"What did you say?"
Lucas's voice was terrifyingly low, threaded with a tremor that raised goosebumps. He stood like a stone statue, eyes locked on my stomach.
Hawkins didn't pick up on the shift. He scribbled notes, muttering, "I said control her emotions. Five months—this isn't a joke. Are all expectant fathers this irresponsible these days? Pick your fights better."
He shook his head and left, closing the door behind him.
Just the two of us again. Lucas moved toward me slowly. Each step light, but landing on my raw nerves. He stopped in front of me, hand trembling as it reached for my stomach, then froze mid-air—like he might break a fragile dream.
"Five months?" He lifted his head slowly, eyes bloodshot and terrifying, voice shaking beyond recognition. "Ella, is that my child? Our child?"
I shut my eyes in despair. Two streams of tears slid down my cheeks. The secret was out. In that moment, all my defenses, all my plans, all my escape routes—turned to dust.
I couldn't meet Lucas's gaze. My heart was being torn apart.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Lucas
After dropping Ella off at her rented apartment, I stood downstairs, waiting for the light in her window to flick on. A cool breeze slipped down my collar, easing the heat buzzing through me. My fingers fumbled the lighter three times before it sparked. The smoke hit my lungs, nicotine swirling inside, that familiar dizziness finally taming the fire in my veins.
I pulled out my phone and dialed the number in Manhattan's Upper East Side.
It connected faster than I'd expected. Grandpa's old voice carried the irritation of a late-night disturbance.
"When's Ella coming back? Don't tell me you haven't fixed this!"
I exhaled a puff of smoke, playing it cool. "Ella's pregnant. Five months."
Dead silence on the other end. I could picture the old man—who'd ruled a business empire for decades—his pupils shrinking, beard bristling in a ridiculous grimace.
"Five months? You idiot, your wife's been pregnant for five months and you're just finding out?"
"I took her for a checkup tonight. I only heard the OB-GYN's diagnosis just now," I sighed, emotions tangled. "She hid it from me for five whole months. If I hadn't chased her to Rochester, I might not have known I was a dad until the kid was born."
Grandpa burst out laughing. "This is great news. The Rockefeller family finally has an heir. Good job, boy."
I didn't respond. I knew what was coming next. Sure enough, his tone turned serious.
"So when are you bringing your wife and kid home?" He lowered his voice. "You can hand off work to the managers, but you need to come back personally. The board's old fogeys need to see your face, hear your assurances, before they'll play ball with the pros. You get me?"
"I know." Grandpa had hammered this point a dozen times.
"When?" He gave me the ultimatum, impatience sharp.
"Soon as I can."
He went quiet for a couple of seconds.
"You have to come back and handle your duties," he commanded, no room for argument. "Your kid can't be born into a crumbling empire. Handing over a thriving business—that's the best gift a father can give."
I hung up and spotted the orange glow in Ella's window.
Stars dotted the rooftop sky. Rochester's were brighter, more plentiful than Manhattan's. I remembered dropping her off, how she sat in the passenger seat, hand propping her face, staring at the stars. Her light blue eyes reflected them, sparkling like diamonds.
Ella was my heaven. I didn't want to leave her for a single day.
But Grandpa was right. It was time to go back.
