005

Two weeks slipped by in a blur of doctor's appointments and quiet domesticity.

I fell into a routine I'd never expected—prenatal vitamins with breakfast, afternoon naps Calloway insisted I take, Thursday appointments with Dr. Morrison.

Calloway worked from home more often than not, his office door always cracked open like he needed to know I was nearby.

It was during one of Victoria's surprise visits that I overheard the conversation that changed everything.

"You're sleeping on her floor again." Victoria's voice drifted from the living room. "I saw the pillow and blanket this morning."

I froze in the hallway, my hand on the nursery door.

"She has nightmares," Calloway said quietly. "I want to be there when she wakes up."

"You left the merger yesterday. For a doctor's appointment."

"Her appointment."

"And the way you look at her, Calloway..." Victoria's voice softened. "The baby's yours, isn't it? That's why you married her so quickly."

Silence stretched. My heart hammered.

"Yes," Calloway said finally. "The baby's mine."

The lie fell so easily. So convincingly.

"Then I owe Elena an apology," Victoria said. "A proper one."

I slipped away before they could catch me eavesdropping, my chest tight with something I couldn't name.

***

RIDGE PRIVATE HOSPITAL

The hospital corridor was nearly empty when it happened.

Dr. Morrison had just finished my appointment, declaring everything perfect. Calloway's hand rested on my lower back as we headed toward the elevators, already discussing lunch plans.

Then I saw her.

Natasha Winters stood near the stairwell landing on our floor, her back to us. Designer dress, perfect posture, phone pressed to her ear. Calloway's ex-fiancée.

She glanced over her shoulder. Our eyes met.

Her expression shifted—surprise melting into something calculated and cold. She ended her call and turned fully, a smile spreading across her face that made my skin crawl.

"Calloway," she said warmly, moving toward us. Too warmly. "What a coincidence."

"Natasha." Calloway's voice went flat. His hand tightened on my back. "Leave."

"I was just leaving, actually." She gestured vaguely toward the stairs. "Terrible elevator wait times in this place."

She walked past us toward the stairwell. I watched her go, every instinct screaming warning.

Natasha reached the top of the stairs. Paused. Turned back to look directly at me.

Then she stumbled.

It happened fast—her heel catching on nothing, her body pitching forward with a sharp gasp. But in that split second before she fell, I saw it. The deliberate shift of her weight. The way her hand released the railing just a fraction too soon.

She tumbled down three steps before catching herself on the railing with a cry.

"Oh my God!" A nurse rushed over from the nearby station.

Natasha crumpled against the railing, clutching her ankle. Her face twisted in pain—but when she looked up at me, her eyes were sharp. Aware.

"She pushed me," Natasha gasped, pointing at me with a shaking hand. "She was right behind me—I felt her hand—"

"What?" The word burst from me. "I was nowhere near you!"

"You were right there!" Natasha's voice pitched higher, tears streaming down her face. "I felt you push me!"

"That's absurd," Calloway stepped between us. "Elena was with me the entire time."

"She was?" The nurse looked uncertain, glancing between us.

"I saw her!" Another woman appeared—someone I didn't recognize, phone in hand. "The pregnant woman was standing near the stairs when she fell."

My blood went cold. A plant. Natasha had brought a witness.

"I want security footage," Calloway said sharply. "Now."

"Of course, Mr. Sterling." The nurse looked flustered. "But we should get Ms. Winters examined first—"

"I'm fine," Natasha said, letting the nurse help her up. She tested her ankle with a wince. "Just bruised, I think. Though it could have been so much worse." Her eyes met mine. "Especially with a pregnant woman involved. People might think she's unstable. Dangerous."

"Stay away from my wife," Calloway said, his voice deadly quiet.

Natasha's smile was poisonous. "I'll be around, Calloway. Someone needs to look out for you."

***

Three days later, Calloway threw me a baby shower.

The penthouse filled with Manhattan's elite—CEOs in designer suits, society women with jewels that could fund small countries. I felt like an imposter in my silk maternity dress.

