She chuckled. “That’s rich, considering where we work.”
I didn’t answer, because the truth was, I had a reason.
A three-month-old baby boy... with his nose.
Chapter twelve
"Merge"
Isat in bed, the phone screen lighting up for the third time. My father’s name flashed across the screen like a threat… one I kept choosing to ignore.
I didn’t answer… I couldn’t.
It had been six weeks since I stormed out of that doctor’s office after learning Zonnique couldn’t carry my child.
Six long, quiet, pride-eating weeks, and I still hadn’t come up with a solution.
Every option felt insulting in its own way.
A surrogate?
That was practically marrying a stranger.
Sleep with some random woman and hope for the best?
Worse.
That child would still come from somebody I didn’t know… somebody who meant nothing to me beyond biology.
Adopt?
My father would laugh me straight out the Belvior bloodline meeting and probably disown me before dessert was served.
I rubbed my temple and exhaled heavily, eyes bloodshot from another night of drinking. My once razor-sharp discipline had dulled, worn down by pressure, expectation, and the growing realization that time was no longer on my side. My liquor shelf was half-empty, and so was my patience for myself, life, and hope.
I hadn’t spoken to Zonnique since the day she called and told me the procedure hadn’t worked. I cut her off immediately afterward.
No explanation.
No room for guilt, sympathy, or apologies.
At the time, hearing her voice felt like pouring salt into an already open wound.
In my mind, the throne was slipping further away by the day.
My fingers clenched the edge of the comforter.
Just then, my phone buzzed again.
Unknown number that time.
I frowned at the screen and ignored it, assuming my father had switched phones to get around my silence.
A second call came immediately after.
I ignored that one too.
Then a third, relentless.
