By Day, By Night

My name is Angela. I’m the wife of Damian Sterling, the CEO of the Sterling Corporation, and the mother of his two sons.
You’d think that having two sons would mean I could walk on air in this high-society world. In circles like these, producing a male heir is the ultimate currency.
But I know the truth.
My two precious boys… they aren’t exactly normal.
They’re human by day, but at night, they turn into cats.
So, I’ve learned to keep my head down, to shrink into the background and make myself as small as possible. I live every day in a state of quiet terror, terrified that Damian will discover I’ve cheated on him.
The problem is, my supposed rival for his affections is a cat—and where the hell am I supposed to find the other man in that equation?

1
There’s a legend that runs through the Sterling family: because their ancestors were so ruthless, their hands so stained with the blood of their rivals, they were cursed with difficulty in conceiving.
For generations, there has only ever been a single heir. So when it came to choosing a wife, it wasn't just about beauty or family connections. The ability to bear sons was the ultimate trump card.
And I, Angela, just so happened to have a mother who was a master at it.
After my mom married my dad, she popped them out one after another. Other families might have two kids in three years; my mom had triplets in one go, cranking out six boys in just three years.
Six of them. All boys. Can you believe the nerve?
Even though we were constantly scraping by with so many mouths to feed, my mom walked with her chin held high, her voice booming with pride. In a world that worshipped sons, who could compete with her fertile womb? Who could dare challenge her track record?
Word of her legendary fertility spread, and as her only daughter, I became the town’s most sought-after prize. From the day I turned eighteen, our doorstep was worn thin by suitors.
In the end, it was the Sterling family’s offer that won. And just like that, I was married off.
My life’s new purpose: to carry on the family line. For a country girl suddenly thrust into the gilded cage of high society, the pressure was suffocating. But for a two-million-dollar marriage settlement, I swallowed my fears. I waved a tearful goodbye to my parents and six older brothers and climbed into the waiting limousine.
Of course, those weren’t tears of sorrow for my departure. They were tears of pain from chipping their teeth on gold.
My parents and brothers, bless their country-bumpkin hearts, had never seen real gold before. Their first instinct was to bite it. Every single one of them ended up with a broken tooth.
Watching the scene unfold, I wanted to scream, "Could you at least try to save me some face?"
That was one reason I left. The other was simpler: you don’t argue with a force of nature. Just try saying no to a billionaire family and see what happens.
When I first arrived at the Sterling estate, I was left alone for a month to learn etiquette.
The second month, I was sent to Damian Sterling’s bed.
My first impression of my benefactor? Mr. Sterling was young, formidable in bed, and visited my room with dutiful frequency.
As expected, a month later, I was pregnant. A wave of relief washed over me as the doctor confirmed the news. I hadn’t failed my family. I hadn’t tarnished our reputation as premier son-producers.
Ten months later, as the woman carrying Damian Sterling’s first son, I was the focus of the entire family. After a full day and night of labor, a piercing cry announced my success. I had delivered the heir.
Damian came to see the baby. He glanced into the swaddling clothes, his face a mask of indifference. "You’ve worked hard," he said, then turned and left without another word.
The Sterling matriarch, his mother, rushed in, her face etched with anxiety. She unwrapped the baby, inspecting every inch of him, before she too shook her head and walked out.
Their reactions sent a spike of panic through me. Was there something wrong with the son I had worked so hard to deliver?
I pushed myself up, ignoring the pain, and leaned over the bassinet to get a closer look at my newborn son.
Two eyes, a nose, a mouth. Five fingers, five toes.
I looked again. His lips were a perfect bow, his eyes bright and clear, his skin as smooth as porcelain. He was a beautiful baby. A cherub straight out of a Renaissance painting.
Not only was there nothing wrong with him, any other family would have been delirious with joy to have such a perfect, healthy boy.
I couldn’t understand it. Even if they didn’t praise me, shouldn’t they at least acknowledge my effort? Shouldn’t there be some kind of reward? They gave my family two million dollars just to marry me; now that I’d given them a living, breathing heir, there was nothing?
Or maybe they were just stunned with happiness, their brains short-circuiting?
Cradling my sweet-smelling little boy, I waited eagerly for my benefactor’s reward.
As night fell, I sent the nanny off to have her dinner, wanting a moment alone with my son.
But the reward never came. Instead, something happened that nearly scared me to death.
The sweet, milky-smelling baby in my arms… dissolved, right before my eyes, into a tiny black kitten.
It mewed softly, tumbling and rolling in the blankets on the bed.
Oh, my God. My father. My six brothers—what was happening?
Where was my son? My beautiful baby boy? Why was he a cat?
If I hadn't seen the transformation with my own eyes, I would never have believed it. I was certain I’d only ever been with Damian, that I hadn’t cheated. So how could my child be a… a hybrid?
How was this even possible?
I trembled as I watched over the tiny, furry creature all night, refusing to let anyone near the room. As the first rays of dawn touched the horizon, I was sure my life was over. A thousand different ways to die flashed through my mind, but none of them seemed quite right.
2
"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.

