CHAPTER 17: The Decision

I didn't sleep that night.

Instead, I lay in bed making mental lists of pros and cons, scenarios and outcomes, every possible angle of Alexander's proposal.

Marry him: Legal protection. Financial security. The baby would have his name. The media might back off. I'd have access to the best healthcare, the best resources, the best everything.

Don't marry him: Independence. The ability to walk away if things got too complicated. No pretending to be something we weren't. No living a lie.

By morning, I was exhausted and no closer to a decision.

Alexander was already in the kitchen when I emerged. He looked as tired as I felt.

"Coffee?" he offered.

"Please."

We moved around each other in practiced silence. Two weeks of living together had created a rhythm—he made coffee, I made toast, we existed in the same space without colliding.

"Did you sleep?" he asked.

"No. You?"

"No."

He handed me my cup—cream, no sugar, exactly how I liked it—and leaned against the counter.

"I've been thinking about what you said. About obligation."

I waited.

"You're right. I approached this all wrong. Marriage shouldn't feel like a business transaction." He set down his cup. "But Bella, the offer stands. Not because I have to. Because I want to."

"Want to solve a problem."

"Want to build a life with you. With our baby." His eyes met mine. "These past two weeks, living with you—it's been the most normal I've felt in years. Coming home to someone. Talking about our days. Planning for the future. I don't want to lose that."

My heart did something complicated.

"That's not love, Alexander. That's convenience."

"Maybe it's the beginning of something that could become love. Given time."

"Could become." I set down my cup, suddenly not hungry. "What if it doesn't? What if we're miserable? What if we end up resenting each other?"

"What if we don't? What if this works?"

I looked at him—really looked at him. Alexander Sterling, billionaire CEO, father of my child, the man who'd shown me what it felt like to be truly seen. He was offering me everything except the one thing I wanted most.

His heart.

"I need more time," I said.

"Take all the time you need. Just—think about it. Please."

---

Work was a nightmare.

The official statement hadn't helped. If anything, it had made things worse. Now people knew for certain that I was pregnant with the CEO's baby. The whispers were louder. The stares more obvious.

Claire was one of the few who still treated me normally.

"Ignore them," she said as we walked to a meeting. "They're just jealous."

"Jealous of what? Being harassed by paparazzi? Having my entire life dissected online?"

"Jealous that you landed Alexander Sterling." She lowered her voice. "Half the women in this building have fantasized about him. You're living with him. Carrying his baby. Of course they're going to be catty."

"I didn't land him. We had an accident."

"An accident that put you in his penthouse." She shrugged. "I'm just saying, from the outside, it looks like you won the lottery."

From the outside. That was the problem, wasn't it? No one knew what it felt like from the inside. The uncertainty. The fear. The constant question of whether he wanted me or just the baby.

The meeting was torture. James was there, sitting across the table, radiating hostility. He didn't speak to me directly but made pointed comments about "loyalty" and "family values" that everyone understood were aimed at me.

After the meeting, he cornered me in the hallway.

"Enjoying your victory?" he asked.

"There's no victory here, James."

"Really? You're living in a penthouse, carrying a Sterling heir, and my father is—" He stopped, jaw clenching. "He wants to marry you, doesn't he?"

I didn't answer.

"He does. Jesus Christ." James laughed bitterly. "You really did it. Trapped a billionaire."

"I didn't trap anyone."

"No? Then why is my father—who hasn't looked at a woman in two years—suddenly ready to put a ring on your finger?"

"Because he's trying to protect his child."

"His child. Not you. Remember that, Bella. When you're signing that prenup and promising to love, honor, and obey—he's not doing this for you. He's doing it for that baby."

The words hit harder than they should have. Because James was right. Alexander had made that clear. This was about the baby. About doing the right thing.

Not about me.

"Stay away from me, James."

"Or what? You'll run crying to Daddy?" His smile was cruel. "Oh wait. He is the daddy now. How convenient."

I walked away before I could say something I'd regret.

---

That evening, I found myself in the empty nursery.

