Chapter 5

 DAMIAN’S POV

“Who the hell is she?”

The question kept circling my mind as I watched Isabelle standing beside her mother, her chin lifted as if she had every right to be there. I had barely recovered from the shock of seeing her again when she announced she was pregnant with my child.

How am I sure it's my child.

One night I had no intention of repeating, and now three strangers were standing outside my house, turning it into a public spectacle.

“This is ridiculous,” I said, stepping away from them. “I’m not discussing this here.”

“Of course you aren’t,” Isabelle’s mother snapped. “You’d rather call your own child a lie than take responsibility.”

“Watch your tone.”

“Or what? You’ll throw money at me too?”

Before I could answer, I heard footsteps behind me. My father came through the front entrance, with Natalie close behind him. Both of them had heard the raised voices.

“What is going on out here?” my father asked.

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with,” I replied.

His eyes moved to Isabelle, her mother, and Tessa. “It seems to concern everyone except you, Damien.”

Isabelle’s mother stepped forward. “Your son got my daughter pregnant, and now he’s denying it. She came to tell him the truth, and he’s treating her like a liar.”

My father looked at me, waiting for an answer.

“I’m not accepting a claim simply because someone turns up at my door. I barely know her.”

“You know enough to remember me,” Isabelle said quietly.

I turned toward her. “This isn’t your conversation.”

“It became my conversation when you accused me of lying.”

Natalie glanced between us. “Damian, she wouldn't lie about…”

“Quiet!”

She fell silent, but curiosity remained written across her face.

My father raised a hand. “I’m sorry you’ve been made to feel unwelcome. This is a serious matter, and it deserves to be handled with respect.”

“Respect would be a good place to start,” Isabelle’s mother replied.

“You’re right.” He turned toward Isabelle. “If you’re carrying my son’s child, I would be happy to welcome that child into our family. But we need to establish the facts without shouting at one another.”

“I know what happened,” Isabelle said. “I’m not asking for anything except for him to stop pretending it never happened.”

My father nodded. “I hear you. I’ll make sure we stay in contact. For now, let me arrange a driver to take you home. We can continue this conversation calmly.”

Her mother hesitated before agreeing. A few minutes later, our driver arrived. As Isabelle got into the car, she glanced at me. There was no pleading in her eyes, only anger held tightly in check.

Somehow, that unsettled me more than tears would have.

Once the car pulled away, my father faced me.

“You will not speak to that young woman like she’s a nuisance.”

“I didn’t ask her to show up here.”

“No. But you were involved in what happened, and you will behave like a man while we figure out what comes next.”

“You’re assuming the child is mine”, I lowered my voice.

“I’m assuming you have a responsibility to find out before you decide anything.” His expression hardened. “I won’t have this family name dragged through a scandal because you couldn’t control your temper.”

I had heard enough. I walked away before I said something I couldn’t take back.

Isabelle was still near the gate, waiting while her mother spoke to the driver. I caught up with her and gestured toward a quieter corner.

“We need to talk.”

She folded her arms. “You’ve had plenty to say already.”

“I’ll pay you.”

Her eyebrows drew together. “Pay me for what?”

“To terminate the pregnancy. You’ll have enough money to take care of yourself and your family. We can both move on.”

For a moment, she looked as if she hadn’t understood me. Then her expression changed. “You think this is about money?”

“I think money can solve a lot of problems.”

“Not this one.” She stepped back. “I’m not terminating my pregnancy because you want to pretend you never met me.”

“You don’t know anything about me”, I said firmly.

“And you don’t know anything about me either. But you’ve already decided I’m the kind of woman who would take your money and disappear.”

I had no immediate answer. Her words had struck closer to the truth than I cared to admit.

Her mother called her name from the car. Isabelle turned to leave, then looked me straight in the eye.

“If you refuse to take responsibility, we’ll come back. And next time, I’ll make sure the public knows exactly how Damian Whitmore treats a woman carrying his child. Your name means something to you, doesn’t it? Then you’d better think carefully.”

She walked away before I could respond.

That evening, I sat in my office, thinking. I could deny the pregnancy, but that wouldn’t make the problem disappear. If Isabelle went to the press, the story could spread before I had a chance to control it. My father would see it as proof that I was unfit to lead the company.

And if the child really was mine, I couldn’t simply erase it from existence.

I hated that she had put me in this position. I hated even more that I understood why she had refused my offer.

I called the number I’d obtained before they left.

“What do you want, Damian?” Isabelle answered after several rings.

“We need to discuss this without an audience. I’m sending a car for you. There’s a restaurant downtown. Meet me there.”

“I don’t take orders from you.”

“Then consider it an invitation.”

She ended the call.

An hour later, she arrived at the restaurant wearing a simple dress, her expression making it clear she would rather be anywhere else. I stood when she reached the table, but she ignored the gesture and sat opposite me.

“Let’s make this quick,” she said.

“Good. I don’t like you, Isabelle.”

Her eyes narrowed. “The feeling is mutual.”

“Then we agree on something.”

“Wonderful. I'm not terminating…”

“No.” I reached into my briefcase and placed a folder on the table between us. “I have a proposal.”

She glanced at it without touching it. “What kind of proposal?”

“A contract marriage. You marry me, and in return, I’ll provide financial security for you and your family. Your expenses will be covered, and your child will carry my name. We’ll agree on the terms, and when the arrangement has served its purpose, we’ll decide what happens next.”

Her expression gave nothing away. I had expected anger, perhaps a laugh, maybe an immediate refusal. Instead, she stared at the folder as though it might contain a trap. If she agreed, I could protect my reputation, satisfy my father’s demand for an heir, and keep control of my future.

If she refused, I would still have to face the possibility of marrying her anyway, especially if the pregnancy was confirmed and my father insisted I take responsibility. The contract might change the terms, but it wouldn’t make the problem disappear.

I leaned back, trying to appear more certain than I felt.

Isabelle slowly raised her eyes to mine.