Page 136 of Claimed By The Other Brother

"Are you on birth control?"

I pause. "Yes. The pill."

"When was your last period?"

I try to remember. With everything that's happened—Miles, the scandal, the work—I can't recall. "I... I'm not sure. Maybe three or four weeks ago?"

She writes that down.

"We'll do a urine test and some bloodwork. Just to be safe."

I give the samples and return to the exam room to wait. Thirty minutes later, there's a knock on the door. A woman in her forties enters—Dr. Martinez, according to her badge.

"Miss Bradford." She sits down across from me, tablet in hand.

"Your urine came back. Do you know you're pregnant?"

The room tilts.

"What?"

"You're pregnant. Based on your symptoms, I'd estimate about six weeks."

I can't breathe.

"That's... that's not possible.I'm on the pill."

"Birth control pills are very effective, but they're not foolproof. Especially if doses are missed or taken inconsistently."

My mind races.Six weeks.Dax and I have been sleeping together for over two months... but I've been on the pill. I've been careful.

Except.

The move to New York. Changing doctors. The stress with Miles. The MediaLink crisis. I can't remember if I missed pills. Days blend together. I was so consumed with work, with everything happening, I might have—

Oh God.

"Miss Bradford?" Dr. Martinez's voice pulls me back.

"Are you alright?"

"I... I don't know what to do."

She hands me a tissue. I didn't realize I was crying.

"Take your time," she says gently.

"This is a lot to process. Do you have support? Someone you can talk to?"

I nod, but I'm lying. Because the person I'd normally turn to—the father—can't know about this. Not yet. Not when everything is already falling apart.

I go home in a daze. The pregnancy test results are in my purse. Physical proof of something I can't comprehend.

I'm pregnant.With Dax's baby. While my career is imploding. While photos of us are plastered across the internet. While I'm suspended from my job and being called back to Chicago to face an ethics board.

I sit on my couch and stare at nothing. My phone rings constantly. Jane. Sarah. Numbers I don't recognize—probably press. I ignore all of it.

Four hours later there's a knock on my door.