But Calloway never left my side.

His hand rested on my lower back as we greeted guests. He whispered jokes about stuffy board members that made me laugh. When I swayed from exhaustion, his arm came around my waist.

"Tired?"

"A little."

"Say the word."

"I can handle it."

His eyes softened. "I know."

Victoria beamed, showing everyone photos of the nursery. "My first grandchild," she kept saying, squeezing my hand.

Then the projection screen flickered to life.

Photos filled the wall. Me and Damien at our wedding, smiling like we had a future. Me pregnant in my previous timeline, Damien's hand on my belly. Recent images that looked like us at a clinic—except I'd never been there.

Doctored. All of it. But they looked real.

"Sorry to interrupt." Natasha stepped forward, phone in hand. "But you all deserve the truth."

My stomach dropped.

"Elena isn't who she claims. That baby?" She pointed at my belly. "It's not Calloway's. It's her ex-husband's—Damien Anderson. She trapped him with lies and a fake marriage."

The room erupted. Whispers. Phone cameras. Victoria's hand flew to her mouth.

"She's lying to all of you!" Natasha's voice rang out. "That baby is Damien Anderson's!"

Calloway's hand found mine. Squeezed once.

"Then let's settle this scientifically." His voice cut through the chaos like a blade. "Unless you're afraid of the truth, Natasha?"

Her confidence flickered. "What?"

"Call the doctors. We'll do a paternity test. Right now. In front of everyone."

"Calloway, don't—" I grabbed his arm, panic clawing up my throat. I dropped my voice to a desperate whisper. "The baby is Damien's. You know it is—"

He leaned close, his breath warm against my ear. "I know exactly whose baby this is." His voice was so quiet only I could hear. "Do you trust me?"

His gray eyes held mine. Steady. Sure. Knowing.

"Yes," I whispered, even though my hands were shaking.

Dr. Morrison arrived within fifteen minutes, clearly uncomfortable. The room went silent as she set up her equipment on the dining table.

My hands trembled as she drew my blood. Each beep of the machine felt like a countdown to disaster. Calloway stood beside me, solid and unwavering, but I couldn't breathe.

This was it. The moment everyone discovered I'd lied.

Dr. Morrison swabbed Calloway's cheek. Worked her portable DNA analyzer. The machine hummed. Ten minutes that felt like hours.

My vision tunneled. My hand moved instinctively to my belly.

Calloway's arm came around my waist, holding me upright.

Finally, Dr. Morrison looked up.

"99.9% probability match. Mr. Sterling is the biological father."

The room exploded.

Applause. Gasps. Phones raised. Victoria burst into tears, rushing to hug us.

I couldn't process it. Couldn't breathe. How? The baby was Damien's. It had to be—

The room tilted. Calloway's arm tightened around my waist.

He pulled me close and pressed his lips to my forehead. Soft. Possessive. Claiming.

The room erupted in louder cheers.

"Since we're all here..." His voice rose above the noise. "Elena, will you marry me? Again? Properly this time?"

The crowd went wild. "Say yes!"

I stared at him, shock rendering me mute.

"Play along," he whispered. "Please."

"Yes," I managed.

Celebration erupted around us. Victoria sobbed. Champagne popped.

But across the room, Natasha's face twisted with pure hatred. She shoved through the crowd and disappeared.

In the parking garage, Natasha pressed her phone to her ear. "Damien? I need your help."

In a dark alley, Damien Anderson lit a cigarette and smiled. "What's in it for me?"

"Half a million. And revenge. We both want her gone."

"When do we start?"

That night, I found Calloway in his study.

"Tell me the truth." My voice shook. "How is that baby yours?"

He poured two glasses of water. Handed me one. Sat.

Silence stretched between us.

"Calloway—"

"Three months ago, you went to a fertility clinic."

My hand froze. "How do you know about that?"

His eyes met mine. Unflinching.

"The insemination sample you received. It wasn't Damien's." He paused. "It was mine."