Todos los capítulos de The Baby Clause: Capítulo 41 - Capítulo 50

Damian's POVCassian came back with three more weeks of Sabrina's calendar by Friday, and none of it made me feel better.I read through it twice in my study, door closed, the sound of Brielle humming something off-key from the kitchen down the hall carrying just far enough to remind me why I was doing this quietly instead of loudly. She'd asked me at breakfast if everything was all right. I'd told her I had a merger keeping me up at night. It wasn't technically a lie. It just wasn't the truth either."Two more sightings near the bakery in the month before the fire," Cassian said, standing at the edge of my desk like a man delivering a verdict he didn't enjoy reading aloud. "Once during business hours, parked across the street for eleven minutes. Once at night, no clear reason to be in that part of the city at all.""Eleven minutes.""Long enough to watch. Not long enough to be seen doing it, if you're careful.""She's always careful," I said. "It's the one trait I actually respect."

Damian's POVI was already awake when Cassian called at 6:14 in the morning, standing at the window of my own room with coffee I hadn't touched, the city still gray with early light. Down the hall, Brielle would still be asleep in the guest room, curled around a pillow the way she'd started doing more often lately, the door left slightly ajar out of some quiet, unspoken habit neither of us had named yet."I have ownership on the shell company," Cassian said, no preamble, the way he only ever skipped pleasantries when something had actually landed. "It traces back through two holding entities, but the final signature authority belongs to Sabrina Belcourt. Not her father. Her."I sat with that a moment, careful to keep my voice low even alone in my own room, an old habit now that the penthouse held someone worth being quiet for."You're certain.""Bank records don't lie, sir. Neither does a signature."I closed my eyes. Some part of me had been braced for this since the parking timestam

Damian's POVCassian laid the finished file on my desk Monday morning, thicker than I expected, every page tabbed and cross-referenced with the kind of precision that made men like me sleep easier at night."It's complete," he said. "Shell company ownership, the payment trail to the inspector, the parking timestamps, phone records placing her within two blocks of the bakery three separate times in the six weeks before the fire. It's airtight, sir. There's no version of this she talks her way out of."I flipped through it slowly, page by page, feeling something settle in my chest that wasn't quite satisfaction. Relief, maybe. Grief, in some strange, unexpected corner of it, for the version of my life where people I'd known for years turned out to be capable of this much damage over wounded pride."Good work," I said. "Truly.""Thank you, sir." He hesitated at the door, the way he did when something sat uneasy with him. "May I ask what happens now?"I closed the file, hand resting flat

Damian's POVBrielle gave me her answer three days later, over breakfast, calm in a way that told me she'd actually sat with the decision instead of letting anger make it for her."Don't send the file," she said, buttering toast like she was discussing the weather instead of a woman's entire future. "Not yet. If she so much as looks in my direction again, I want it in the DA's hands within the hour, no hesitation, no second chances. But for now, I want her gone. Quietly. Completely. I don't want a trial. I don't want reporters camped outside this building asking me how it feels to have almost died. I just want her out of my life.""That's your call," I said. "I'll make sure it holds.""I know you will." She glanced up, something steady in her eyes that hadn't been there the night I told her everything. "For what it's worth, I'm not doing this to protect her. I'm doing it to protect myself. I don't want to carry her name around in my head for the next year of hearings and headlines. I

Damian's POVI had never once, in thirty-four years, planned something purely because I wanted to see someone's face when they saw it.Mergers, acquisitions, board presentations, all of it planned for outcome, for leverage, for the particular satisfaction of watching a plan execute cleanly. This was different. This had no leverage in it at all, and that, more than anything, was what kept my hands unsteady while I checked the room for the third time in an hour.The rooftop conservatory belonged to Marcus Reyes, an old university acquaintance who'd built a quiet, well-regarded restaurant business out of glass-walled rooms and impossible views, the kind of place normally booked eight months out for weddings. He'd owed me a favor from a deal I'd steered his way years ago. I'd finally decided to collect it."Table's set," Marcus said, checking a small brass clock near the door. "String lights are on a timer, they'll come up slow around sunset, exactly like you asked. Kitchen's ready whenev