All Chapters of The Baby Clause: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

The ceiling was unfamiliar.Smooth. Ivory. Too perfect.No cracks. No flickering water stains or angry ceiling fans groaning with age. Just silence; still and expensive, like even the air had been ironed.I blinked against the softness of the sheets, the crisp linen that smelled like it had never been used. My hand slipped against satin-trimmed covers. There was no dent beside me. No warmth. No sounds from the street.Not home.Not even close.The guest room was larger than my entire loft. Pale greys, soft creams, warm wood furniture arranged with surgical precision. Not a single scuff or sign of life. Not even a misplaced throw pillow.A hotel, I thought. A luxury suite designed to look lived-in, but the soul never caught up.My fingers curled under the blanket.I should’ve been relieved. Safe, even. No leaky faucets. No flickering lights. No counting pennies to buy prenatal vitamins.But the truth settled into my chest like lead.This wasn’t mine.And no matter how soft the sheets w

The call connected on the second ring.“Two days,” Rosa snapped before I even said hello. “Two entire days, Brie. Are you alive or did your billionaire captor shove you into one of those floor-to-ceiling smart fridges?”A laugh escaped me before I could stop it. “I’m alive. And no, no secret fridge prison. Yet.”“Damn,” she muttered. “So? Spill. What’s it like living inside one of those high-tech glass penthouses? Do the toilets talk?”I glanced around the sprawling guest suite, where even the closet doors opened with a whisper and the windows adjusted their tint with the light. “The shower plays music. The fridge tells you when your milk’s expired. The toilet hasn’t spoken yet, but I wouldn’t be surprised.”“God, you sound like you’re staying in a Bond villain’s safehouse.”I didn’t say anything.“Wait. You are, aren’t you?”“It’s not like that.”“Isn’t it?” she pushed gently.I sat down on the edge of the bed, curling one leg beneath me. “It’s...weird. Quiet. Controlled. Every corner

Damian’s POVThe city always looked cleaner at sunset. Like everything it touched, the steel, the glass, even the lies got a fresh coat of gold just before darkness reclaimed it.But not even that show of illusion could compete with the quiet shift in my chest when I read the line on my screen.Paternity confirmed. 99.98%.It wasn’t shock.I already knew.But confirmation had a way of steadying things. Grounding you in a reality that could no longer be denied or spun or ignored.I didn’t smile.Didn’t clench my fists either.For the first time in days, I didn’t feel unsettled.I leaned back in my chair, let the hum of the office settle around me. The city buzzed beyond the tinted glass, but inside, it was still. Focused. Controlled.Just the way I liked it.Cassian stepped in at six sharp with the final vendor reports. No unnecessary chatter. No probing glances. Just a quick hand-off and a nod before disappearing again.Smart man. Loyal, efficient, and most importantly, knows when to k

I didn’t expect to find him in the kitchen.Not in that crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms, collar casually open like he hadn’t just rewritten the terms of our entire arrangement the night before.He was by the coffee machine when I walked in, tall, calm, a quiet storm wrapped in expensive fabric. Focused on pouring a splash of cream into his mug, like it was just another Tuesday and not the morning after something had shifted irreversibly between us.Like he hadn’t handed me a kind of power I wasn’t sure what to do with.I hovered near the archway, unsure of what to say.His voice reached me before my thoughts could catch up. “You’re up.”I nodded slowly. “You’re still here.”“I live here.”“Technically.”He looked over his shoulder, one brow raised. “Still arguing semantics before breakfast. That’s bold.”I stepped into the kitchen, the hem of my robe whispering against bare legs as I moved toward the fridge. The cool air rushed over me when I opened it. I stared at a

The clink of fine china. The low hum of jazz. Laughter that floated like perfume; sweet, expensive, and never quite sincere.I stood at the edge of the Sterling estate’s garden, near a perfectly manicured hedge dotted with white blooms. Around me, guests mingled like practiced dancers, weaving between high tables draped in crisp linens, their conversations light and polished. A woman in emerald silk threw her head back in a laugh that didn’t quite touch her eyes. Another dabbed at the corner of her lips with a napkin embroidered with the Sterling crest.I held a glass of sparkling water that had long since gone flat.The dress I wore shimmered faintly in the afternoon sun, a powder blue number that hugged the curve of my growing bump just enough to remind me it was there. It had arrived in a sleek black garment bag that morning, courtesy of Cassian, along with a short note in crisp handwriting: “Damian said you might need something suitable. Hope this works.”It did. Technically. The