A MISTAKE WITH MY BABY DADDY’S BROTHER

Aria’s POV

“Miss Sterling!” My landlord’s voice thundered outside my door, loud enough for the entire hallway to hear.

I froze, clutching the edge of the worn counter as my kettle hissed on the rusty stove. I knew this was coming, but not like this.

The banging on my door came harder. “I know you’re in there! You think you can keep hiding, huh? It’s the third month, Aria!”

I heard the creaking sound of my neighbor's door, I knew them too well, they had peeked to see how the embarrassment was going. I knew the ones who felt pity and also the ones who would rather judge. My cheeks burned.

The door rattled again. “If you don’t come out now, I’ll drag you out myself!”

I opened the door slowly, pressing the fabric of my thin, coffee-stained lab coat against me, the seams already tearing under my fingers.

“Mr. Halpern, please, just give me until next week—”

He frowned, “Next week?” he said, eyes shining like an angry god. Then his eyes found the kettle boiling behind me. “You have money for tea, but not for rent?”

I opened my mouth to speak but he didn't give me a chance.

“You think I'll listen to any of your excuses next time?” he said, sounding like a warning.

After looking me over again, he shook his head with a cold laugh as he stepped back to take a complete look at my coat. “Science jobs, huh? Working in those small labs for pennies while living in a rat hole. You think your ‘science’ will save you? I feel for you….”

Tears burned my eyes, but I blinked them back, refusing to let them fall in front of him.

He turned away, muttering, “Next week, Aria, or I'll have you thrown into the streets.”

The door slammed, leaving a heavy silence. I stood there, gripping the door frame, swallowing down the shame, listening to the whispers from behind thin walls.

I wiped my face and turned back to the kettle. Skipped meals, patched-up lab coats, and sleepless nights in cold rooms—I had learned to live with them, hoping that one day, my life would get better.

I sat down at the rickety table, staring at the thread I had used earlier to stitch my lab coat together. It was all I could afford to do, patch and wait.

A moment later, an email notification caused my phone to buzz, yanking me from my misery and lighting up the darkness of my small kitchen.

Its sudden arrival stole my attention, my eyes walked amidst the letters as I read: ‘Private Research Position Offer.’

My breath caught in my lungs, I read again expecting the letters to change, or probably just disappear, but nothing happened—the letters didn't change, not one bit. I read on.

“Aria Sterling, you are selected for a private research project under the CEO, Mr. Liam Westwood. No interview. No exam. We’ve reviewed your work. Your skills are needed.”

Westwood Biotech.

The name echoed in my head like thunder. Everyone in the science world knew them—their cutting-edge labs, their elite researchers, their billionaire clients.

After reading the email again, my disbelief faltered, and my heart stopped for a moment. My imagination started clouding my mind, and I began to imagine myself throwing Mr. Halpern's rent in his face. I shook my head to remove the thoughts.

The next minute, a message with an attached check slid into my phone. My hand trembled. I tapped the image and zoomed in, my eyes flew open, it was more money than I had seen in my entire life.

Later that evening, a black car rolled to a stop in front of my building, the tyres crunching over broken glass on the sidewalk. The driver stepped out in a crisp black suit, scanning the peeling paint of the apartment complex before looking at me like I was someone important.

“Are you Miss Sterling?” he inquired with a firm voice.

“Yes,” I managed, my voice hoarse.

“Come with me. Mr. Westwood is expecting you.”

My fingers shook as I locked the door behind me. I slipped into the car, my phone buzzing with another message—a copy of the contract. Legal, signed, sealed.

I signed with shaking hands. I was scared, but curiosity was stronger.

The car carried me away from the broken windows and thin walls of my apartment into the neon glow of the city. It stopped in front of a tall glass building that seemed to touch the clouds.

Security cameras followed my every step. The revolving doors opened, swallowing me into a world of cold blue lights and spotless white walls, and the air hummed with a scent of sterilized steel.

A woman in a navy dress approached with measured steps.

“Follow me, Miss Sterling. Mr. Westwood is waiting.”

I swallowed, clutching my bag as I followed her into a private elevator, my reflection in the chrome walls was a mix of fear and hope lingering in my eyes.

When the door opened, I saw him—Liam Westwood. Tall, dark-haired, cold blue eyes that could freeze oceans. He stood there in a black suit, looking like he belonged on a magazine cover.

“Miss Sterling,” he said, his voice smooth but firm. “Welcome to Westwood Biotech.”

My body trembled at the sound of his voice, goosebumps spread across my skin like a deadly disease, and my veins stretched with dread. I was supposed to feel excited but instead my heart raced twice as fast.

Unimaginable questions popped up in my mind yet I kept a cheerful face trying not to send bad signals through my countenance.

Mr. Westwood placed another document in front of me and dropped a pen on top. My eyes caught the bold letters in front, which read: “Profile Creation for an unknown child—child 47”.

He gestured at me to sign it. I took the pen with trembling fingers. It was as though I was signing away my destiny into something I had no full knowledge about yet.

Now that I have signed, what's next?