Chapter 19: Nathaniel Cross, I'm Pregnant

Late night. Somewhere down the hospital corridor, an occasional cough broke the silence.

With her grandfather asleep, Joy slipped quietly out to the stairwell.

It was summer outside, but the cold cut through her anyway.

She sat on the concrete steps, hands shaking as she tore open the packaging on a brand-new SIM card under the pale green glow of the exit sign.

She'd bought it that evening.

Tears fell without warning, landing right on the gold chip, blurring into a dark smear.

She scrubbed at her face with her sleeve, harder and harder, like she was trying to wipe away more than tears like she was trying to erase whatever dignity she had left before she gave it up completely.

Card in. Phone on.

Fingers trembling, she typed in the number she knew by heart.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

She pressed call.

Ring, ring, ring

Her stomach cramped from the tension alone, knuckles white around the phone.

"Hello." His voice came through low, cold, clearly annoyed at being disturbed.

Joy's heart slammed against her ribs. She lowered her voice deliberately, letting it shake, letting it sound close to tears.

"I'm pregnant."

A few seconds of silence.

Then a sneer.

Click.

The call ended.

The dial tone hit her like an open-handed slap.

Her eyes stung, tears rising again.

I don't want to do this. I really don't. Having my face ground into the dirt hurts too much.

But I need the money.

She squeezed her eyes shut, scrubbed her face hard, and hit redial.

This time he picked up fast, voice already sharp with fury.

"What is wrong with you? Who gave you this number?"

He'd mistaken her for some persistent stalker.

Joy had no room left to hesitate. She rushed the words out before he could hang up again.

"Nathaniel Cross. I'm pregnant. August third. The Meridian Grand Hotel, room 888."

His breathing stopped cold.

Dead silence crackled down the line.

Joy pulled the phone from her ear, checking still connected.

She took a breath, pulling together every last scrap of nerve she had, and spoke to the man who held her entire future in his hands.

"Nathaniel Cross. I'm carrying your child."

A long pause.

Then his voice came through, flat and unbothered, the click of a lighter audible behind it, followed by the slow exhale of smoke.

"Oh."

His tone held nothing but contempt.

"You say you're pregnant, so you're pregnant? You say it's mine, so it's mine?"

A beat. Then, colder.

"If you could get into my bed once, you could get into anyone's. Who knows how many men you've been with. Now you're looking for someone to pin a bastard on. Do you really think that highly of yourself or that little of my intelligence?"

Everything in Joy went white-hot with shame.

Her nails bit into her thigh through the fabric of her dress, hard enough to hurt.

She bit her lip, forcing the tears back.

"There's DNA testing."

"Don't fool yourself into thinking a bastard buys you a way into my family. You're not worth that." His voice stayed lazy, almost bored, and somehow that made it crueler.

Joy shook, tears falling freely now, hitting the concrete steps.

Shame crushed down over her like a physical weight, grinding what was left of her dignity into dust.

"I'll get rid of it."

She closed her eyes, tears sliding into her mouth, bitter and sick.

She swallowed the sob rising in her throat and forced out the last of what she'd come to say set aside every scrap of pride she had left.

"I'll have the procedure. But I want one point five million. For the trouble."

The words finally out, she let herself breathe.

Click, click, click

He'd already hung up.

Panic surged. "Hey! Hey! Nathaniel!"

Only her own voice echoed back down the empty hallway.

Buzz.

The phone lit up in her palm.

A text, short and clinical.

[Tomorrow, 8 AM. Westbrook Paternity Testing Center, south side of the city.]

The next morning, 7:40.

Joy stood outside the testing center, early.

She looked like an entirely different person.

A sleek black dress, tailored to perfection. Skin pale as porcelain, waist cinched narrow, features sharpened by the faintest hint of makeup striking, like a black rose blooming alone in morning mist.

Nothing like the secretary anyone at the office knew.

Eight o'clock, exactly.

A black Maybach rolled to the curb.

The door opened. Nathaniel stepped out.

Dressed down for once collar open two buttons, sleeves rolled to the forearm. Morning light traced the sharp lines of his face, cutting him into something almost unbearably handsome.

He looked up. His eyes landed on her, standing on the steps.

Nothing changed.

Disgust, plain and unmistakable, like the sight of her cost him something just by looking.

He walked straight past her, through the doors.

Blood draw. Samples collected.

Neither of them said a single word through the entire process.

The wait for results always drags.

Down the hall, in the waiting area, Nathaniel sat with his legs crossed, posture loose.

Irritated, he pulled a cigarette from his jacket, lit it with a sharp click, and let the smoke curl upward.

Pale blue haze blurred the hard, handsome lines of his face. He tipped his head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling, radiating something reckless and magnetic that kept everyone at a careful distance.

The smell of tobacco drifted down the hall.

The second it hit Joy, her body reacted violently.

"ugh"

Her stomach revolted, acid rising fast. Face drained of color, she clapped a hand over her mouth and bolted for the restroom at the far end of the hall, gripping the sink, retching hard enough that tears streamed down freely, like her whole body was trying to turn itself inside out.

Once it passed, she rinsed her mouth, studied her red-rimmed eyes in the mirror, and managed a bitter, hollow smile.

When she made her way back, legs unsteady, leaning on the wall for support

Nathaniel hadn't moved.

Two cigarette butts sat in the ashtray now.

The one between his fingers had burned down to a long curl of ash. He didn't so much as glance her way, utterly indifferent to what he'd just put her through.

The smell hit her again, and she gagged.

She gave up on the waiting area entirely, standing by the door instead until the technician arrived with the results only then did she follow him into the consultation room.

Nathaniel finally moved.

He stubbed out the cigarette slowly, rose to his feet, and the whole room seemed to tighten under the weight of his presence.

He reached out, took the report, fingers tensing slightly around the paper.

[Biological parentage supported 99.99% probability]