The Proposal

Clara's eyes fluttered open to an unfamiliar surrounding.

The room she was in wasn't just a room—it was bigger than her entire apartment. Sunlight streamed through enormous windows framed by heavy silk curtains. The bed she lay in was king-sized with sheets so soft they felt like clouds against her skin. Everything gleamed with luxury: the marble floors, the crystal chandelier overhead, the hand-carved furniture that looked like it belonged in a palace.

"Where am I?" Clara whispered to herself, sliding her legs over the edge of the bed.

Her head spun slightly as she stood. She was still wearing her clothes from yesterday—jeans and a simple blue top—though someone had removed her shoes. She spotted them, neatly arranged beside a pair of slippers at the foot of the bed.

Clara walked to one of the windows and gasped at the view. She had to be at least forty floors up. She was trying to figure out which building she might be in when she heard the door open behind her. Quickly, she dove back into the bed and pretended to be asleep, pulling the covers up to her chin.

"I know you're awake, miss," came a woman's voice, gentle but firm.

Clara opened one eye to see a woman in a neat black uniform standing by the door. A maid, she realized.

"Mr. Cage would like to see you downstairs," the maid said.

Clara sat up abruptly at the name. Devon Cage. The fertility clinic. The mix-up with the sperm donor. It all came flooding back to her.

"Mr. Cage?" Clara repeated. "Devon Cage? I'm in his house?"

The maid nodded. "Yes, miss. He's waiting for you in the main living room."

Clara's mind raced. She'd been kidnapped—actually kidnapped—by one of the richest, most powerful men in the country. If she screamed right now, would anyone even hear her? Would anyone care?

"I'll... I'll be right down," Clara managed to say.

The maid nodded and left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Clara sat frozen for a moment, trying to process her situation. She'd gone from hopeful future single mom to kidnap victim in less than a day. And now she was expected to just walk downstairs and face her kidnapper like this was a normal social call?

Part of her wanted to barricade the door and refuse to leave the room. But what good would that do? She was in Devon Cage's territory now. If he wanted to get to her, a barricaded door wouldn't stop him.

"Better to face this head-on," she muttered to herself, slipping her feet into the provided slippers.

Clara stood and took a deep breath, then walked to the door. The hallway outside was just as grand as the bedroom—high ceilings, more chandeliers, artwork that probably cost more than her entire life savings hanging on the walls.

As she made her way toward what she hoped was the direction of the stairs, Clara couldn't help but be awed by her surroundings. Every detail spoke of extreme wealth. The floors were polished marble that reflected her image as she walked. The railings of the grand staircase she found were solid gold. Flowers—fresh and fragrant—filled crystal vases at regular intervals.

Clara had always been fascinated by flowers. In her tiny apartment, she kept as many plants as she could fit on her windowsills and shelves, small pots of life bringing color and breath to her cramped space. But these arrangements were on another level entirely—exotic blooms she couldn't even name, perfectly arranged in displays that must have cost hundreds, if not thousands of dollars each.

For a moment, she forgot her predicament, running her fingers gently over a white orchid's delicate petals.

The staircase curved gracefully downward, and as Clara descended, she found herself in a space so vast it could have housed several normal-sized homes. The ceiling soared at least thirty feet above her, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering panoramic views of the city. Everything gleamed with wealth—the furnishings, the décor, even the air seemed expensive somehow.

At the center of this massive space were three men. Two were standing: one older man in a butler's uniform and a younger Asian man in a sharp suit holding a tablet. And seated in a large leather armchair, one leg crossed over the other, was Devon Cage himself.

Clara had seen his picture in magazines and newspapers, but they didn't do him justice. In person, he radiated power. Tall, broad-shouldered, with thick dark hair touched with silver at the temples, and those cold gray eyes that seemed to see right through her. He wore a simple black sweater and tailored pants, casual clothes that probably cost more than her monthly rent.

The younger man in the suit cleared his throat, and Devon turned his head. Those steel-gray eyes found hers, and Clara felt a chill run down her spine.

Devon didn't speak. He simply pointed to the sofa across from him, indicating she should sit. His gesture was almost gentle, but there was such command in it that Clara found herself moving toward the seat without conscious thought.

"Ms. Stone," Devon finally said, his voice deep and smooth. "I apologize for the manner in which you were brought here."

Clara sat perched on the edge of the sofa, her back straight, hands clasped in her lap. Being face to face with a man whose name she'd only heard in news reports about ruthless business deals and controversial building projects was surreal. This was the man she'd just yesterday said she hoped never to cross paths with. And now here she was, in his home, possibly carrying his child.

"You apologize?" Clara found herself saying, surprised by the steadiness in her voice. "Your men drugged me and kidnapped me. That's not something you can just apologize for. It's a crime."

The butler's eyes widened slightly at her tone. The assistant nearly dropped his tablet. No one, apparently, spoke to Devon Cage like that.

But Devon himself merely raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching in what might have been the beginning of a smile.

"I'm guessing you know why you're here," he said, ignoring her outburst.

Clara nodded stiffly. "The fertility clinic called me right before your goons showed up. There was a mix-up with the donors."

Devon signaled to his assistant, who stepped forward and handed Clara a small paper bag. Inside were three pregnancy test kits.

"I'd like you to confirm whether the procedure was successful," Devon said. "There's a bathroom just through that door."

Clara looked from the bag to Devon's face. The absolute audacity of this man! First he had her kidnapped, and now he was ordering her to take a pregnancy test on command, like some kind of trained pet?

"I'll check if I'm pregnant at my own convenient time," Clara said coolly. "The baby, if there is one, is mine and mine alone."

