Chapter 3

The woman standing in my hallway was elegant in that intimidating way that screamed money and power. Her silver hair was perfectly styled, her clothes probably cost more than my semester's tuition, and her smile was as warm as a winter morning.

"Miss Ashborne? My name is Magdalene Voss. I believe you know my stepson, Orion."

My stomach dropped. Rio's stepmother was standing at my door, and she looked like she'd rather be anywhere else.

"I think we need to talk," she said, inviting herself into my apartment.

She didn't waste time with pleasantries. Within five minutes, she'd spread documents across my tiny kitchen table like she was laying out evidence at a trial.

"Your family destroyed mine twenty years ago," she said, her voice like ice. "And now you think you can just... what? Seduce my stepson?"

The papers showed medical partnership agreements, financial records, legal documents I couldn't fully understand. But the story they told was clear enough. Twenty years ago, my father and Rio's father had been business partners in some kind of medical venture. According to Magdalene, my dad had stolen proprietary research and used it to start his own practice, leaving the Stormridge family financially ruined.

"This is impossible," I said, staring at what looked like my father's signature on damning documents. "My dad would never—"

"Your father is a thief," Magdalene said simply. "And now his daughter is following in his footsteps, trying to use my stepson for his family connections."

"That's not what happened last night."

"Isn't it?" She gathered up the papers with practiced efficiency. "Rio doesn't know about your family's... history. But he will. Unless you do the right thing and walk away."

The threat was clear even though she never said it outright. I could stay with Rio and watch his career implode when the family feud became public, or I could leave and let him build the future he deserved.

"I'll give you time to think about it," Magdalene said at my door. "But not too much time."

When Rio called that afternoon, his voice bright with plans for dinner and a real date, I couldn't do it. I couldn't pretend nothing had changed. I couldn't risk destroying his dreams for my own selfish wants.

"I think last night was a mistake," I said, the words cutting my throat on the way out.

The silence stretched so long I thought he'd hung up.

"Zeph, if this is about something I said or did—"

"It's not about you. It's about me. I'm not ready for this."

Another lie. I was ready. I was falling for him already. But sometimes being ready doesn't matter when the world conspires against you.

"Okay," he said finally, and I could hear the hurt he was trying to hide. "If that's what you want."

"It is."

The biggest lie of all.

Six weeks later, I was throwing up in the same bathroom where I'd gotten ready for that party. At first, I thought it was stress. Job hunting was going even worse, and graduation was approaching fast.

But when I missed my period, I knew.

The pregnancy test confirmed what my body was already telling me. Two pink lines. Ten weeks after walking away from the only man I'd ever loved, I was carrying his baby. And he could never know.

Until now.

I should have expected Rio to go overboard with the arrangements.

When I woke up from surgery, I wasn't in a regular hospital room. I was in what looked like a luxury hotel suite with a view of downtown LA that probably cost more per night than I made in a month at the clinic.

"Where am I?" I asked the nurse who was checking my IV.

"Beverly Hills Maternity Center," she said with a bright smile. "You're in our platinum recovery suite. Dr. Stormridge made all the arrangements."

Of course he did. Because Rio couldn't just let me recover in a normal room like a normal person. He had to make sure I was surrounded by marble countertops and Egyptian cotton sheets, a constant reminder of the gap between our worlds.

My baby was in the NICU for observation, which the doctors said was standard for premature births. I'd only gotten to hold him for a few minutes before they whisked him away for tests and monitoring.

I was alone with my thoughts, which was dangerous territory.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw those green eyes staring back at me. My son's eyes. Rio's eyes. There was no denying the resemblance, no pretending this baby could belong to anyone else.

But I couldn't tell Rio the truth. Not when our families had this history. Not when being with me could ruin everything he'd worked for.

A soft knock interrupted my spiral of anxiety.

"Can I come in?" Rio's voice was careful, professional.

"It's your hospital," I said, which came out more bitter than I intended.