.

Then she lifted Lucy’s breathing twin and tucked the living baby into her arms... while Lucy, still groggy from medication and pain, blinked up at her and nodded weakly

Mrs. Gray in the video whispered something, too quiet to make out on the footage.

Then she turned away.

Cradling a baby that wasn’t hers.

Mrs. Gray’s hand shot to her mouth. Her knees nearly buckled under her.

"No—no, no... how did—how did someone get this?" she breathed, voice cracking with panic. Her whole body shivered violently.

The video replayed on a loop, each pass stripping away a piece of her composure.

Her heart thundered. Her throat closed. Her vision blurred.

Someone knew.

Someone had the footage.

Someone had proof of the darkest secret she had buried, a secret she had believed was gone forever, locked in that sterile hospital room and sealed under layers of lies.

And now...

Now it was in her inbox.

Her breath hitched again.

Her chest tightened.

Her mind raced through every possible enemy, every threat, every person who might use this to destroy her family.

Three words flashed on screen as the footage ended:

"We need to talk."

The phone slipped from her shaking hand and hit the floor with a soft thud, but the sound was thunderous in the silence of her room.