Devon's eyes narrowed slightly. "Actually, Ms. Stone, according to law, any biological material misused in a medical procedure—such as my sperm in this case—gives me certain rights. I could take this to court if necessary."

Clara wasn't sure if he was telling the truth about the law, but the threat was clear enough. And really, what was the harm in knowing now? She'd been planning to test soon anyway.

Without another word, she snatched the bag and headed to the bathroom he'd indicated.

Once inside the marble and gold palace that passed for a bathroom in this place, Clara took a moment to collect herself. Her hands shook slightly as she opened one of the pregnancy test kits. This wasn't how she'd imagined this moment. It was supposed to be intimate, special—just her in her tiny bathroom at home, filled with hope and possibility.

Instead, she was in a stranger's house, pressured into taking the test while the biological father of her potential child—a cold-eyed billionaire—waited outside.

Clara followed the instructions, then set the test on the counter and waited. Three minutes. Three minutes that could change everything.

She paced the spacious bathroom, trying not to get her hopes up. The chances of the IVF working on the first try weren't high. But still... if it had worked...

When the time was up, Clara picked up the test with trembling fingers. She looked down at the small window.

A plus sign.

She quickly checked the instructions again. Plus sign means pregnant.

"I'm pregnant," she whispered, staring at the test in disbelief. "I'm actually pregnant."

The reality of it hit her like a wave, and she sank to the floor, tears streaming down her face. Joy welled up inside her so powerfully it felt like her chest might burst. There was a life growing inside her. A tiny, precious life. Her baby.

For a few moments, she forgot about Devon Cage and his grand penthouse and the bizarre situation she was in. She was going to be a mother. The dream she'd been carrying for so long was finally becoming real.

When Clara came out of the bathroom, her face was still wet with tears, but her eyes shone with happiness. Devon was standing now, waiting for her. Without thinking, caught up in the euphoria of the moment, Clara held up the positive test and rushed toward him.

"I'm going to be a mom!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him in a spontaneous hug.

Devon froze, his body going rigid. No one hugged Devon Cage. No one touched him without permission.

But something strange happened in that moment of unexpected contact. Devon felt his heart rate spike, a warmth spreading through his chest that he didn't recognize. Something about the pure joy radiating from this woman—this stranger carrying his child—affected him in a way he couldn't understand.

Clara, suddenly realizing what she'd done, quickly pulled away. "Sorry," she said, clearing her throat and stepping back. "I got carried away."

Devon's face was unreadable as she moved back to the sofa and sat down. But something had happened between them at that moment, something they both couldn’t explain.

"The baby is mine," Clara said firmly, her joy now tempered with determination. "I didn't want to have to share my baby. That's why I wanted IVF with an unknown donor."

"Miss Stone—" Devon began.

"You can call me Clara," she interrupted.

"Miss Stone," he repeated, making it clear he had no interest in getting familiar. "You will have to sign over that baby to me. You can carry it to full term and hand over to me once you give birth, or we can transfer the embryo to another woman, but I cannot have my child with you and you tell me I have no right over it” .

Clara let out a laugh—a genuine laugh of disbelief. The butler and assistant exchanged shocked glances at her behavior towards Devon.

"This baby," Clara said, placing a protective hand over her still-flat stomach, "is as much mine as it is yours. And my baby is going nowhere. You, on the other hand, can forget we exist. I can move to another city or even country if you want, but please stay away from my baby and me."

Devon opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, the elevator doors opened and a tall, blonde woman in a blue designer dress stepped out.

"Oh, we have the gold digger here, I see," the woman said, her voice dripping with disdain as she sauntered over and sat next to Devon, pressing a possessive kiss to his cheek.

Clara didn’t know who she was, but from the kiss she gave Devon, she could tell she was his girlfriend.

"So what is it you want?" Yvonne continued she asked staring right at Clara, "Because we can give you anything you want."

Devon signaled to his assistant, who stepped forward with a document.

"In there is the amount I'm willing to pay you," Devon said. "Twenty million dollars if you choose to carry the baby and give it to me when he or she is born. Or we can arrange for a surrogate to carry the embryo after it's removed from you, and I will personally fund a new IVF procedure for you with the donor of your choice."

Clara glanced at the document and laughed again, this time without humor.

"You think you can just buy my baby?" she asked. "No amount of money could make me give up my child."

Yvonne's face flushed with anger. "Who sent you to do this, huh?" she demanded, her voice rising. "What's next, are you going to start blackmailing him to marry you? Don't you even dare! I just saw my wedding dress today, and it looked so lovely. I won’t let you or any other woman out there won't ruin my perfect life."

"Fifty million dollars," Yvonne added. "That's what we're willing to give you to give up the baby to us."

Clara stood up, feeling insulted and exhausted. "I think I'm done here," she said firmly. "You know you can't keep me any longer, or do I have to go to the police?"

Devon studied her face, trying to read her intentions, her motivations. But Clara Stone remained a puzzle to him. Here was a woman turning down fifty million dollars without a second thought. It defied everything he knew about human nature.

"You can go home," Devon finally said. "Elliot will take you."

"I'll take a cab," Clara replied, already heading for the elevator.

"You're carrying my child," Devon said, his voice taking on a new intensity. "Devon Cage’s heir. You are not getting into a cab."

Clara turned back to look at him one last time, struck by the strange passion in his voice.

Yvonne's head snapped toward Devon, her eyes widening at his words. In all their time together, she'd never heard him speak with such feeling about anything, let alone a child he'd only just learned exists.

As Clara left with Elliot, Yvonne remained seated, a cold fear settling in her stomach. She'd fought too hard to secure her position as Devon's future wife to lose it now, especially to some nobody florist.

One thing was absolutely certain, she would never let anyone take Devon from her. No matter what she had to do.