Chapter 0005

Charlotte's POV

"What do you want, Mia?" I folded my arms across my chest, unconsciously shielding my still-flat stomach.

Mia's ruby-red lips curved into a smile that never reached her eyes as she strode into the room with the confidence of someone who believed they already owned everything in it. The door clicked shut behind her with a finality that made me shiver.

"You sent Drake a message, didn't you?" Mia's voice carried a melodic lilt that somehow made her words even more cutting. Her gaze dropped momentarily to my midsection before returning to her face, the flicker of disgust unmistakable.

I felt my spine stiffen. "Whatever I sent to Drake is between him and me."

"Is it, though?" Mia moved further into the room, trailing manicured fingers across the pristine desk surface. Her Louboutins clicked against the hardwood floor like a metronome counting down my remaining dignity. " he forwarded your little... announcement... straight to my phone. With commentary. He wants you to get rid of the child"

The blood drained from my face, my heart skipping a beat. I thought of the message I'd sent him—simple, direct: We need to talk. I'm pregnant. Meet me at Grantham, room 218. Please, Drake.

"You're lying," I whispered, though the certainty was already bleeding from my voice.

Mia laughed, the sound like crystal breaking. "Oh, honey. You think I memorized your room number for fun? You think I just happened to know exactly what you told him?"

She pulled out her phone, tapping the screen before turning it toward me. "He sent me here. Specifically. To deal with you so he wouldn't have to."

I caught a glimpse of the texts—enough to see my own message forwarded, enough to see Drake's response beneath it: Can you handle this? I can't deal with her right now.

Something vital seemed to splinter inside my chest.

"I don't believe you," I insisted, but my voice betrayed me. "Drake wouldn't—"

My knees suddenly felt too weak to support me. I sank onto the edge of the bed, my hands gripping the duvet to stop their trembling.

"What exactly did he send you to say?" I asked, surprised by the steadiness in my voice despite the earthquake happening inside me.

"He wants you to 'take care of it,'" she said, making air quotes with her fingers. "His exact words. And then he wants you to sign the NDA his lawyers are drafting." She reached into her designer handbag and extracted a business card, placing it on the nightstand. "His attorney's contact information. They'll be in touch about the... settlement."

I stared at the card as though it were a venomous snake. "Settlement," I repeated flatly.

"A very generous one, I'm told." Mia adjusted her Cartier bracelet.

Enough to start over somewhere new. Somewhere far away from Watson Holdings. Somewhere far away from Drake went unsaid but was clearly implied.

I felt something shift inside me—not the baby, not yet, but something equally profound. The last remnants of my illusions falling away, perhaps.

"Tell Drake I won't get rid of my child," I asserted, my voice gaining strength with each word. "Not for any amount of money. Not for him. Not for anyone."

Mia's phone buzzed. Her entire demeanor changed as she glanced at the screen, her face softening into genuine warmth. "Yes, darling, I'm with her now," she said into the phone. "I made everything perfectly clear."

A pause, a tinkling laugh. "I'll be right down."

She slid her phone away, looking me over like I was something she’d scrape off her shoe. "Drake’s waiting in the lobby. We have dinner with his parents tonight. They adore me, by the way."

The casual cruelty of the statement hung in the air.

"Don't make this messier than it needs to be, Charlotte. Take the money. Move on. That's what smart girls do."

Heat surged up my throat. My hands clenched.

"Get out," I spat.

Mia smirked. "Gladly."

The moment the door closed behind Mia, I was on my feet. No. This couldn't be right. I wouldn't let this elegant viper be the final word. Drake owed me more than a messenger, more than a dismissal by proxy.

I soon caught them in the hallway by the elevators, Drake's tall figure unmistakable even from a distance. His arm was around Mia's waist, his head bent toward hers.

"Drake!" The name tore from my throat before I could reconsider.

He turned, his expression shifting from surprise to irritation so quickly it was like watching a mask slide into place. The eyes that had once looked at me with such tenderness now regarded me like I was a particularly tedious business problem.

"I need to talk to you," I said, my voice trembling despite my best efforts. "Alone. Five minutes. That's all I'm asking."

Drake's jaw tightened. Beside him, Mia pressed herself closer to his side.

"Baby, please," Mia murmured, her voice suddenly fragile and soft. "I'm not feeling well. Can we just go?"

The transformation in Drake's face when he looked down at Mia was devastating—concern, tenderness, protectiveness. All the things he had once directed at me.

When he looked back up, his eyes were cold again. "Charlotte, I think Mia made my position perfectly clear. I have nothing to add." His voice was flat, corporate, the same tone he used in board meetings to shut down unwanted proposals. "We're running late. My parents are waiting."

"Your parents," I repeated numbly. The final piece clicked into place. The legacy. The family expectations. I had never been anything but a pleasant diversion, had I?

Drake sighed heavily, a flash of what might have been regret crossing his face. "Look, I'm sorry it ended this way. But we both know this was never going to work long-term. The offer is more than fair. Take it. Start fresh."

"With your child," I added, my hand resting on my stomach. Something flickered in Drake's eyes—doubt, perhaps, or guilt—but Mia quickly diverted his attention by swaying slightly on her feet.

"Drake, please," Mia whispered. "I'm really dizzy."

In one smooth motion, Drake swept Mia into his arms, cradling her against his chest. "We're done here," he said to me without a glance.

The elevator doors opened, and he stepped inside without a backward glance.

I stood frozen in the hallway, watching the numbers descend.

1...2...3...Gone.

The pain hit me suddenly—a sharp, vicious cramping that made me double over. I stumbled back toward my room, panic rising as the cramping intensified.

No. Not my baby. Not now.

I felt wetness on my thighs and looked down in horror at the spreading stain on my dress.

Blood.

I fumbled for my phone with shaking hands, sinking to the floor outside my room as the pain became unbearable.

"Help me," I gasped into the phone when the 911 operator answered. "I'm pregnant. I'm bleeding. Please—"

The phone slipped from my grasp as darkness closed in, swallowing everything but the searing pain in my abdomen.

And just before it swallowed me whole, one final, shattering thought hit me.

I was losing my child.

And the man who put it there was already gone, tending to his mistress.