I slammed the door in his face.

My hands shook as I leaned against it, heart hammering. How did he know? I'd been so careful. Used my maiden name at the doctor's office, paid cash for everything, and avoided anywhere he might see me.

"Nadia, open the door." Julian's voice was calm, controlled. The same tone he used in board meetings.

"Go away."

"We need to talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about." I pressed my hand to my stomach, feeling the baby kick. She always kicked when I was stressed, like she could sense my anxiety. "The divorce is almost final. You made it very clear you wanted nothing to do with me."

"That was before I knew you were carrying my child."

Of course. The baby changed everything for him, didn't it? Not because he cared about being a father, but because Julian Ashford never left loose ends. A child was a liability, something that needed to be managed, controlled.

"Please," he said, and the word sounded foreign in his mouth. Julian didn't say please. "Just give me five minutes."

I closed my eyes. I could call the police and have him removed. But that would only delay the inevitable. He knew now, and he wouldn't stop until he got what he wanted. He never did.

I opened the door.

He stood in my tiny hallway, looking completely out of place in his three-piece suit. His eyes went immediately to my stomach, and something flickered across his face. Shock, maybe. Or calculation.

"Come in," I said, stepping back. "But make it quick. I have a doctor's appointment in an hour."

He followed me into the apartment, and I watched him take in the space. The cramped living room with furniture from IKEA, the kitchenette barely big enough for one person, the single window overlooking a brick wall. This was my home now, and I wasn't ashamed of it.

"When's the due date?" he asked.

"March fifteenth. Eight weeks." I sat in the armchair, the only comfortable spot in the apartment. I wasn't offering him anything. Not tea, not a seat, not courtesy.

Julian remained standing. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why would I?" The question came out harder than I intended. "You signed our divorce papers during a conference call, Julian. You couldn't even put down your phone long enough to end our marriage. What exactly did you think would happen if I told you I was pregnant?"

"I had a right to know."

"You had a right to be a husband first." I felt tears threaten and blinked them away. I'd cried enough over Julian Ashford. "You don't get to show up now and demand rights. Not after everything."

He was silent for a moment, and I could see him thinking, strategizing. This was what he did best. Find the angle, exploit the weakness, win.

"What do you want?" he finally asked.

"I want you to leave."

"I mean long-term. Child support? Medical expenses covered? I'll set up a trust fund, ensure the child has everything."

"I don't want your money." The same words I'd said eight months ago. "I have a job. I can take care of my baby."

"Our baby," he corrected. "Legally, this child is mine too."

There it was. The real Julian, emerging from behind the careful facade. Everything was about legal rights, ownership, and control.

"Is that why you're here?" I asked. "You want to claim ownership of another asset?"

His jaw tightened. "That's not fair."

"Fair?" I laughed. "You want to talk about fair? I spent six years trying to build a life with you. I cooked dinners you never ate. I planned trips you never took. I tried so hard to matter to you, Julian, and you couldn't even pretend to care. So no, I don't think fair is a word you get to use."

"I know I wasn't a good husband."

"You weren't a husband at all. You were a stranger who occasionally slept in the same house." I stood, my anger giving me strength. "And now you want to be what? A father? You can't even commit to a dinner reservation."

"My grandmother died," he said abruptly.

The change in topic threw me. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"She left me nothing." His voice was flat. "The controlling shares of Ashford Industries go to my firstborn child. Not to me. To our baby."

And there it was. The real reason for his visit.

"So that's what this is about," I said quietly. "The company."

"It's more complicated than that."

"No, it's really not." I felt something break inside me, the last small hope I'd been carrying without realizing it. The hope that maybe, somehow, he was here because he wanted to be a father. Because he cared. "You're here because of business. Just like our marriage was business. Just like everything with you is always about business."

"Nadia."

"How much is it worth?" I interrupted. "The company. If our baby inherits controlling shares, what's the dollar amount? Because I want to know exactly how much my child is worth to you."

"That's not what this is about."

"Then what is it about, Julian? Tell me." I stepped closer to him, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes. "Tell me one reason you're here that isn't about money or power or control."

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Couldn't find the words because they didn't exist.

"That's what I thought," I said. "Get out."

"I want shared custody," he said instead. "Fifty-fifty. And I want a paternity test to make it official."