3
Time flew by. In the blink of an eye, my eldest hybrid was five, and my younger one was three. By carefully cultivating the image of a fragile woman recovering from a lingering injury, I had managed to keep our villa quiet and isolated for years. It was as if I’d fallen out of favor.
The good news was that my eldest could now maintain his human form almost perfectly, only changing during the full moon. My younger son was still a work in progress—he transformed every three days.
To ensure their physical and mental well-being, I lived a life of constant deception.
By day, we ate simple, bland meals. By night, we feasted on fish and meat.
More accurately, I was practically living on bread and water during the day, stretching the food budget for a CEO’s wife and two young masters just to afford a few extra fish for my boys at night.
Watching my two little cat-sons devour their meal, I would shed a silent, bitter tear for myself.
My darling hybrids’ father, who are you? Where are you?
On the outside, I was a doting mother. On the inside, a storm was raging. I was at my breaking point—my hybrids were now eating seven fish a night. Sob. The kitchen manager I’d bribed told me he couldn’t justify increasing our order any further.
Over the years, I’d learned their personalities. My eldest was stoic and serious, always trying to act more mature than his years. He was thoughtful, obedient, and had a small appetite. He doted on his younger brother, respected his mother, and only ate two fish a night.
My younger son, on the other hand, was a little terror and a bottomless pit. One day he was tearing up the matriarch’s prized orchids, the next he was scrapping with a society wife’s precious Persian cat. He was a constant source of anxiety. Thankfully, he only caused trouble in his cat form, or our secret would have been out long ago.
Lying in bed, I reflected on the challenges of raising two hybrids. It hadn’t been easy.
"Mom, Leo’s gone."
My eldest son’s grim face appeared at my door.
"What—" The scream died in my throat as he shot me a stern look.
"Mom, please wait quietly in his room. I’ll go find him."
"Be careful. Please, be careful."
"I will."
With that, he transformed into a sleek black cat and vaulted over the garden wall, disappearing into the night.
"That little rascal," I sighed, wringing my hands. "He never gives me a moment's peace. Oh, I hope no one catches him. My baby boy…"
I sat on a stool, my mind racing with terrible possibilities.
Just as the moon reached its zenith and I was about to sneak out to search for them myself, my two hybrids returned.
"Oh my god, what happened to you two?"
My eldest’s black fur couldn’t hide the blood matting the corner of his mouth. But my younger son was in worse shape—all four of his legs were limp, completely useless.
I quickly lifted the smaller cat from his brother’s back. As my fingers brushed against his soft, broken limbs, tears streamed down my face.
"Mom, Leo is badly hurt," my eldest said, shifting back into his human form. "His internal energy isn't stable enough to hold his human shape."
"Where did you find him? Where did that little devil run off to?" I asked, my voice choked with panic as I dabbed at the blood on his lip.
"Don’t worry, Mom. His injuries aren’t that serious. Our bodies can heal themselves. I found him in Dad's study. We’ll have to wait until he wakes up to find out who hurt him. You should get some rest. I’ll take him back to our room to recover."
His calm, methodical demeanor managed to soothe my frayed nerves.
"Okay, okay. Go quickly. Make sure you take good care of your brother. My poor little hybrid, you must have been in so much pain. Sob…"
I called after them, the image of that small, limp body burned into my mind. My heart ached, and I couldn't stop the tears.
What kind of monster would be so cruel to a helpless kitten?
Don't let me find out who hurt my baby boy. I swear, I’ll have my eldest scratch their eyes out.

4
Worried sick about my sons, I only managed to doze off near dawn, slumped against the headboard.
"Hurry, hurry…"
"Find it…"
"Check over here…"
"You go that way…"
The commotion outside the villa jolted me awake.
Bang, bang, bang!
Someone was pounding on the main gate. The cleaning lady rushed to open it.
For years, I hadn't even kept a personal maid, all to protect my sons' secret. I rose, checked my reflection—I looked presentable enough—and pulled back the curtains to see what was happening.
"My Lady," the head of security said, bowing low as he led a team of guards into the courtyard. "Last night, a black cat broke into the master's study and scratched him. We are under orders to find the creature. We ask for your cooperation."
His words sent a chill down my spine.
My hybrid son had scratched Damian?
Damian was the one who had hurt my sons?
Even a tiger won't eat its own cubs, but Damian… he had injured both of them in one night. My heart shattered.
"My Lady, if you would please allow us, we will be thorough but careful not to damage any of your belongings," the captain said, bowing again.
"Captain, please, do as you must," I murmured, still lost in a fog of grief over Damian’s cruelty.
I sat in the garden pavilion, watching numbly as the guards finished searching the main house and moved towards the side wing where my sons slept. I felt like I was forgetting something important. My head throbbed from lack of sleep. I just couldn't place it.
"Young Master, please open the door. We're here to conduct a search," the captain announced, his hand on the hilt of his sword as he bowed toward the door.
Wait. A black cat?
My younger son was still unconscious. He couldn't transform back into a human!
If they burst in there now, it would all be over.

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