The exam room was dim and cold. The soft hum of machines beeped under sterile lights.
Sera lay back on the padded table, lifting her T-shirt mechanically as the nurse prepped the machine. Gel. Transducer. Monitors beeping.
"Try to relax," Eleanor said gently, adjusting the machine. "You're early, but we'll try to see what we can."
Relax, Sera thought bitterly, staring at the ceiling.
But then.. A soft, muffled thump.
She blinked. The monitor glowed. There it was. A tiny, fluttering dot in the center. So small. So delicate.
"That's the heartbeat," Dr. Eleanor murmured, her tone shifting to something reverent. "Just over six weeks. It's still early, but strong. Very strong."
Sera didn't breathe. She stared at that tiny flicker like it was unreal.
Like it was someone else's scan. Someone else's baby.
Except it wasn't. That flicker was inside her. It was hers. Her child. It was life.
Oh god. A life was blooming inside her.
Something raw and indescribable lodged in her throat. Tears burned at the corners of her eyes, blurring the screen but she blinked them back.
After throwing up her insides and hearing the thump of her baby's heartbeat, Sera wasn't in a place to complain.
Dr Eleanor's voice pulled her back from her thoughts. "I'm going to print this," the doctor said, offering her a tissue. "Would you like to show Mr. Ashford the scan, or should I?"
Sera wiped her eyes as she sat up. "I'll do it." The gel was still cold on her skin.
The first thought that hit her, slamming through layers of disbelief, was so simple it nearly undid her. A warmth she didn't expect swelled in her chest.
Sera was going to be a mother.
The realization still hadn't settled. It lingered like a song stuck in a loop at the back of her head. A life was growing inside her. Tiny. Unpredictable. Miraculous. And it had survived everything—her rage, her confusion, her hunger.
Oh god, she was hungry.
Dr. Eleanor had warned her. Low blood pressure, acid tearing at her stomach lining from nothing but coffee and stress, and still the baby was healthy, thriving. She wasn't sure if it was mercy or madness.
Evander had wasted no time dragging her to the hospital's top-floor cafeteria. "Sit," he had said, already ordering before she could argue.
Now, she stared down at the spread.
Two plates of grilled salmon with lemon herb butter. Roasted garlic mashed potatoes. Steamed broccoli and carrots. A quinoa salad that looked too fancy for a hospital. And a bowl of creamy mushroom soup. There were even oat biscuits stacked beside a tiny pot of honey.
Sera blinked. "Is this… for both of us?"
Evander didn't look up from his phone. "No. That's yours." Her stomach growled so loudly. Still, Sera narrowed her eyes. "And what's your order? Air and condescension?"
He didn't respond. Instead, a waiter placed his tray down—an espresso. Okay, maybe not just condescension.
A warm sigh left her lips involuntarily as Sera picked up her spoon and tasted the soup. It was good. Silky, rich and gentle. Every bite felt like her insides were being glued back together with butter and care.
Sera inhaled the food. Salmon flaked apart like butter in her mouth. The potatoes melted on her tongue. The vegetables crunched in the most satisfying way. For the first time in what felt like days, she felt human. Evander? Not so much.
She caught him flinching the moment she tore a biscuit with her hands, fingers glistening with honey. He winced when she slurped the soup too fast and accidentally let out a very human, very satisfied ugh.
When Sera looked up, he was wearing sunglasses indoors.
"Are you seriously?" she asked, bread halfway to her mouth. "Who puts on sunglasses while someone's eating?"
Without looking at her, Evander replied, "People with obsessive compulsive disorder."
"You have OCD?"
"I have boundaries. Watching you eat is like watching a raccoon go through someone's trash."
Sera smiled sweetly. "Glad I could ruin your lunch."
He didn't respond. Just kept his eyes behind his ridiculous, probably designer glasses and scrolled through his phone. Unbothered. Detached.
God, he was impossible.
But Sera didn't stop eating. She launched like a monster. No, like a pregnant monster. There was no shame left, not after everything. The only thing that mattered was the child inside her. And maybe, just maybe, she was starting to understand what being strong for someone else meant.
When Sera finally finished, right down to the last honey-drenched oat crumble, she leaned back with a soft sigh. Full. Grounded. Almost content.