"Absolutely not."

"Then I'll file for it. My lawyers can have papers drawn up by tomorrow." His voice went cold, the businessman returning. "You can fight it, but you'll lose. I have resources you can't match. I'll bury you in legal fees until you have nothing left."

I stared at him, this man I'd married, and felt nothing but emptiness.

"Is that a threat?" I asked.

"It's a fact." He pulled out a business card and set it on my coffee table. "Call me when you're ready to be reasonable. We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Nadia. Your choice."

He walked to the door, then paused.

"For what it's worth," he said without turning around, "I am sorry. For all of it."

Marcus was waiting in my office when I returned from Brooklyn.

"Heard about the baby," he said, feet propped on my desk like he already owned it. "Congratulations, cousin. Didn't think you had it in you."

I walked past him to the bar cart, poured myself two fingers of scotch. It was barely noon, but I needed something to wash away the look on Nadia's face when I'd threatened her with lawyers.

"Get your feet off my desk."

Marcus laughed but complied. "Touchy. I'm just here to offer my support during this difficult time. Grandmother's death must be hard on you."

"Cut the act. What do you want?"

"Just checking in on family." He stood, straightening his tie. "Making sure you understand the situation. That baby needs to be born within the Ashford family. Legitimate. Legal. No complications."

"I'm aware."

"Are you?" Marcus moved closer, his smile sharp. "Because from what I hear, your ex-wife hates your guts. She's not going to make this easy. And if that baby is born after your divorce is final, if there's any question about custody or legitimacy, the board won't accept it. Too messy. Too risky."

"The board answers to the majority shareholder," I said.

"Which will be me in four months if you can't produce an heir." He checked his watch, mimicking my own nervous habit. "Clock's ticking, Julian. Better figure out how to win back a wife you never wanted in the first place."

He left, and I drained my scotch in one swallow.

My phone buzzed. Mitchell.

"She's not going to agree to shared custody," I said before he could speak.

"Then we file anyway. Establish paternity, push for court-ordered visitation. Once the baby is born-"

"She'll fight me on everything." I set down my glass, staring at the city below. "And she should. I was a terrible husband."

Silence on the other end. Mitchell wasn't paid to comment on my personal failures.

"There's another option," he finally said. "Reconciliation. If you can convince her to give the marriage another chance, the inheritance is clean. The baby is born legitimate, you maintain control, everyone wins."

"Except Nadia."

"She gets financial security. A father for her child. The Ashford name. That's nothing."

It was nothing. Nothing compared to what I'd put her through. But Marcus was right about one thing-the clock was ticking. In eight weeks, that baby would be born. In four months, I'd lose everything if I couldn't prove legal parentage and custody.

"Set up a meeting with the board," I said. "I need to know exactly what they'll accept."

I hung up and pulled out my laptop, searching for something I should have looked for years ago. Nadia Laurent. My wife. The woman I'd married and never bothered to know.

Her social media was sparse. A few photos from charity events, always smiling that polite smile that never reached her eyes. I scrolled back further, before our marriage. There she was laughing with friends, paint splattered on her face at some art gallery. Another photo of her covered in flour, baking with an older woman who must have been her mother.

She looked happy. Alive.

I kept scrolling. Found her college thesis posted on an academic site. "The Ethics of Transactional Relationships in Modern Society." I clicked it open, skimming the abstract. It was about arranged marriages, business partnerships disguised as romance, the human cost of treating people like assets.

She'd written it the year before we got married.

She'd known exactly what our marriage would be, and she'd married me anyway. Because her father was dying and needed the money. Because she'd sacrificed her own happiness for family.

Just like I was asking her to do again.

My phone rang. Unknown number.

"Mr. Ashford?" A woman's voice, professional. "This is Dr. Sarah Chen from Brooklyn Methodist. I'm Nadia Laurent's OB-GYN."

My pulse quickened. "Is she alright? The baby."

"They're both fine. But Ms. Laurent listed you as the father on her medical forms, and I'm calling to inform you that she's been scheduled for an emergency appointment tomorrow morning. There's been some elevated blood pressure readings that we need to monitor."

"What does that mean?"

