Chapter 4

The pressure was closing in from all sides.

My business partners on the south district project bombarded me with three sternly worded emails of inquiry in a row. Public opinion had completely spiraled out of control, and my name had been nailed to the wall of shame as a scumbag and a nouveau riche.

Mabel's parents were relentless as well. After I blocked their numbers, they stormed to the hotel entrance and held up a banner, threatening to expose my alleged abuse of their daughter to the media.

I was trapped in this presidential suite, sealed shut with black duct tape. On the surface, I was completely cornered.

Mabel walked over with a freshly printed copy of the agreement. "Since you're in so much pain, I had my lawyer make a few changes." She tossed the agreement onto the coffee table, and she sounded as if she was doing me a huge favor.

I skimmed the clauses. Each clause was more outrageous than the last.

"Clause One: 50 million dollars must be remitted by wire transfer to the designated account within three days."

"Clause Two: Commencing upon the birth of the child, I shall pay a million dollars per month as child support until the child reaches adulthood."

"Clause Three: I will permanently relinquish all biological and legal parental rights and will have no right to visitation."

"Clause Four: Should a single word leak to the public, I will owe a billion dollars in damages for breach of contract."

"Don't push your luck, Mabel!" I sprang to my feet, my eyes bloodshot. "I'll ask you this one last time… What does this marriage even mean to you?"

Mabel rolled her eyes. "Why do you always have to be so pigheaded, Hugh? A spiritual connection between two souls is infinitely more meaningful than physical intimacy. I understand that you're a slave to your own desires, so you're incapable of knowing what's truly valuable.

"I've already given you the privilege of having the child take your last name and call you Dad because you're paying for it. What more do you want? Do you want me to get down on my knees and beg you?"

Before she could continue, all hell broke loose outside the door.

Heavy blows and furious curses hammered through the door.

"Hugh Moore! Show yourself, you coward!"

"Let Mabel go, you disgusting capitalist!"

"Ladies, let's break this door down and teach this scumbag a lesson!"

A horde of rabid fans had somehow breached the hotel's security and mobbed the floor, violently pounding against the door.

The trending topics on my phone skyrocketed.

My personal information, my company's address, and Mom and Dad's home address were doxed across the Internet.

Total ruin was mere inches away.

Mabel took one look at the rattling door and leisurely picked up her handbag. "It seems my fans are more than ready to fight for justice on my behalf."

She rose to her feet and smoothed down her skirt. "You have half an hour, Hugh. Either sign the agreement and transfer the money, or face the mob outside that door on your own."

The door swung open, and her bodyguards escorted her through the crowd.

The door slammed shut behind her. Curses and impact filtered in through the cracks.

I was all alone in the pitch-black room. I collapsed on the couch and buried my face in my hands, my whole body shaking.

My career was being held hostage. The entire Internet was condemning me. Mabel's fans were blockading the door...

I looked like a loser whose psychological defenses had finally collapsed, on the verge of signing the agreement in humiliation. I'd played the part long enough.

Silence stretched on for several minutes. After confirming that all of Mabel's informants had withdrawn, I lifted my head. There wasn't a shred of fear left in my eyes.

I pulled out a backup encrypted phone from my coat that had never been connected to the Internet and dialed a number that had been buried in my contacts for years. It was the number of Naomi Thorne, Mateo's biological older sister.

I had no intention of compromising. If this bomb was going to explode, I'd be the one to light the fuse.

The door was being pounded on harder and harder, and its frame was beginning to buckle and warp. I held my phone to my ear, listening to the dial tone.

"Pick up. Come on," I thought to myself.

A fraction of a second before the door was about to give way, a weary woman's voice came through the line. "Hello? Who is this?"