Chapter 5

Chapter 5: The Test

The first test was a mistake. Probably a faulty batch, I told myself. Cheap drugstore brand. I'd buy a more expensive one tomorrow.

The second test came from the pharmacy two blocks from my office. Digital. No room for misinterpretation. Two clear blue lines. Pregnant.

The third test was from the expensive medical supply store downtown. The kind doctors recommend. The kind that leaves absolutely no doubt.

Positive.

Definitely, irrevocably, terrifyingly positive.

My life had become a series of bathroom visits. Not the glamorous kind you see in romantic comedies, where the heroine looks perfectly put together while discovering her pregnancy. No. This was raw, visceral, utterly unglamorous morning sickness that made me question every life decision.

I'd always been the girl with a plan. Color-coded planners. Five-year career strategies. Meticulously organized closets. And now? Now I was the girl who couldn't predict what would happen in the next five minutes, let alone the next five years.

The pregnancy tests lined up on my bathroom counter looked like accusatory witnesses. Three different brands. Three identical results. As if the universe was determined to make sure I understood there was no wiggle room. No escape.

My phone buzzed. James's name flashed on the screen.

I silenced it.

Of all the people who couldn't know about this, James topped the list. My almost-husband. The man I'd caught with my best friend. The man whose father was now intimately—very intimately—connected to my current predicament.

Marcus Henderson.

Just thinking his name sent a cascade of memories. His hands. His mouth. That night at the bar. The night that changed everything.

The night that created... this.

My hand unconsciously settled on my stomach. Flat still. No visible evidence of the life growing inside me. But it was there. Undeniable.

A life. Created in one reckless, passion-filled night with a man who was practically a stranger. A man who was also my ex-fiancé's father.

The irony was almost laughable.

I should have been terrified. Panicked. Desperate for a solution. And I was. But underneath all that? Something else. Something I wasn't ready to examine too closely.

Excitement.

Not the neat, planned excitement of the old Sophia. This was wild. Unpredictable. Dangerous.

My phone buzzed again. Not James this time.

Marcus.

I didn't answer.

The workday became an intricate dance of survival. Rushing to bathrooms. Fighting nausea during client meetings. Smiling. Pretending everything was normal.

"You look pale," my assistant observed during a late afternoon strategy session.

"Just tired," I lied.

Tired didn't begin to cover it.

By the time I reached my apartment, exhaustion had settled into my bones. The pregnancy tests still lined my bathroom counter, a makeshift memorial to my dramatic life change.

I needed a plan.

Option one: Tell Marcus.

Pros: Honesty. Potential support.

Cons: He might want involvement. Family complications. James would find out.

Option two: Keep it a secret.

Pros: Maintain control. Avoid drama.

Cons: Impossible. Eventually, this would show.

Option three: Leave. Start over somewhere new.

Pros: Clean break. Fresh start.

Cons: Running away solved nothing.

My phone rang. Marcus.

I answered this time.

"We need to talk," he said. No hello. No pleasantries.

"About what?" The lie came easily.

"Don't insult my intelligence, Sophia."

Silence stretched between us. How much did he know?

"My office. Tomorrow. 9 AM."

It wasn't a request.

Sleep was impossible that night. I alternated between panic, excitement, and a strange sense of calm. My body was changing. Creating life. My life was changing.

The next morning, morning sickness hit with a vengeance. Three bathroom trips before I even left my apartment. I packed extra crackers. Wore my most comfortable suit. Prepared for battle.

Henderson Legal was a fortress of glass and steel. Intimidating. Powerful. Much like Marcus himself.

His assistant—stern, efficient, clearly aware of every nuance in the office—barely looked up when I arrived.

"Ms. Mitchell. Go right in."

Marcus's office was a study in controlled masculinity. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Artwork that probably cost more than my annual salary. A view that screamed success.

He stood when I entered. Those storm-gray eyes missed nothing.

"Sit," he said.

I sat.

"How long have you known?"

"Yesterday," I admitted.

His jaw clenched. A muscle flickered near his temple. "Are you certain?"

I pulled out the tests. Lined them up on his immaculate mahogany desk like evidence in a high-stakes trial.

"Certain," I said.

Silence filled the room. Not the electric silence from our night together. This was different. Heavier. More dangerous.

"What do you want?" he asked.

The million-dollar question.

"I'm keeping it," I said suddenly. The words surprised even me.

Something shifted in his eyes. Surprise? Desire? Fear?

"Just like that," he said flatly.

"Just like that."

My hand settled on my stomach. Protective. Instinctive.

Our eyes met. No words needed. We both knew nothing would ever be the same.

My life had just become a minefield. And I was standing right in the center.

Pregnant. With my ex-fiancé's father's child.

Complicated didn't begin to cover it.