All Chapters of Falling For My Father's Best Friend : Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

DNA? His child! Was I even pregnant or just....hungover? I sat on the penthouse floor for hours after Lukas left-back against the wall, knees drawn up, staring at nothing. The city lights bled through the floor-to-ceiling windows in thin gold stripes across the carpet. My phone stayed silent. I didn't know what to say or do and my heart was aching. I could feel it beat in my stomach. Shaking, I opened Olga's number and texted her: "He wants a DNA test. He heard everything." No reply. I knew she could be busy since we were still at work. I tried to get up but I felt dizzy. One move and the floor would definitely kiss my face. Eventually I texted Lukas one line: "Can you get me the rest of the day off? Please." He replied in under thirty seconds: "Already done. Take care of yourself." No questions. No demands. Just that quiet, terrifying efficiency. For Pete's sake, he owns the hospital; I think. He could make them do it-they were so scared they made sure no one said anything about

2:34 a.m. TuesdayThe call with Isabella earlier had settled something in my chest. She'd sounded steadier when Olga finally reached her-tired, a little hoarse but good.She hadn't been the alcohol type as a couple of short could really switch her up.She'd promised she was fine, that Olga was hovering like a mother hen, that the "alcohol poisoning" story was mostly exaggeration now. I'd let myself believe it. Let the knot in my gut loosen.Now the house was silent except for the soft lap of water against the infinity edge of the pool. Moonlight sliced across the surface in silver ribbons. I floated on my back, arms wide, letting the cool water pull the last of the day's tension out of my shoulders. I even laughed to myself-quiet, private-remembering how breathless Olga had sounded on the phone, like she was trying to sell me the most elaborate lie of her life. Poor girl. She was terrified of me. Most people were.I turned my head slightly. Caught movement at the far end of the terr

**ISABELLA'S POV**Three days had passed since those two pink lines had stared back at me from the bathroom floor, mocking me with their undeniable reality. Three days of pretending that the world hadn't shifted six inches under my feet, leaving me feeling off-balance and disoriented.I was meticulously restocking the suture kits in bay 4 when the hairs on the back of my neck prickled, a clear indication that I was being watched. I didn't need to turn around to know who it was Joshua, always Joshua standing just outside the curtain line, arms folded, his eyes fixed on me as if I might vanish into thin air if he blinked. He'd been a constant presence every shift since I'd discovered I was pregnant a silent, permanent shadow.I glanced over my shoulder anyway, just to confirm my suspicions.He met my eyes for a fleeting moment, then quickly looked away, his gaze dropping to the floor as if he'd been caught stealing something.Wasn't his fault his boss's gone evil.I shoved the last pack

I exhaled through my nose, long and dramatic."I wasn't really going to kill myself. I was just... talking." I paused, finger tapping my chin like I was trying to remember a grocery list. "Okay, I can't remember the exact phrasing, but I meant the BABY. Weren't YOU the one who offered to PUNCH me in the stomach like few days ago?"Olga dropped onto the bed beside me. Shrugged. No apology in her posture, no softening. Just stubborn, crossed arms and that mulish look she gets when she's right and knows it.I kept going, softer now. "I know. I understand. But you don't get it. You don't get me."She watched. Quiet. Waiting."I'm not the kind of person who ever said 'I want a child.' Hell, I'm twenty-five with daddy issues and a mom who left before I could remember her face. But I want to give this one a better life. And about running..."I trailed off. Looked at my hands twisted in the hem of Mateo's oversized polo. The thought of telling Olga the full truth made my throat close. What if

The surgery had been long and meticulous-a laparoscopic cholecystectomy on a 52-year-old woman with acute inflammation and a few nasty adhesions. I'd scrubbed in as second assist: holding retractors steady for forty minutes straight until my shoulders screamed, suctioning bile when the gallbladder finally came free, passing instruments before anyone had to ask. Dr. Otto led with his usual calm precision; the resident (poor guy) kept fumbling the clips until Otto gently took over. By the end my gloves were slick, my back ached, and the patient's vitals were rock-solid. I stayed behind to help clean up-wiping down the table, bagging sharps, making sure the count was correct. The circulating nurse gave me a tired thumbs-up as I peeled off my gown and gloves. I felt wrung out, but in a good way. Like I'd done something solid with my hands.I was restocking the crash cart in the hallway when Dew appeared-teal scrubs, bright grin, carrying a chart like he'd just wandered up from peds for n