Alexander had been true to his word. Painters had come. The walls were now a soft sage green. Furniture was being delivered next week. It was really happening.

I was going to be a mother.

"It's coming together."

I turned to find Alexander in the doorway.

"Yeah. It is."

He stepped inside, looking around. "I was thinking—if you want to add anything. Paint the ceiling. Add murals. Whatever you want."

"It's perfect as it is."

We stood in the empty room, both imagining the same future. A crib. A changing table. A baby sleeping peacefully while we watched.

"I called my lawyer today," Alexander said quietly.

My stomach dropped. "Oh?"

"Asked him to draft a prenup. A generous one. You'd have full financial security regardless of whether the marriage lasts. The baby would be provided for. You'd never have to worry about money."

"Alexander—"

"Let me finish." He turned to face me. "I also told him to include a clause. If at any point you want out—for any reason—you can leave. No penalties. No fighting over custody. We'd work it out together, as adults, putting the baby first."

"You'd really do that?"

"I'm not trying to trap you, Bella. I'm trying to give you options. Security. Safety." He moved closer. "And yes, selfishly, I'm hoping you'll choose to stay. Build this life with me. But I want it to be your choice. Not because you're scared or desperate or feel like you have no other option."

Tears pricked my eyes. "Why are you being so reasonable?"

"Because I care about you. About what happens to you." He reached out, hesitated, then gently touched my stomach. "Both of you."

His hand was warm through my shirt. The baby was too small for either of us to feel movement yet, but somehow this moment felt significant. Connected.

"I haven't said yes," I whispered.

"I know."

"I might not say yes."

"I know that too."

"But I'm thinking about it."

"That's all I ask."

We stood there, his hand on my stomach, both of us holding our breath. Waiting for something. A sign. A moment of clarity.

My phone buzzed, breaking the spell. Marcus.

MARCUS: Need to talk. Now. It's about James.

"I have to take this," I said.

Alexander nodded, stepping back. His hand fell away and I immediately felt the loss of it.

I called Marcus back.

"What's wrong?"

"James gave an interview. To People Magazine. It's going live tomorrow morning."

My blood ran cold. "What did he say?"

"I don't know all of it. But my contact at the magazine says it's not good. He paints himself as the victim. You as the villain. And his father as—well. Betrayed and manipulated."

"He can't do that."

"He already did. The interview is done. They're just waiting to publish."

I looked at Alexander, who was watching me with concern.

"Let me call you back."

"Bella, wait—"

I hung up. Looked at the man who'd just offered me everything except his heart.

"James gave an interview. People Magazine. It publishes tomorrow."

Alexander's expression darkened. "I'll handle it."

"How? It's already done."

"Then we'll release our own statement. Counter his narrative."

"With what? The truth? That we barely know each other? That you're proposing out of obligation?"

"That's not—" He stopped. "Is that what you really think? That this is just obligation?"

"What else am I supposed to think?"

"That maybe—just maybe—I'm falling for you."

The words hung in the air.

Falling for you.

Not fallen. Not in love. Falling. Present tense. Incomplete.

"You're falling for me," I repeated.

"I'm trying not to. Because it's complicated and messy and probably a terrible idea. But yes. I'm falling for you, Isabella Martinez. And I don't know what to do about it."

My heart was racing. "Alexander—"

"You don't have to say anything. I just—I needed you to know. Before you make your decision. I need you to know that this isn't just about the baby. It's about you. About us. About the possibility of something real."

I stared at him, this man who'd turned my life upside down. Who'd offered me safety and security and now—maybe—something more.

"I'll marry you," I heard myself say.

His eyes widened. "You will?"

"On one condition."

"Anything."

"This marriage—it has to be real. Not a contract. Not a business arrangement. Real. Which means we try. We really try to make this work."

"Bella—"

"And if it doesn't work? If we're miserable? We end it. No drama. No fighting. We put the baby first and we walk away as friends. Agreed?"

He crossed the room in three strides, cupping my face in his hands.

"Agreed."

Then he kissed me.