Four Babies, One Bombshell: I'm Not the Father

I have been dating my girlfriend Vivian White for five years, but we have never even held hands. One day, I somehow get drunk after just one glass of beer. Alcohol makes me lose my inhibitions, and I sleep with her. A month later, she tells me that she is pregnant with quadruplets. Soon, we get married. I give her a wedding gift of five million, and I add her name as co-owner of the house and car. I also sign a voluntary gift agreement to give her all my savings. Her condition worsens with every passing day, and her stomach becomes the size of a huge pumpkin. The doctor advises us to reduce the number of fetuses, but I object resolutely. "Every single one is a treasure to us. I can't bear to lose any of them. My mother said that if Vivian gives birth, she'll give her ten million for each son and five million for each daughter. She'll even give us a five-storey villa with a garden." I deliberately say all that because I accidentally overhear a conversation between Vivian and her friend, Michelle Lawson. "Rowan is now perfectly willing to raise my four babies, and he's transferred the house and the car to me. I'll even be able to get four separate sums of child support in the future. "I may even be able to marry into an elite family thanks to the quadruplets. After all, the more children I have, the higher my chances." It turns out that none of the four babies she is carrying are mine. In fact, they all have different fathers.