Chapter 4

The sound of his phone shattered the silence.

Dylan blinked, pulling himself from the spiral of thoughts that had haunted him since dawn. The bed beside him was empty, the faint dent on the pillow already fading, as if she’d never been there at all.

He rubbed a hand over his face before answering. “Yes, Claire?”

“Sir, Mrs. Frost has called the office three times this morning. She’s… not exactly pleased you’ve been in New York for four days without stopping by.”

He exhaled, tipping his head back. “Of course she’s not.”

“She’s expecting you today. Preferably before lunch.”

“Understood.” He ended the call and sat for a long moment, staring at the city sprawled beneath his window.

He dressed in silence, sliding back into the armor of his usual composure, then headed for the Frost estate hoping she'd used postpill like every other lady.

The mansion loomed like a relic of another century, white stone, tall windows, and the faint scent of roses trailing through the iron gates. By the time Dylan stepped out of the car, he could already see his mother’s silhouette at the top of the marble stairs, posture sharp as a blade.

“Four days,” she said before he even reached her. “Four days in New York and not a single call.”

Dylan almost smiled. “Good morning to you too, Mother.”

Her eyes softened for a heartbeat, but her voice remained cool. “You take after your father in the worst ways.” Then she sighed and brushed her hand over his arm, the affection beneath her irritation unmistakable. “You know how I worry.”

Inside, the estate was just as he remembered, immaculate, vast, and heavy with memory. Portraits lined the corridor, all the Frost men staring down with cold authority.

When they reached her study, she didn’t sit. “You remember what your father said before he passed?” she asked quietly.

Dylan nodded. “That Ezra isn’t to inherit Frost Holdings. Not after what he did.”

Her jaw tightened. “And yet your half-brother is set to marry in three months. Once he’s married, the board will have grounds to contest your father’s will. Ezra knows that. He’s provoking us.”

Dylan’s gaze darkened. “Then I’ll stop him.”

“You’ll do more than that.” She met his eyes, a flicker of pride and desperation mingling there. “You’ll marry before he does. Secure your claim. That was your father’s last wish.”

He fell silent. For a moment, all he heard was the ticking of the clock, the faint whisper of wind against the glass.

“Mother…” He exhaled, his voice lower. “You’ve done more for me than anyone ever has. I won’t let you down.”

She reached out, brushing an invisible speck from his shoulder, a gesture that was more affection than scolding this time. “I know you won’t.”

*****

The days bled into each other.

Morning and night no longer mattered, just the same four walls, and the same silence pressing down like a weight she couldn’t shake off.

Isla lay curled on her couch, a blanket tangled around her legs, eyes fixed blankly on the TV.

The sound of laughter from the sitcom barely registered.

Empty takeout boxes cluttered the coffee table beside unopened mail. Her once-perfect nails were chipped, and her hair hung loose, undone like everything else in her life.

She’d stopped answering calls, not that anyone was calling anyway.

The only number that used to matter now belonged to a man who’d ruined her and a company that no longer wanted her.

It was on one of those gray mornings, as she rummaged for leftover pizza, that a sharp pain cut through her abdomen.

At first, she thought it was stress or hunger. But when the nausea wouldn’t stop and her body refused food for days, she found herself sitting on the cold bed in a clinic, watching a doctor slide a folder shut with a sympathetic smile.

“Congratulations, Ms. Brown,” the doctor said softly. “You’re four weeks pregnant.”

The words hung in the air like a bad joke.

Isla blinked. “I’m what?”

“You’re pregnant,” the doctor repeated, gently. “And there’s something else you should know. Your test results show a uterine condition, so removing the baby could lead to severe complications. Possibly permanent infertility. I’m sorry.”

The world tilted.

The sound of her heartbeat drowned everything else.

Outside, she sat in her car long after the rain started.

Pregnant with no job, no husband, and no clue who the father really was except for a nameless stranger she barely remembered from a night blurred by heartbreak and alcohol.

She’d gone back to that hotel the next day, desperate, and trembling as she clutched the memory like a lifeline.

“There was a man,” she told the receptionist. “Tall, dark suit, he was here with me that night. Please, I just need to know his name.”

The woman behind the desk offered an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, ma’am. We don’t release guest information. Hotel policy.”

Isla’s shoulders slumped. “Please. I just…”

“I wish I could help,” the receptionist said gently. “But I can’t.”

That was the last time Isla stepped outside.

Weeks passed. Her compensation from the divorce had almost vanished, most of it lost to a scammer who promised her a new apartment.

Now she lived in a cramped studio, walls cracked, air thick with damp.

And still, she couldn’t bring herself to cry anymore.

One evening, wrapped in an oversized hoodie, she sank into her couch, ready to lose herself in another mindless drama.

Her phone buzzed.

The sound startled her as it had been silent for days.

She reached for it hesitantly.

One new email.

Subject: Revised Offer – Frost Holdings.

Her brows drew together. Frost Holdings? She remembered rejecting their offer months ago back when she still had a future, a plan, and a name that meant something.

She opened the message.

And as her eyes moved down the screen, her heart began to race.

We understand you previously declined our offer, but the position remains open. Considering your portfolio and experience, we’d like to extend a renewed offer with revised terms, including relocation bonuses and a private suite. If interested, you may begin immediately.

Sincerely,

HR Department, Frost Holdings.

For a long second, she simply stared.

Then she laughed, a broken, trembling sound that cracked into something like relief.

“Maybe the universe isn’t done with me yet,” she whispered.

She pressed a hand against her stomach, her laughter softening into something tender.

“For both of us,” she said quietly. “Maybe… we’ll be okay after all.”