All Chapters of THE WRONG MAN'S BABY: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Ariana’s POVThe morning after the fight, I expect to wake to shouting. I expected Damien to be nagging as usual, with the way he acts you'll think he was the one pregnant. Such as drama queen.Instead, I wake to silence.The penthouse is too still, too polished, sunlight reflecting off glass and steel until it hurts my eyes. But on the nightstand is a bottle of water and a folded blanket I didn’t leave there.Damian.I should feel smothered. Instead, I feel… something I don’t want to name.In the kitchen, Damian is at war with eggs again.The smell is awful. The pan is blackened.I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You do realize food is supposed to be edible, right?”He doesn’t look up. “They’re fine.”“They’re charcoal, the eggs are extremely burnt."He turns the pan, scowling. “Do you want breakfast or not?”I smirk. “Not if it comes with a side of lung cancer.”For a second, his mouth twitches. Almost a smile. He hides it by dumping the eggs and pouring cereal instead.“

Damian’s POVThe penthouse is too quiet.Not the comforting kind of quiet—this one gnaws at me. Every breath, every tick of the clock feels louder than it should.Ariana sits on the couch, blanket around her shoulders, phone clutched tight in her hand like a weapon. Her eyes are red, swollen, but sharp enough to cut me in half.“You threatened her.”Her words slam into me like a verdict.“Yes.”Her throat works as she swallows. “Why?”I move closer, but not too close. “Because she made you bleed. And I don’t forgive people who draw blood from what’s mine.”Her chest rises and falls too fast. “Don’t....don’t say it like that. Like I’m property.”“You’re not property.” My voice lowers. “You’re everything that matters.”Her lips part, trembling. For a second, I think she’ll believe me. Then she shakes her head, bitter laughter spilling out.“You don’t get it, Damian. I’m ruining you. Every headline, every whisper, it’s because of me. Your company. Your family. They’ll never forgive this.

Ariana’s POVThe city beyond the penthouse windows feels colder than usual, its glittering skyline more like knives than stars. I curl on the couch, blanket wrapped around me, but the chill isn’t in the air.It’s in me.Today should have been perfect. The heartbeat. The little kicks I imagined. The word boy echoing in my head like music. It should have been joy.Instead, the moment was ripped apart by flashing cameras, cruel whispers, and Adrian’s smug voice claiming what he never wanted to begin with.And Damian, always Damian with that damn mask of his.He doesn’t break. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t show.Except… in the car, I thought I saw something. Just for a second, when he said the baby already owned him. His voice cracked, his eyes softened. Then it was gone, sealed away again like it had never happened.I close my eyes, trying to block it out. But the memory clings to me, louder than the noise outside.The floor creaks faintly. I open my eyes. Damian strides past, tie loosen

Ariana’s POVI should feel happy.That’s what everyone expects , the glowing mom-to-be, surrounded by pastel balloons and polite laughter. But as I stand in Damian’s sleek penthouse, staring at a table covered with baby-blue decorations and silver confetti that looks like stars, all I feel is dread.I keep telling myself it’s just nerves. That it’s normal to feel weird when people are celebrating something that still feels too fragile to touch. But deep down, I know the truth.Peace doesn’t last long in Damian’s world.“Stop frowning,” my best friend murmurs at my side. “You look like you’re about to face a firing squad, not cut a cake.”I force a weak smile. “Feels about the same.”She squeezes my arm. “It’s just us. No paparazzi, no drama. Damian swore, didn’t he?”My eyes flick across the room. Damian is standing near the bar, phone in hand, suit jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up like he’s hosting a board meeting instead of a baby shower. He looks up just then, as if sensing my g

Damian’s POVI’ve built my life on control. Discipline. Routine.I wake at six, work until midnight, and bury myself in contracts and lawsuits because it’s easier than thinking about the things I can’t control. Like my brother. Like my family’s shame.Like Ariana.But control has been slipping ever since she stormed into that restaurant, fire in her eyes, daring me to acknowledge her. And after that kiss — Christ — I haven’t been the same.Two nights, and I still feel her mouth against mine. The softness of it. The way she clutched at me like she hated me and wanted me at the same time.Two nights, and I still hear her voice whispering, We can’t.I’ve told myself I could ignore it. That I could lock it away like every other weakness in my life. But when it comes to her, discipline doesn’t mean a damn thing.This afternoon, I’m supposed to be reviewing a merger proposal. Instead, I find myself driving across the city, pulling up in front of her workplace — a converted warehouse turned