Just as Sera leaned back, hands resting on her satisfied belly, an uninvited sound escaped her lips—a sharp burp, laced with salmon, soup and unapologetic relief.
She froze.
Evander's expression shifted instantly. His nose crinkled like someone had wafted a dumpster under it. He didn't say anything, but his disgust was loud.
Sera glanced at him, cheeks-tinged red. "That was… involuntary."
He looked at her like she'd just violated the Geneva Convention. "That was a war crime."
She blinked, then pulled a smirk. "You've seen me vomit, cry, and almost pass out today. I think we're past the point of being disgusted by each other."
Evander muttered under his breath, "I wasn't disgusted until now."
Sera burst into an unapologetic laugh. "Well, get used to it. I'm pregnant."
She had barely wiped the last trace of lunch from her lips, maybe more like devoured her plate like a starved werewolf—when he slid the folder across the table toward her.
No warning. Just that perfect, cold-blooded corporate efficiency he wore like a suit.
A thick folder landed on the table with a gentle thud that sounded louder in her ears than it should have. Not again.
Sera stared at it. "What is this?"
Evander removed his sunglasses, folding them neatly. "A contract."
Her pulse kicked. "No preamble?" she asked, arms crossing instinctively. "No fake charm today?"
He didn't blink. "Since all your tactics have failed, you have no other choice than to sign this." There it was. The power. The shift. The Evander Ashford she knew and loathed.
Sera didn't touch the folder. Didn't even look at the first page. She just stared at him.
Evander flipped to a page midway, almost casually. Like it was just paperwork. Like this wasn't her life. "Clause 7.7," he declared as if reading from a grocery list. "You might want to pay attention to this one."
Her eyebrows knitted as she leaned forward, still chewing the inside of her cheek from the absurdly big meal he'd ordered. Her stomach was full, warm, and now... painfully tense.
Evander read it aloud, "Clause 7.7 – By being pregnant, she has implicitly agreed to all terms of the contract even without physically signing it. In the event the gestational parent chooses to terminate the pregnancy or fails to comply with medical protocol outlined by the Bionex Fertility Center, the Client will be subject to breach of contract penalties, inclusive of legal action, medical liability, and immediate cessation of compensation.
Sera blinked.
And then again. A short, dry laugh escaped her lips before she could stop it.
"You've got to be kidding me..." she whispered, her voice barely audible over the faint clatter of cutlery and hospital café chatter.
But the words were right there, printed in black and white. Legal. Binding. Ruthless.
Sera reached across and snatched the folder from his hands, flipping back to the page and rereading it herself. Her eyes scanned line after line of tight legalese. The pages were typed in a font that felt like it knew too much. Glossy, too formal, intimidating, honestly.
Once.
Twice.
Sera rolled her eyes. Of course, his contracts smell like cologne and capitalism. Her heart gave a sick thud. Her brain was already spiraling. Clause 7.7 wasn't just an insurance policy–it was a leash. A very shiny, very legal, very cold-blooded leash.
Sera leaned back, clutching the paper like it might start speaking in tongues.
So that was the game.
Not just a business transaction. Not just a luxury babysitting gig.
Control. Total unapologetic legalized control.
And what if—what if something went wrong? What if she couldn't carry to term? What if her health suffered? What if... she didn't want this?
Sera exhaled slowly, a war raging behind her eyes. Her stomach fluttered again. Not the cute kind—the nervous, nauseous kind. She was very aware now, of her body. Her belly. The knowledge that someone else was in there.
She had been seconds away from thanking him. She'd wanted to show him the printout—that soft gray-and-white blur of life blooming inside her. The tiny flicker of a heartbeat that had stunned her. She'd almost offered it to him. Like a peace treaty. But now?
Now, Evander didn't deserve to see that child. He didn't deserve to know what a miracle it was. And he sure as hell didn't deserve a thank-you for a meal.
She clutched the contract like it might burn a hole through her skin. Her jaw tightened. "Is this where you threaten to sue me with your marble-floored army of lawyers?"
"You're already bound to it," he replied smoothly, like it was just another line on another deal.
"Fuck you!" Sera cursed loudly, not even looking at him as she shoved her chair back. She slammed the file shut and stood up so fast the chair made a noise that turned heads.