All Chapters of A Twist of Fate with the Callous Billionaire : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

—Ethan It wasn’t the glass of scotch that kept my hands shaking. I’d dealt with billion-dollar mergers, asset bleeding lawsuits, and boardroom coups where one wrong sentence could cost me everything. But none of those had ever made my chest feel this tight—like something inside me was fraying, pulling apart thread by thread. I couldn’t stop thinking about Sophia. The look in her eyes when she said, “You can't control my life.” God. It was like someone had pierced me a knife directly to my chest. I wasn’t even mad she stood up to me. I was… thrown. I’m not used to being defied—especially not like that. Especially not by someone who had every reason to play it safe. But she didn’t. She stood there, trembling, pregnant, fragile-looking as hell… and still refused to back down. Like some wild, cornered creature refusing to die quietly. And I don’t know what that did to me, but it did something. The contract was still untouched on my desk. Blank signature lines staring back at me like

—Sophia’s POV The steady hum of the coffee machine in the corner did absolutely nothing to calm the rising chaos in my chest. It had been days. Days since I last saw him, Ethan. Since I sat across from him in that cold, soul-sucking office while he tried to twist everything — bend me, break me — using his money like a leash I never asked for. I’ll take care of the baby, but only if you sign this contract.” His voice... God, his voice. Calm. Cold. Like none of this meant a damn thing to him. Like I was just some disposable piece in a game he’d already decided he’d win. I was pregnant. With his child. And I didn’t even know if I wanted to raise this baby with his name looming over it. His presence was a shadow I couldn’t outrun, and the more I tried, the more it clung. I used to be so sure of things — now, I didn’t even know who I was. Everything felt foggy. Distant. Like I was watching my life on a movie series, and no matter how loud I thought I screamed, no one could hear me,

—Sophia The sheets weren’t hospital sheets. They were softer. Smelled faintly like something expensive and clean… too clean. Not bleach. For a moment, It felt like a dream. I tried to sit up—but I lay down back immediately, and the dull ache in my head reminded me it wasn’t a dream. I had fainted. At the café. On the floor. Like I didn’t have a spine or sense or… a baby to protect. My hand moved instinctively to my belly. Still there. Still real. Still terrifying. The room was quiet. Spacious. Dim lighting. The curtains were open just enough to let the city peek through like a stranger pressing its face against glass. I wasn’t in my apartment. And I'm sure as hell I wasn’t in the hospital. My heart skipped. The door creaked. I didn’t even have the energy to flinch. Ethan walked in—no knock, no hesitation. Just all sharp edges and unreadable silence. “You’re awake.” I stared. “Where the hell am I?” “My house.” My throat burned. “I didn’t agree to this.” “You passed out.

—Sophia I’d never seen a kitchen like that. It wasn’t just big. It was excessive. Stark white marble counters, a black glass stove that looked like it belonged in a sci-fi movie, and more cupboards than any one person could possibly need. Every inch gleamed like it was polished just for display. And somehow… I felt like a mess. I stood barefoot, awkward, wearing one of the oversized T-shirts the housekeeper had laid out for me. The hem brushed my knees. The sleeves swallowed the whole of my hands. I felt like a kid pretending to be an adult again. A noise made me spin. Ethan. His footsteps were sharp, echoing off the tiles. Hair damp. White shirt tucked in. He always looked like a portrait, like someone carved from cool stone and expensive cologne. His gaze was barely on me as he poured water into the kettle. "You should be in bed, Sophia." “I slept all day,” I said, hugging the hem of the shirt. “I’m not made of glass.” “You’re not made of steel either.” His ton

—Sophia The silence in the car was thick—like cold fog wrapping around my throat. I sat stiffly, my hands resting on my stomach, my fingers unconsciously curling like I could protect the baby from whatever this… moment was. Ethan didn’t speak. His jaw was tight, like he was grinding his thoughts into powder. His fingers tapped the wheel continuously, not to a rhythm, just an impatient tick that told me this wasn’t just a drive. This was a mission. “DNA?” I finally asked, voice hoarse. His eyes stayed on the road. “We’ll get it done today.” I bit my lip. The back of my throat stung, but I wouldn’t cry. I wouldn’t give him that. Not again. He didn’t deserve to see how this burned. How much it broke me. “How long have you been planning this?” I asked, hating how soft I sounded. He didn’t hesitate. “Since the café. Since I found out.” So… from the start. The trust I thought might’ve been building? Gone. Like it never existed. “Right,” I murmured, turning my gaze to the window.