"It could be nothing, or it could be early signs of preeclampsia. We're being cautious given that she's in her third trimester." Dr. Chen paused. "She mentioned you two are separated. I'm calling because if this develops into a serious condition, you should be prepared. Preeclampsia can require early delivery."

Early delivery. The baby is coming sooner than expected.

"What time is the appointment?" I asked.

"Nine AM. Mr. Ashford, I should tell you, Ms. Laurent specifically asked me not to call you. But as the listed father, you have a right to medical information. I thought you should know."

She hung up, and I sat frozen. Nadia was sick, possibly seriously, and she didn't want me to know. Didn't want my help. Would rather risk her health than deal with me.

I looked at the business card I'd left on her coffee table, remembering the threat I'd made. I'll bury you in legal fees.

What kind of man threatens a pregnant woman?

The kind of man who loses everything, apparently.

I grabbed my keys and headed for the elevator. My assistant called after me, something about a meeting with the Tokyo investors, but I ignored her. For once, the company could wait.

I drove back to Brooklyn, rehearsing what I'd say. An apology, maybe. An offer to help with medical bills. Something that didn't make me sound like a complete monster.

But when I got to her building, I sat in my car for an hour, staring at her window. What right did I have to show up again? To demand entry into a life I'd rejected?

My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.

Stop sitting outside my building. You're scaring my neighbors.

I looked up. Nadia stood at her window, phone in hand, watching me.

I got out of the car.

She met me at the door, arms crossed over her stomach. "What now, Julian?"

"Your doctor called me," I said. "About your blood pressure."

Her face went pale. "She had no right."

"I'm listed as the father. She had every right." I took a breath. "Let me come to the appointment tomorrow. Please. Not as your husband or your enemy. Just as someone who wants to make sure you're both okay."

"Why should I trust you?"

"You shouldn't," I admitted. "I haven't given you any reason to. But I'm asking anyway."

She studied my face for a long moment. "One appointment. You sit quietly, you don't make demands, and you leave when I ask you to. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

She started to close the door, then stopped. "Julian? Why does your grandmother's will matter so much? You're already rich. Already powerful. Why do you need the company?"

I could have lied. Should have lied. But something about the way she looked at me, tired and pregnant and still somehow stronger than I'd ever been, made me tell the truth.

"Because it's all I have," I said. "And without it, I'm nothing."

Her expression softened, just slightly. "That's the saddest thing I've ever heard."

The waiting room was too bright, too cheerful, with its pastel walls and parenting magazines. I sat with my hands folded over my stomach, trying to ignore Julian sitting beside me in a chair clearly too small for his frame.

He'd arrived exactly on time, carrying two coffee cups.

"Decaf," he'd said, offering me one. "With cream, no sugar. That's how you take it, right?"

I'd stared at him, surprised he remembered. Then I realized he probably didn't remember; he'd probably asked his assistant to find out.

"I can't have coffee," I'd said. "Caffeine restrictions."

He'd looked genuinely confused. "But you're holding a cup from the coffee shop downstairs yesterday when I, " He stopped. "You were watching me from the window. You had coffee."

"It was hot chocolate." I'd taken the cup anyway because it was warm and my hands were cold. "But thank you."

Now we sat in silence while other pregnant women came and went with their partners, their mothers, their friends. Support systems I didn't have anymore. My mother was dead. My father was dead. My friends from before the marriage had slowly drifted away when I became Mrs. Julian Ashford, too busy with charity galas and society expectations to maintain real relationships.

"Nadia Laurent?" A nurse appeared in the doorway.

I stood, and Julian stood with me.

"Just wait here," I said.

"I want to come in."

"Julian,"

"Please." That word again, foreign in his mouth. "I won't say anything. I just want to hear the heartbeat."

I looked at his face and saw something I didn't recognize. Vulnerability, maybe. Or fear. It made him look younger, less like the corporate titan and more like the man I'd married six years ago, when I'd still believed we might find a way to be happy.

"Fine," I said. "But you sit in the corner and stay quiet."

Dr. Chen's office was small and warm, with ultrasound images of babies covering one wall. She smiled when she saw Julian, then looked at me for confirmation. I nodded.

"Let's check that blood pressure first," she said, wrapping the cuff around my arm.

I watched the numbers climb. One-forty over ninety-five. Dr. Chen's smile faded.

"Still elevated," she said. "Any headaches? Vision changes? Swelling in your hands or feet?"

