Chapter 4

Early the next morning, Oliver showed up at the door of my apartment. Before I answered it, I already knew why he was there. His expression practically screamed, "I'm just here to take responsibility."

For a moment, neither of us said a word.

Then, he broke the silence. "I know."

"Know what?" I played dumb.

"About the pregnancy."

Of course, Maeve had told him.

I stepped aside to let him in. As soon as he crossed the threshold, the apartment instantly felt even more cramped.

He scanned the room, drinking in the tiny bed, the folding table beneath the window, and the kitchenette squeezed into the corner. Then, his forehead creased.

I couldn't tell if he was judging the apartment or wondering how I could possibly live there.

He took a few steps farther inside and halted by the window. "What's your plan?" he inquired.

"I'm going to have the baby," I answered without a moment's hesitation.

He clenched his jaw.

"And then what?" His voice rose an octave. "You live in a shoebox, and you're working a minimum-wage job. You can barely even support yourself! How exactly are you going to provide for a kid?"

I sighed. Even now, in his eyes, I was still just that woman who was struggling to keep her head above water.

"That's none of your business."

"If the child is mine, then it is my business." Oliver brushed some non-existent dust off the foot of the bed and reluctantly sat down, as though he were afraid of getting his suit even slightly dirty. "Maeve's pregnant. You know that, right?"

"I do. I read the ultrasound report she showed me…"

"Good." An unmistakable look of relief crossed his face. "My firstborn should be Maeve's."

As soon as his words fell, a suffocating silence fell over the room.

Before I had a chance to respond, the door swung open. Ophelia walked in with her purse. Clearly, neither of them had thought to ask for my permission first.

Her gaze swept around the room, and she made no effort to hide her distaste. "This dump is even worse than I imagined."

Then, she set a debit card on the table. "There's 20 thousand dollars on here. Combined with the money Oliver gave you, it is enough for you to start over."

This was preposterous. That chump change wasn't even enough to cover the cost of a single afternoon meeting at my family's company.

"Mrs. Wright, I'm going to have this baby," I said calmly.

Her expression hardened in an instant. "Don't be unreasonable now."

"I'm not."

Crossing her arms, she said, "Maeve is the woman my son should have married in the first place. She's well-educated, understands our circle, and worthy of standing next to him. You, on the other hand, aren't!"

I didn't take the insult to heart.

The one who caught my attention was Oliver. While Ophelia droned on and on, he simply leaned against the wall, checking the messages on his phone. He didn't utter a word, as if none of this had anything to do with him.

In the end, he lifted his head. Yet, it wasn't to take my side. "Elettra, if you're dead set on having this baby, I'll apply for custody the minute it arrives in this world."

His words echoed through the room—cold, deliberate, and calculated. My hands, hanging at my sides, balled into fists.

He continued, "I have property, assets, and an established career. Meanwhile, you have none of these. The judge will undoubtedly award custody to me. Maeve will be raising the baby as her own."

He wanted to let that woman raise my child? Let her hands be the first my baby ever knew?

Ophelia nudged my shoulder. "Did you catch all that? Don't think you're anything special just because you're pregnant. In our eyes, you're nothing of importance!"

Just then, Oliver's phone lit up.

It was a text from Maeve. "Have you gotten it sorted? I bought your favorite cheesecake."

His expression softened in a heartbeat. He replied at lightning speed, locked his screen, and turned to me with an expectant look. He was dead certain that I had no choice but to agree to his demands.

I rested my hand on my abdomen. He wanted to fight for custody? He had no idea who he was actually declaring war on.

I dug out the encrypted phone from my bag, the one I hadn't touched since the day I got married. I unlocked it, selected one of the few remaining contacts in the address book, and dialed. It was picked up after just a single ring.

"Come pick me up, Dad."

Oliver and Ophelia both whirled to gawk at me when I spoke Italun.

A deep, authoritative male voice boomed from the receiver, answering in the same language, "Ten minuti."

The call ended, and Oliver frowned at me. "Who was that? Since when do you speak Italun, Elettra?"

"That was my father," I responded apathetically.

Ophelia sneered, rolling her eyes at me. "Fine. We'll wait right here with you! Do you really think you can intimidate us by learning a few random Italun phrases? I'd like to see what kind of stunt the father of a peasant like you thinks he can pull!"

Oliver remained rooted to the spot, a look of total bewilderment flashing in his eyes.

I looked at Ophelia. "Don't worry. Once he arrives, I won't fight for custody anymore."

Ten minutes later, a fleet of black luxury cars pulled up in front of the dilapidated apartment building. The triumphant look on Oliver's face finally cracked.