Chapter 1: Cuộc Gọi Bất Ngờ

Part 1

👶 **Six months after my divorce, a doctor called to say my son had been born — and that call ripped open a conspiracy that stole my life.**

I was about to sign the biggest contract of my career. My phone buzzed with an urgent call from a doctor, informing me my son had just been born.

My son. Six months after my divorce from Seraphina.

I hadn’t seen her in eight months; I had no idea she was even pregnant.

The doctor said she’d listed me as the father, but her community had isolated her since the birth.

My heart pounded with a mix of shock and confusion, leaving me with one terrifying question: how much of my past had truly been a lie?

The sterile beep of the flatline in my ears was purely metaphorical. My signature, poised over the final page of the biggest architectural deal of my career, paused mid-air.

Dr. Lena Petrova’s voice, calm but insistent, echoed down the line.

“Mr. Thorne? Ethan Thorne?”

“I’m calling from St. Jude’s Hospital. Your son was born this morning.”

My hand trembled. I dropped the pen.

“My son?”

The world spun. Seraphina.

My ex-wife. Her name felt like a whisper from another lifetime. We’d been divorced for six months.

It had been eight since I last saw her, a painful, drawn-out goodbye that ended with her quiet insistence on going her own way, joining some spiritual community I barely knew the name of.

“Yes, your son,” Dr. Petrova confirmed, her tone softening slightly.

“Seraphina Eldridge listed you as the father. She’s been through a difficult time; her community hasn’t been very supportive since the birth.”

“But… she was pregnant?” My mind reeled.

Why hadn’t she told me? Why had she vanished into the “Golden Path” community so completely, severing all contact?

The questions piled up, forming an insurmountable wall in my mind.

I mumbled a quick thank you to the doctor and hung up, my heart hammering against my ribs. I had to talk to Seraphina.

I immediately pulled out my phone, navigating to her old contact. No answer.

Voicemail. Just as it had been for months, a dead end.

This couldn’t be right. Seraphina wasn’t like that, not the woman I’d loved.

We had our issues, yes, but she wouldn’t keep such a monumental secret, not from me. Not from the father of her child.

The silence, her absolute disappearance, had felt strange even at the time. I’d attributed it to her new spiritual path and our messy separation.

Now, as the words ‘your son’ echoed, it felt sinister.

I scoured my phone, digging through call logs and messages. Nothing.

Not a single missed call from her in the months leading up to the divorce, no texts, no emails that weren’t boilerplate legal notices. It was as if she’d simply ceased to exist in my digital world.

Then, a chill snaked down my spine. I remembered an old habit of hers, leaving long, rambling voicemails when she was upset. I’d usually listen to them later, when I had time.

I checked my cloud storage, specifically the backed-up voicemails and call records from that crucial period before our divorce.

My breath hitched. There were gaps, stark and terrifying.

Entire weeks missing from my call history, chunks of voicemails gone. Not just from Seraphina, but from numbers associated with her.

It was a clean, surgical deletion. This wasn’t just her choosing to be silent.

Someone had systematically wiped away our past communications, ensuring I remained ignorant, ensuring I never knew.

But who would go to such lengths to erase our communication? And why?

Part 2

The digital void where our messages should have been screamed louder than any alarm. I sat there, phone still in hand, the buzzing silence mocking me. This wasn’t just a breakup; this was an orchestrated erasure.

I knew who to call. Aunt Clara, always the grounding force, always knew more than she let on.

Her voice was warm, but I heard a tremor when I explained everything. The baby, the deleted messages.

“Oh, Ethan,” she sighed.

“Seraphina joined that community shortly after your separation.”

I closed my eyes, picturing Seraphina’s face, radiant and then distant. The Golden Path.

“She disappeared into it,” Aunt Clara continued, her tone grave.

“Said it was her new home, her true family.”

I had dismissed it as a phase, a spiritual exploration after our difficult divorce. Now, it felt like a prison.

“I tried to visit her once,” Aunt Clara confessed.

“A year ago, maybe.”

She paused, as if gathering courage.

“They wouldn’t let me past the gate.”

My blood ran cold.

“What did you mean, ‘her new family’?” I pressed.

Aunt Clara hesitated again.

“They’re a… demanding group, dear.”

“Everything you have, they say, must be ‘voluntarily consecrated’ to the collective.”

My jaw tightened. Consecrated.

“What exactly does that mean?” I asked, though I already dreaded the answer.

“Your money, your property,” she explained softly.

“Everything you own, you give to them. For the path, they call it.”

The missing messages, the sudden divorce, Seraphina’s complete isolation. It all clicked into place with a sickening thud.

My divorce wasn’t just a sad ending. It was a means to an end.

Seraphina’s sudden insistence on a swift, clean break, her refusal to discuss settlements, even her strange detachment during the final papers – it had all seemed like grief. Now, it looked like a calculated move.

She must have given everything to them, including, I realized with a fresh wave of horror, her half of our joint assets. My half, once it became hers in the divorce.

This wasn’t just about controlling her. It was about controlling her wealth.

But why keep the baby a secret for so long? Why hide him from me?

I gripped my phone. This was more than just a cult; this was a predatory scheme.

Was Seraphina truly a willing participant, or was she also a victim of the cult’s sinister influence?