CHAPTER 4: THE CEO’S OFFER

The flowers hit the floor first.

White lilies. Marcus’s favorites. He used to leave them on his mom’s grave every Sunday. Now they were scattered across the marble, wet and ruined.

“Don’t,” Zara said softly.

Marcus stood in the doorway, rain dripping from his clothes. The pregnancy test was still in his hand. Unopened.

Damian picked up his phone and played the video again. Marcus with another woman. Red dress. Same scar on his eyebrow.

“What the hell is this?” Marcus asked. Voice flat.

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Damian replied.

Zara’s heart didn’t pound. It just dropped. Like an elevator with the cables cut.

“That’s not me,” she whispered.

“Looks like you,” Damian said.

“It’s not.” Her voice got louder. “I’ve been here all night. With you.”

Damian looked at her for a long second, then back at Marcus. “Then who is she?”

Marcus stepped inside and closed the door. Water pooled around his boots. “I don’t know. But I know who set this up.”

“Obasi,” Zara said.

“Obviously,” Damian muttered. “The real question is why.”

Marcus glanced down at the pregnancy test in his hand, then at Zara. “I came to give you this. You left it at your desk.”

Zara stared. “I didn’t—”

“It was in your bag,” Marcus said. “I saw it when I grabbed your laptop yesterday.”

Oh God.

She held out her hand. It was shaking. Marcus placed the box in her palm.

Still sealed.

Damian watched everything. “Are you pregnant, Ms. Bello?”

Zara let out one short, ugly laugh. “I don’t know.”

“Then find out,” Damian said.

The bathroom felt too far. Zara walked there barefoot in oversized sweats that kept slipping off her hips. Both men watched her like she might explode any second.

She closed the door. Sat on the toilet lid.

Please no. Please no. Please no.

Two minutes felt like forever. When she looked, two pink lines stared back at her. Bright. Clear.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

She threw up in the sink, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and just stared at the test.

Twins. The dream she had last week said twins.

Zara opened the door.

Both men were waiting exactly where she left them.

Damian’s face stayed blank. Marcus’s jaw looked tight enough to break.

She held up the test. “Positive.”

Silence.

Rain kept hitting the windows hard.

“Okay,” Damian said after a long pause. “Okay.”

That’s it? Just okay?

Marcus stepped closer. “Are you… are you okay?”

Zara nodded. Lied through her teeth. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” Damian said. “You’re pale again.”

“I’m pregnant,” Zara snapped. “Not dying.”

Damian walked to the bar and poured three glasses of water. He handed one to her, one to Marcus, kept one for himself.

“Sit,” he said.

They all sat on the floor like kids. Right there on the expensive rug.

“The baby,” Damian started. “Is it mine?”

Zara choked on her water. “What? No. We’ve never—”

“Then whose?” Damian asked.

Zara looked at Marcus. Marcus stared at the floor.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “One night. Before I started working here. I don’t even remember his name.”

Marcus’s head snapped up.

Damian finished his water in one go. “Convenient.”

“Excuse me?” Zara said.

“I’m saying this is messy,” Damian replied. “And I don’t do messy.”

“Then fire me,” Zara said, standing up fast. “I’ll quit right now.”

“Sit down,” Damian told her. Not loud, but she sat anyway.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he continued. “You’re moving in. Here. Tonight.”

Zara blinked. “What?”

“Penthouse,” Damian said. “Guest room. 24/7 security. You, me, and him.”

He pointed at Marcus.

“No,” Marcus said immediately.

“Yes,” Damian shot back. “Because Obasi knows your address. He knows about your sister. And he just sent a fake version of you to frame you.”

Zara hugged her arms around herself. “I can’t just—”

“You can,” Damian said. “Or you can go home and wait for him to come for you. And the baby.”

The word baby sounded different when he said it.

Marcus stood. “I’m not leaving her.”

“Good,” Damian said. “You’re staying too. Couch.”

Marcus laughed, short and bitter. “You think I’m sleeping on your couch while you—”

“While I what?” Damian asked.

“Nothing,” Marcus muttered.

Zara looked between them. “This is insane.”

“This is survival,” Damian said. “Take it or leave it.”

