All Chapters of HIS BY MISTAKE : Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

“You don’t get to walk away from this, Ines.” My voice bounced off the hallway walls, sharper than I meant it to be. I’d caught up to her outside the office, past the reception desk, past a nurse who looked between us like she was deciding whether to intervene. Ines stopped. Not because I’d asked. Because there was nowhere left to go without shoving past me. “Noelle—” “No.” I stepped in front of her so she couldn’t sidestep me again. “You don’t get to say ‘recognizable foundation’ and then just walk. You don’t get to make calls first. I’ve been sitting in that room for twenty minutes finding out my husband isn’t the father of my own baby, and you are going to tell me whose baby I’m carrying right now.” Her jaw tightened. For a second I thought she’d fight me on it, pull rank, or hide behind patient confidentiality, whatever doctors hid behind when the truth was too big to hand over standing up. Instead, she glanced past me, down the hallway, like she needed to make sure no one

I did my best to look presentable and not like I had been crying all day in my room The address Ines sent wasn’t a restaurant or an office. It was a private floor of a building downtown, the kind with a separate elevator bank and a keycard reader instead of a lobby directory. A woman was waiting for me when the elevator opened, mid-thirties, I think, composed in the specific way people are when discretion is part of their job description. “Ms. Ferro. Thank you for coming on short notice. Mr. Reyes is just through here.” I didn’t remember agreeing to give her my name or to be thanked for anything. But I kept that thought to myself and I followed her down a hallway lined with windows overlooking a city I suddenly felt very small in. She stopped at a wide double door, knocking once. ‘Sir, Ms. Ferro is here,’ she announced, before giving me a curt smile and leaving. My hands shook as I reached for the door handle, realizing that behind this door is the father of my child. He was sta

I texted him my address and within an hour a car was parked outside my door. The car Dorian sent was quiet in a way that made my thoughts louder. No music, no small talk from the driver, just the hum of tires on the highway and my own reflection in the window, looking like someone I didn’t fully recognize yet. I hadn’t packed much. A duffel bag with clothes I grabbed without really looking at them, my laptop, some of my documents and the folder Ines had given me with the clinic’s information, still unopened. Everything else I owned was still sitting in a house that didn’t feel like mine anymore. After a long drive we reached a gate that opened before the car even slowed down, like someone had been watching for us. The driveway passed a stretch of trees, and then the house came into view, and I understood for the first time that “house” was the wrong word for it. It was enormous. Modern, all glass and pale stone, lit from the inside in a way that made it look like it was glowin

I didn’t see Dorian again before I left for the hospital. Marta found me in the guest wing an hour after breakfast, mentioning that a car was ready whenever I needed it, that Mr. Reyes had arranged it the night before, before any of what happened in the kitchen. I didn’t know if that made it feel more thoughtful or less, a kindness planned in advance instead of one that came from anything he actually felt in the moment. I decided not to examine that thought too closely. There was too much in my head at the moment. The drive back to the clinic felt different than it had two nights ago, less like walking toward the end of something and more like walking toward an answer I still didn’t fully have. My hand kept finding my stomach without permission the whole way there, like some part of me needed the reminder that this was real, that all of it, the mistake, the house, the man who apparently couldn’t tell the difference between duty and desire, had led back here, to this baby, to

Dorian explained what I knew was coming. He was a billionaire with many things to his name, of course people would meddle in his life. I’ve seen these cases before, plus it would be better if we write our story than the reporters forming crazy stories. I sighed “But even if we do show publicly, how do we keep it up, eventually the baby bump will show and they’ll make stories of it” He nodded. “I’ll handle that part. I’d prefer to keep my family life private, but I understand there’s a difference between private and hidden. Hidden is what gets you caught off guard. Private is something you control on your own terms.” “And what does ‘showing publicly’ actually look like?” I asked. “Dinners? Events? Do I have to smile for the cameras and pretend I know what I’m doing?” “Nothing you’re not comfortable with.” He leaned against the edge of the desk, arms crossed loosely. “A few appearances, enough that if anyone does dig, there’s already a story instead of a mystery for them to in