Chapter 2By Day, By Night

"Waaah! Waaah!"

A human sound from the bundle of fur in my arms?

I looked down. The kitten was gone. In its place, nestled in the blankets, was my plump, perfect prince—my precious son.

I called the nanny in to feed him while I watched, my heart pounding with suspicion. He ate, he slept, he gurgled and cried when he was hungry—he was a perfectly normal baby. I started to wonder if I’d suffered some kind of postpartum hallucination. My family had no history of… abnormalities.

The day passed in a haze of doubt. But as the sun dipped below the horizon, my hybrid—no, my beloved son—transformed into a kitten again, right before my eyes.

Cradling the mewing ball of fur, I cried silently. Son, please be quiet! If you keep meowing, they’ll kill us both!

After that second transformation, the last of my hope withered and died.

My God, my grandmother, my coat, my jacket—my brain felt like it had been scrambled into mush.

I spent another sleepless night trying to figure out where this mutation could have come from, but I had no answers. For my own survival, and for the survival of my hybrid child, I learned to be invisible. I stopped going to the gardens. I stopped visiting the kitchens. I stayed by my son’s side, guarding our terrible secret.

But then, when my son was six months old, I found out I was pregnant again.

The matriarch sent nourishing soups. Her husband sent ginseng. Even the wives of other prominent families sent bolts of fine fabric. After six months of living like a ghost, I could finally hold my head high again.

During that time, I’d observed that my hybrid son’s human form was stable during the day. So, I started venturing out again. I went to the gardens, I instructed the kitchen on menus. My pregnancy cravings and late-night hunger even prompted Damian to have a small, private kitchen built in my villa.

I, Angela, was back in the game. The other society wives started visiting my villa for tea and gossip again.

Soon, another ten months passed, and the day of delivery arrived. My first son’s little brother was born.

I peeked at him nervously. He was human. Thank God.

Tears of relief pricked my eyes. But Damian’s reaction was the same as before. A grim expression, and then he was gone. The matriarch sighed, shook her head, and left.

Still, the birth of my second son earned me a promotion: I was no longer just the wife of the CEO, but the Lady of the house. I was ecstatic—a promotion meant better benefits. With one human child and one hybrid to raise, I needed every penny I could get.

My joy, however, was short-lived. As the sun set, my second beautiful, chubby son transformed into a kitten right before my very eyes.

He was identical to his hybrid brother, a creature of pure black fur, except for the very tips of his ears, which were white.

How thoughtful. Was this so I could tell them apart?

This time, I didn’t faint. I just sat there, my heart a block of ice, as two tiny kittens playfully wrestled on my bed.

And so, once again, I retreated into the shadows.

No more causing trouble. No more tea parties or gossip sessions. No more picking flowers, chasing butterflies, or ordering special meals from my private kitchen. I lived a quiet, peaceful life, raising my two hybrid children.

My dedication paid off in an unexpected way. My eldest, once he turned a year old, only transformed into a cat during the midnight hour, between 11 p.m. and 1 a.m. My younger son wasn’t there yet—he still transformed the moment the sun went down.

I took care of their every need myself, terrified of letting the secret slip. Ironically, my tireless devotion to my sons earned me a reputation as a model mother, and even the matriarch rewarded me for it.

Sometimes, I’d let myself dream. With two healthy sons, maybe I could one day fight for the position of head of the family.

Then I’d hear the meows in the dead of night, and the fantasy would shatter.

Forget it. I’d be lucky to keep my head.

After the birth of my second son, Damian’s visits became less frequent. I didn't mind. Unlike the other wives, I never tried to win his favor with homemade soups or pastries. In fact, I was the one woman in this entire social circle who genuinely wished for Damian to have more children with other women. The more heirs he had, the less attention he’d pay to mine.

And the less attention he paid, the safer my two hybrids would be. The longer the three of us would get to live.

God, just thinking about it brought tears to my eyes.