CHAPTER THREE

#Dorothy’s POV#

“Your cousin?” I say, blinking. “Wait. You have a cousin?!”

He doesn’t even glance at me. He’s by the bar, pouring himself a glass of something dark. Neat. No ice. Typical Joel.

“Yes. His name’s Rico.”

He says it like it’s nothing. Like he’s not talking about inviting someone else’s DNA into my womb.

His hand swirls the glass lazily as he sips. Mine clenches into a fist.

Rico. His cousin. This man has a cousin. That he’s never once mentioned. Not in two whole years of this silent, suffocating “arrangement” he calls a marriage. I haven’t met a single member of Joel’s family, not even at the courthouse. Not even when the documents were signed. Not even when my parents handed me off like livestock.

And now… a cousin.

Coming to get me pregnant.

I turn away from him before I do something I’ll regret.

I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours trying to breathe past the lump in my throat. He hasn’t even asked when my cancer treatment starts. Hasn’t spoken to the oncologist again. No calls. No scheduling. No mention of me. But the moment he found out he was the problem—that his sperm was the issue? His ego cracked so hard he might as well be piecing it back together with my uterus.

What a joke.

What a sick, selfish joke.

And now he’s calling in family?

I spend most of the morning avoiding him. I walk the wide, echoey halls of this damn villa in New Jersey like I’m the ghost haunting it. Every surface is topaz or glass. Everything expensive. But the cold sneaks through my skin anyway. Money doesn’t hold warmth.

I find a room upstairs. Sit on the edge of the bed. Watch the clouds move.

Time drags until noon. Then faster. Then the doorbell rings.

Of course, it’s him.

Rico arrives that same afternoon.

The private gate swings open, and a matte black sports car rolls through like it owns the place. When he steps out, it’s obvious immediately—he’s not what I expected. He’s taller than Joel. Leaner. Tattoos inked up one arm. A smirk that’s more habit than expression. His black hoodie is faded, like he slept in it. His jeans are torn. And yet, he carries himself like he’s the one that built this villa with his own hands.

Joel greets him at the door with all the enthusiasm of a war veteran re-meeting an enemy.

“Thanks for coming,” Joel says stiffly.

Rico eyes him. “Didn’t exactly have a choice, did I?”

The air between them is already thick. Bitter.

It's obvious they don't like each other.

“So, I've been brought back here to be a… breeder? That's expensive.”

Joel doesn’t flinch. “You know what my father’s will states.”

Rico snorts. “Of course. I’ve never heard the end of it. The share left for his ‘irresponsible brother and his kids’? Zero. Nada. Zilch.”

Joel steps aside. “Well. You’re needed.”

Rico walks in like he’s walking into a museum he’s not allowed to touch. His fingers brush the gold railing. His eyes scan the chandeliers like they offend him.

“Even in death, he finds a way to exploit us…” Rico mutters.

Joel’s voice hardens. “You owe him, Rico. Like you owe all of us.”

Rico pauses. Turns to look at him.

“Of course. Of course I fucking know that. You also don’t let me hear the end of that one either.”

Joel doesn’t reply. Just tilts his chin up, smug.

“Even without me reminding you every other day,” he says, “that rat nest you bunk in—your filthy apartment in Atlanta—should be a good enough reminder.”

Rico’s jaw tenses. His eyes darken.

Then, he smiles.

Fake. Wide. Teeth flashing.

“At least I’m free…”

Joel chuckles coldly. “Freedom without wealth is slavery.”

I finally clear my throat. My voice distills their tension.

“Please, can we focus on why we’re here?”

They both turn to look at me.

And for the first time, Rico sees me properly.

He blinks. Then raises an eyebrow like he wasn’t expecting me to speak.

Joel doesn’t bother introducing us. Of course he doesn’t.

Instead, he dives right in. “If you’re able to give us an heir, I’ll clear all the charges. Unfreeze your bank accounts.”

My head snaps toward him.

I didn’t know about that part. So that’s what he’s holding over Rico?

Rico scoffs. “I don’t fucking need you guys’ blood money. I just need my name cleared.”

“Deal.” Joel steps forward. Extends an arm like he’s offering a handshake instead of a bribe.

Rico stares at it. Then at Joel.

“You’re the desperate one who’s run out of sperm, and yet you dare insult me?” He lets out a low laugh. “Classic Joel.”

He slaps Joel’s hand away, hard.

Then turns and walks deeper into the villa, eyes wandering across every ridiculous detail with a kind of childish marvel. Like a kid seeing Disneyland for the first time, but knowing he doesn’t belong.

Joel clenches his jaw.

Starts to step after him.

But I grab his arm.

Tight.

“Let it go,” I whisper.

He looks at me. I look at him.

We both know this whole thing is disgusting.

But neither of us says it out loud.