She thought about Tolu. Sick and alone in that tiny flat. She thought about the text. If you bring her, she dies.

“Okay,” Zara whispered.

Damian nodded once. “Good. Pack your things. Driver’s waiting downstairs.”

11pm.

Her new room in the penthouse was bigger than her entire old apartment. Huge bed. Desk. Walk-in closet. Private bathroom. And a door that actually locked.

Small mercies.

She was halfway through unpacking when someone knocked.

Marcus.

He carried a small first aid kit. “Your finger. From earlier.”

Zara held out her hand. The burn from the kettle was still red and angry.

Marcus sat on the floor and dabbed ointment on it. So gentle. His hands were still shaking a little.

“You didn’t have to come tonight,” Zara said.

“Yes I did,” Marcus replied.

“Why?”

He looked up. “Because if I wasn’t here, I’d be losing my mind thinking about you getting shot again.”

God.

Zara pulled her hand back. “Thank you.”

Another knock.

Damian.

“Meeting,” he said. “Now.”

In the living room Damian had pulled out a whiteboard. Like this was some kind of war room.

“Obasi wants the company,” Damian said. “He swapped babies twenty-eight years ago. Me and… someone else.”

Marcus went completely still.

“DNA test tomorrow,” Damian continued. “All of us. And the baby when it’s born.”

Zara’s stomach flipped. “You think—”

“I think Obasi wouldn’t be this desperate unless the bloodline was wrong,” Damian said.

Marcus laughed once. “You think I’m the real heir.”

“I think we need to know,” Damian replied.

Zara stood up. “I’m not a pawn in this.”

“No,” Damian said. “You’re the mother of the next Cole.”

The word mother made her eyes sting.

“I need air,” she muttered.

She stepped onto the balcony. The rain had finally stopped. Lagos glittered below like nothing was wrong.

Footsteps behind her.

Marcus.

“You didn’t tell me,” he said.

“I didn’t know,” Zara answered.

“You could’ve.”

“I was scared, okay?” She snapped. “I’m twenty-four. Broke. Pregnant. And now there’s a billionaire and a bodyguard fighting over me?”

Marcus flinched. “I’m not fighting over you.”

“Then what are you doing?”

He looked at her. Really looked. “Keeping you alive.”

That’s worse.

More footsteps.

Damian. Carrying a blanket.

He draped it around her shoulders. His hands stayed there a second too long.

“Cold,” he said.

“I’m fine,” Zara replied.

“You’re not,” Damian said. Same thing he always said.

The three of them stood there. Not touching. But way too close.

Damian’s phone buzzed. He checked it and sighed.

“Gala’s cancelled,” he said. “Obasi threatened the venue.”

“Good,” Marcus muttered.

Damian turned to Zara. “You’ll stay here. Work from here. My schedule comes to you.”

“So I’m your prisoner,” Zara said.

“You’re my responsibility,” Damian corrected.

Same thing.

Zara went back inside and locked herself in the guest room.

She sat on the bed and put both hands on her stomach.

Baby. I don’t know what I’m doing.

Another soft knock.

“Zara?” Marcus’s voice through the door.

“What?”

“I’m right outside. If you need anything.”

“Go to sleep,” she said.

“I will,” he answered. “Eventually.”

Silence.

Then Damian’s voice from the other side of the hall. “I’m across the hall. Same.”

Zara laughed, tired and broken. “You guys are ridiculous.”

No answer.

She lay down and stared at the ceiling.

Two men. One locked door between them. And her stuck right in the middle.

This is a bad idea. A really bad idea.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Unknown number.

Sweet dreams, niece. The blood always comes home. - Uncle O

Obasi.

Zara threw the phone. It hit the wall hard.

Both doors opened at the same time. Marcus and Damian.

“Are you okay?” they asked together.

Zara pointed at the phone on the floor.

Damian picked it up and read the message. His face went cold.

Marcus noticed the pregnancy test still sitting on the bedside table. The one she forgot to hide.

He looked at it. Then at her.

Zara didn’t look away.

“Okay,” Marcus said quietly. “Okay.”

And for the first time since the bullets started flying, Zara actually believed someone would keep her safe.

Even if she had no idea which one.