002: A TOTAL NIGHTMARE.

~~~ANNABETH.

The knock sounded again, heavier this time. It rattled the cheap lock on my door and made my heart hammer against my ribs like a trapped bird.

My feet felt glued to the floor. Part of me wanted to pretend I wasn't home, but the sheer presence of the man standing on the other side of that thin piece of wood made it clear that hiding wasn't an option. He knew I was here.

I took a deep breath, stepped forward, and unlocked the door.

I pulled it open just a few inches, keeping my hand firm on the handle. "Who are you? What do you want?"

The man didn't answer right away. He simply pushed the door inward with a single finger, stepping past me into my small apartment as if he owned the entire building.

The room instantly felt tiny, and almost suffocating. His broad shoulders and tall frame seemed to absorb all the light in the entryway. He wore an immaculate charcoal suit made of fabric that probably cost more than my entire year's rent, smelling of expensive perfume, and absolute authority.

"Close the door, Annabeth," he said, his voice a deep, gravelly baritone that sent a sudden shudder down my spine.

I swallowed hard and slammed the door shut, standing with my back pressed against it. "How do you know my name? How did you find me?"

He didn't answer. Instead, his sharp, dark eyes swept across my small studio, taking in the peeling wallpaper, the worn couch, and the tiny kitchen. Finally, his gaze landed on the small kitchen counter where my medical papers and the clinic folder lay open.

He walked over to the counter, his polished shoes making heavy, measured sounds on the linoleum floor. He reached down and picked up the paper, his eyes scanning the doctor's notes.

"Hey! Don't touch that!" I shouted, rushing over to snatch the paper from his hand, but he didn't even flinch. He simply raised his head, his cold gaze locking onto mine.

"Three weeks," he said plainly, ignoring my outburst. "You went to the clinic this morning. You're pregnant."

My breath hitched in my throat. I squeezed my eyes shut for a second before glaring at him. "That is none of your business. I don't know who you are, and you have no right to come into my home and pry into my medical records!"

"It became my business the moment you carried my child," he replied, his tone so calm it was almost terrifying.

"You don't even know if it's yours!" I snapped, my hands trembling as I pointed toward the door. "We met once. Under terrible circumstances. I don't know your name, I don't know who sent you, and I want you to leave. Now."

A small, dangerous smile touched the corner of his lips, though his eyes remained entirely cold.

"You don't know my name? You are carrying my child and you’re telling me you don’t know me,” he said quietly, stepping closer until he was standing right in front of me. "Allow me to introduce myself, then. My name is Zayden  Bentley."

The name hit me like a splash of ice water.

Zayden Bentley.

My mind raced through the names I had heard over the three years I spent with Julian. Zayden  Bentley wasn't just a wealthy businessman who randomly popped on the news, he was the CEO of Bentley Global, the massive conglomerate that dominated the city's financial sector. He was the head of the family—the man Julian spent every single day trying to copy, envy, and outdo.

"Bentley..." I whispered, my voice faltering as the horror dawned on me. "You're... you're Julian's halfbrother."

"Step-brother, technically," Zayden corrected dryly. "My father married his mother, Evelyn, when Julian was ten. But yes. I am the man my brother spends his life fearing."

I took two steps back, hitting the edge of my small couch. "Oh my god. No. No, this can't be happening."

"It is happening, Annabeth," Zayden said, folding his arms across his chest. "Three weeks ago, you ran into my private suite fleeing from Julian's pathetic little setup. You were drugged, desperate, and seeking safety. Now, you are carrying my baby."

"This is a nightmare," I muttered, covering my face with my hands. "Julian was willing to ruin my life just to clear his name. If he finds out that I'm pregnant with your child…"

"Julian won't do anything," Zayden interrupted firmly. "Because Julian doesn't have the power to touch anything that belongs to me."

He reached into the inner pocket of his tailored jacket and pulled out a heavy silver cardholder. He slid a sleek black business card onto my counter, followed by a folded document.

"What is that?" I asked, eyeing the paper with deep suspicion.

