Chapter Three:

“My child?” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them, and Damien does not even blink.

He opens the door of the private room and waits for me to move. That answer alone tells me more than anything else tonight. He is not speaking carelessly. He is not claiming me. He is deciding something, and Damien Blackwood is the kind of man who decides first and questions later. “You heard me,” he says.

“No, I heard arrogance dressed as certainty.”

His expression stays flat. “Then keep up.”

I should leave him there. I should go downstairs, find Selene, and pretend this night has not cracked open under my feet. Instead, I follow him into the corridor because some part of me already knows I am too far in to step back now.

He does not try to take my arm or guide me. He just walks beside me with that controlled stride of his, as if the entire building belongs to him and everyone in it exists by borrowed permission. People part from him without asking why. We pass two board members from one of his companies, and they lower their voices the second they see us together. That should bother me more than it does.

In the elevator, I fold my arms. “You still haven’t explained why you said that.”

He presses the button for the private garage. “Because if you are pregnant and Adrian knows before I do, then he has already been too close.” “That isn’t an answer.” “It’s the one you’re getting for now.” The elevator doors close, trapping us in mirrored silence. I hate small spaces with men who think they can control outcomes. I hate even more that I am not panicking. I am watching him instead. “You always speak like a warning?” I ask. “Only when people insist on making avoidable mistakes.”

I let out a breath through my nose. “That’s becoming your favorite sentence.”

“No. My favorite sentence is the one where you stop arguing and let me fix this.”

I almost laugh, but it catches in my throat because my phone is still in his pocket and Adrian is still out there, probably waiting for me to answer. The thought makes my stomach tighten again.

When we reach the garage, Damien leads me to a black car already waiting. Of course there is a driver. Of course the door opens before we get close. Nothing about Damien’s life seems to require effort from anyone except the people around him.

I slide into the back seat and turn to him the moment he gets in beside me. “Where are we going?”

“My doctor.” “No.”

He closes the door. “Yes.” “I am not discussing my body with a stranger you pay.” “You’d rather discuss it with Adrian?” The car starts moving before I answer. I hate how neatly he traps every protest. “This is not your decision,” I say. “It became my concern the second that message appeared.” “Concern is not ownership.” He finally looks at me fully. “Good. Then stop reacting like I’m taking something from you.”

I stare at him, furious because part of me knows he is right. This is not about him stealing my control. It is about the fact that I do not have much left, and he keeps exposing that. The city lights slide past the window. I force myself to breathe slowly. “You’re enjoying this.”

“No.”

“You sound very sure of yourself for a man who just proposed to a woman he barely knows and then found out she might be carrying another man’s child.”

His jaw shifts. “I know enough.”

“There you go again.”

“Yes.”

The answer is so simple it unsettles me. Damien does not waste words defending himself. He just occupies space until other people have to deal with him.

The car turns downtown, away from the hotel district. I know the clinic before he says anything. Private. Discreet. Expensive enough that no one leaks information unless they want their career buried. I turn back to him. “How long have you been watching my life?” “Long enough to know you haven’t been protected.” The words hit harder than they should. “I don’t need protection.” “You need better allies.”

The car stops under a covered entrance. Before I can decide whether to stay put out of spite, Damien is already out, and the driver is opening my door. I step onto the pavement because making a scene in front of strangers would only feed the humiliation building under my skin.

Inside, everything moves quickly. Damien says my name once at the desk, and the receptionist stands immediately. No forms. No waiting room. No questions. A nurse appears as if she has been standing by for us all evening.

I stop walking. Damien turns back. “What now?” “You planned this.” His eyes do not shift. “I prepared for possibilities.” I laugh once, but there is no humor in it. “Do you hear yourself?” “All the time.”

The nurse glances between us and wisely says nothing. I should run. I do not. I follow her down the hallway because fear has finally become heavier than pride.

A few minutes later, I sit alone in a consultation room while she checks routine things and asks soft questions I answer without really hearing myself. Last cycle. Symptoms. Stress levels. I almost laugh at that one. By the time she leaves me for the test, my hands are cold.

When it is over, I sit in silence and stare at the floor.

This is the kind of moment women imagine differently. Maybe with love. Maybe with panic shared by someone who has earned the right to see them shaken. Not in a private clinic arranged by a billionaire I barely trust, while an old message from a man who once ruined me still burns in my memory.

A knock sounds. Damien enters before I answer. He closes the door behind him and takes one look at my face.

“What happened?” “They’re checking.”

He stays near the door for a second, then comes closer, not too close, just enough that I feel less alone in the room. It is such a strange thing to notice about him. He can be overbearing and cold and somehow still know exactly how to stand beside a crisis without crowding it. “I didn’t ask for this,” I say quietly. “I know.”

It is the first gentle thing he has said tonight. Not soft, but real. My throat tightens unexpectedly. “If this is true, everything changes.”

“Yes.” “You say that like change is manageable.”

“Usually it is.” I look up at him. “You really believe there’s a strategy for everything.”

“No.” His gaze holds mine. “I believe panic makes people hand their choices to the wrong person.”

That lands. Because Adrian thrives on panic. He always has. The door opens again and the doctor steps in with a calm face that tells me nothing. I stand so fast the chair scrapes. She gives me the result plainly. Positive. For one second, the room sounds far away.

I am aware of Damien beside me, of the doctor continuing with next steps, bloodwork, dating scan, early care, and options laid out with professional care. But the only word my mind keeps hearing is positive. Not maybe. Not late. Not stress.

Real. The doctor leaves after giving me a moment and says the nurse will return shortly. The silence she leaves behind feels larger than the room. I press my palm against my stomach without thinking.

Pregnant.

Damien does not speak immediately. I am grateful for that. If he says anything too practical, I may break. If he says anything too personal, I may break differently. Finally, he says, “Look at me.” I do. His expression is unreadable, but not detached. “You are not dealing with this alone.” I swallow. “You don’t know that child is yours.” “No.” The answer is honest. Brutal, but honest. “Then why are you acting like this?”

His gaze hardens. “Because Adrian knew enough to threaten you before the test confirmed anything. That means he either has access to your medical information or he’s bluffing based on timing he should never have known. I don’t like either option.”

I blink at him. That is where his mind goes first. Not scandal. Not reputation. Breach.

“Who would tell him?” I ask.

“You tell me.”

My heart stumbles. “I haven’t told anyone.” He studies me for one second too long. “Not even Selene?”

I freeze. Selene knows I am late. Only Selene. She brought me tea two nights ago and asks too gently whether I have taken a test. I tell her no. I tell her I do not want to know yet. She swears she has not said anything.

Damien sees the shift in my face.

“Who knows?” he asks again.

“Selene,” I say slowly. “Only Selene.”

His phone rings. He checks the screen and goes still. “What?” I ask. He turns the phone toward me. It is a photo. Selene left Adrian Wolfe’s building less than an hour ago.

My voice breaks before I can hide it. “Why is my best friend with the man trying to destroy me?”