Chapter 7

The words hit him like a physical blow.

Dylan stumbled back from the door, his pulse roaring in his ears. He made it to the stairwell before his composure cracked, bracing himself against the cold concrete wall.

His mind spun, trying to grasp the implications. The timeline matched, but…

He pulled out his phone with trembling hands, scrolling through his calendar. The night he’d gone to that bar after a frustrating negotiation. The woman with tears streaming down her face.

It couldn’t be.

But even as he tried to deny it, certainty settled in his chest like lead.

He’d noticed the torn condom afterward, cursed himself for being careless, planned to tell her in the morning. But she’d vanished before dawn, leaving nothing but a note and the faint scent of her perfume on his sheets.

He’d told himself it would be fine. That the chances were slim. He thought she was smart enough to use a pill in the morning.

What was I thinking?

Dylan’s fist clenched against the wall. He’d been careful his entire life, calculated, controlled, never leaving anything to chance. One night, one moment of weakness, and now…

She’s carrying his child.

His child was growing inside a woman who didn’t even remember his face. A woman who’d been so broken that night that she’d called him by another man’s name. A woman who now worked for him, completely unaware that her boss was the stranger who she had slept…

“Sir?”

Dylan’s head snapped up. Marcus stood at the top of the stairs, concern etched across his face.

“The car is getting ticketed. We should move.”

Dylan nodded stiffly, forcing his legs to carry him down the stairs. His mind remained in chaos, questions piling on top of each other with dizzying speed.

Was she with someone else that night? Before me? After?

The memory surfaced with painful clarity, her confession at the bar, slurred but earnest. She’d just signed divorce papers. Caught her husband with another woman. She’d been destroyed, seeking oblivion in vodka and the comfort of a stranger.

And he’d given her more than comfort.

Could the baby be someone else’s?

Dylan’s jaw clenched. The timeline fit too perfectly. The doctor had been specific; eight weeks. And if Isla had been with someone else, why would she have said there was “no father to tell”? Why would she look so utterly alone?

The night air hit him like a slap as they exited the hospital. He slid into the back seat, barely registering Marcus’s worried glances in the rearview mirror.

“Sir, are you…”

“Drive.”

They pulled away from Mercy General, the building’s lights fading behind them. Dylan stared out the window, watching the city blur past.

I'm so close but she doesn't know it's me.

The thought circled his mind like a vulture. She had no idea. No memory of his face, his voice, or the way he’d held her while she fell apart. To her, he was just her cold and distant boss, Mr. Frost who demanded punctuality and perfection.

What am I supposed to do?

Tell her? Confess that I was the stranger from that night? That the “beautiful mistake” she barely remembered had resulted in a pregnancy that could kill her because the condom broke?

His hand instinctively moved to his pocket, fingers brushing his phone. He could makes some calls to get through to the hospital right now, speak to Dr. Chen and offer to pay for everything; prenatal care, delivery, whatever treatment she needed for her condition.

But that would raise questions. Why would Dylan Frost personally involve himself in his secretary’s medical care?

The phone in his hand suddenly vibrated.

‘Mother’

Dylan stared at the screen, his stomach dropping. For a moment, he considered letting it go to voicemail. He couldn’t handle his mother’s expectations right now, not with his entire world crumbling around him.

But Mrs Frost didn’t accept being ignored.

He answered. “Mother.”

“Dylan.” Her voice was crisp, refined, laced with the particular brand of disappointment only she could deliver. “I’ve been calling your office all evening. Evelyn said you left early.”

“I had personal business to attend to.”

“Personal business.” She repeated the words like they were foreign. “How convenient. Because I’ve been handling your actual business all day. The selection has been finalized and we have three candidates who ticked all the boxes.”

Dylan’s eyes closed. The wife selection. He’d almost forgotten.

“The dinner is scheduled for tomorrow evening at seven,” his mother continued. “The three of them are all from respectable families, and equally beautiful. I expect you to be on time, properly dressed, and actually engaged in the last process.”

“Mother, I…”

“This isn’t optional, Dylan.” Her voice hardened. “We've had this discussion before now. Your father’s will was explicit, and we're running out of time.”

That's true, his half brother was getting married in three months.

Dylan’s free hand pressed against his temple. He had three months to find a wife, secure his inheritance, and somehow navigate the mess he’d created with Isla.

“Are you even listening to me?” His mother’s sharp tone cut through his thoughts.

“Yes. Tomorrow at seven. I’ll be there.”

A pause. “You sound distracted.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re never fine when you say you’re fine.” She sighed, and for a moment, the steel in her voice softened. “Dylan, I know this feels transactional. But marriage doesn’t have to be loveless. Your father and I started with an arrangement, and we grew to care for each other. This is about legacy, yes, but it’s also about finding a partner who understands our world.”

Our world?

The world where marriages were business deals. Where love was optional but social standing was mandatory. Where a secretary pregnant with an illegitimate child would be a scandal that could destroy everything his father had built. That world?

“I understand,” Dylan said quietly.

“Good. I’ve had Evelyn send the candidate profiles to your email. Review them tonight. And Dylan?” Her voice dropped. “Try to keep an open mind. Some of these women are quite accomplished.”

The call ended.

Dylan let the phone fall to his lap, staring unseeing at the city lights streaming past.

“Sir?” Marcus’s voice was gentle. “Where to?”

Where to. As if there was anywhere he could go that would make this simpler.

“The office,” Dylan said finally. “I need to think.”