"That is a legal agreement," Zayden said, his voice clinical, as if he were discussing a corporate takeover rather than a human life. "And my proposal."

"Proposal?" I repeated, a bitter laugh escaping my chest. "What kind of proposal?"

"You will marry me," he stated simply. "We will register the marriage quietly within the week. You will move into my residence where you will have round-the-clock medical care, security, and absolute privacy. In exchange, you will sign over joint legal custody rights to me now, ensuring that the child is recognized as my sole legal heir the moment it is born."

I stared at him in utter disbelief. The sheer arrogance of his words made my blood boil.

"Marry you?" I echoed, my voice rising in anger. "Are you out of your mind? I don't even know you! I just escaped a three-year relationship with a ruthless, controlling idiot who treated me like an obstacle to be stepped on. Do you honestly think I am going to sign my life and my baby over to another rich, arrogant man?"

Alexander's eyes narrowed slightly, but his voice remained measured. "This isn't about control, Annabeth. It's about protection and practicality. You have no job. You have no family support in this city. You are living in a building where the front door doesn't even lock properly. Julian’s mother is already blacklisting you from local marketing agencies. How do you plan to support a child on your own?"

His words cut deep because every single one of them was true. I was broke, isolated, and targeted. But the thought of handing my child's future over to a man who viewed marriage as a transaction made me nauseous.

"I will figure it out," I spat back, taking the folded document off the counter and ripping it straight down the middle. "I will get a job. I will move cities if I have to. But I am not selling my baby to you, Mr. Bentley."

I tossed the ripped pieces of paper at his feet. They fluttered down onto his expensive shoes.

Zayden looked down at the torn paper, his expression completely unreadable. When he looked back up at me, there was no anger in his eyes, only a cold, relentless determination that scared me far more than an outburst ever could.

"You think you can run from Julian," Zayden said softly, stepping toward me until he was just inches away. "You think you can hide in a different city with my child. But you don't understand how the world works, Annabeth. Julian and his mother will destroy you the moment they realize you pose a threat to their new alliance. I am offering you the only shield strong enough to stop them."

"I don't want your shield!" I yelled, tears of frustration stinging my eyes. "I want you out of my apartment! Get out!"

Zayden stood silent for a long moment, studying my face. Finally, he gave a single, slow nod.

"Keep the card," he said, gesturing toward the sleek black card on the counter. "When you realize that pride doesn't pay for hospital bills or protect you from wolves, call me."

He turned on his heel and walked toward the exit. He opened the door, stepping out into the dingy hallway without looking back. "You have three days, Annabeth. Don't waste them."

The door clicked shut behind him, and the heavy silence of the apartment crashed down on me once again.

My knees gave out, and I sank down onto the floor beside the couch, burying my face in my hands. My heart was pounding, and my body shaking with rage and fear.

I won't call him, I swore to myself. I will never call him.

Before I could even catch my breath, my phone on the kitchen counter began to buzz frantically.

It wasn't just one buzz. It was a continuous, frantic barrage of alerts, ringing over and over in rapid succession.

Frowning, I wiped my face and pushed myself up from the floor. I walked over to the counter and picked up my phone.

The screen was flooded with notifications. News alerts, missed calls from old acquaintances, and social media tags.

I tapped on the top news notification from the city's main entertainment portal.

The headline flared in bold, red letters across the screen:

"BENTLY FAMILY ANNOUNCES ENGAGEMENT: JULIAN Bentley TO MARRY SHIPPING HEIRESS CLAIRA MONTGOMERY IN LAVISH END-OF-YEAR WEDDING."

Below the headline was a glossy picture of Julian smiling broadly, his arm wrapped around a stunning woman in a diamond-encrusted dress.

And right beneath the article was a trending video clip released by Julian's PR team, titled:

"Julian Bentley Addresses Breakup with Ex-Girlfriend Annabeth: 'I Tried to Help Her, But Her Infidelity Broke My Heart.'"

My breath hitched as the screen started loading the video. The trap was sprung. Julian was publicly destroying my name before I could even take my next breath.