"Some swelling," I admitted. "And headaches, but I thought that was normal."

"It can be, but combined with the blood pressure, I'm concerned." She made notes in my chart. "Let's do an ultrasound, check on the baby, and then we'll talk about next steps."

She squeezed gel on my stomach, and I heard Julian shift in his chair behind me. The ultrasound wand pressed against my skin, and suddenly the room filled with the sound of a heartbeat. Fast, strong, steady.

"There she is," Dr. Chen said, pointing to the screen. "Good strong heartbeat. Movement looks excellent. Weight is right on track."

"She?" Julian's voice was rough.

I'd forgotten he didn't know. "Yes," I said. "It's a girl."

The room went silent except for that heartbeat. I couldn't see Julian's face; I didn't want to. This wasn't supposed to be a moment we shared. This was mine. My daughter. My future.

"Everything looks good with the baby," Dr. Chen said, wiping the gel away. "But Nadia, your blood pressure is a concern. I want to see you twice a week now instead of weekly. And if it gets any higher, we may need to talk about early delivery."

"How early?" I asked.

"Ideally, we get you to at least thirty-seven weeks. You're at thirty-two now. But if you develop full preeclampsia, we might need to deliver sooner to protect both of you." She looked between Julian and me. "Is there someone who can stay with you? Monitor your symptoms? You shouldn't be alone right now."

"I'll be fine," I said quickly.

"I'll stay with her," Julian spoke before I could protest. "Whatever she needs."

"No," I said.

"Nadia."

"Mr. Ashford, could you give us a moment?" Dr. Chen's voice was kind but firm.

Julian left, and I could breathe again.

"Talk to me," Dr. Chen said. "What's going on?"

"We're getting divorced. Or we were. Before he found out about the baby." The words tumbled out. "He doesn't actually care about her or me. He cares about his company. His grandmother left everything to my daughter, and now he's trying to control the situation."

Dr. Chen was quiet for a moment. "And how do you feel about him?"

I laughed, but it came out broken. "I don't know anymore. I spent six years trying to make him love me, and I failed. Now he's back, and I don't know if it's worse or better than when he ignored me."

"Preeclampsia is serious, Nadia. Stress makes it worse. You need support, whether that's from him or someone else." She squeezed my hand. "Promise me you won't try to handle this alone."

I promised, even though I had no idea how to keep it.

Julian was pacing the waiting room when I emerged. He stopped when he saw me.

"What did she say?"

"That I need to reduce stress and monitor my blood pressure." I headed for the exit. "I'll be fine."

He followed me out. "Let me hire a nurse. Someone to stay with you, check your vitals."

"I don't need a babysitter."

"You need help." He caught my arm gently, and I stopped. "Nadia, please. Let me do this one thing."

I pulled away. "Why? So you can tell the board you're being a responsible father? So you can prove to the lawyers that you deserve custody?"

"Because I don't want you to die!" The words exploded out of him, loud enough that people on the street turned to stare. "Because the thought of you alone in that apartment, sick, with no one to help you if something goes wrong, terrifies me. Is that what you want to hear?"

I stared at him. In six years, I'd never heard Julian Ashford raise his voice. Never seen him lose control.

"I don't believe you," I said quietly.

"I know." He ran a hand through his hair, disheveling it for the first time since I'd known him. "I know I have no right to ask for anything from you. But I'm asking anyway. Let me help. Not for the company. Not for custody. Just because it's the right thing to do."

"And when the baby is born? When do you have what you need? What happens then?"

He looked at me, and I saw the truth in his eyes before he said it.

"I don't know," he admitted. "But I know I can't lose you both before I even try to figure it out."

My phone buzzed. A text from my landlord. *Rent's due. Late fees start tomorrow.*

I'd forgotten. Between the doctor's appointments and Julian's reappearance, I'd completely forgotten to pay rent. My bank account was already stretched thin from medical bills that insurance didn't cover.

Julian saw my face. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." I shoved my phone in my pocket. "I need to go."

"Nadia."

"I said I need to go, Julian." I started walking, but the stress and the morning's appointment caught up with me. The sidewalk tilted, and suddenly I couldn't breathe right.

"Nadia!" Julian caught me as my knees buckled. "Hey, hey, look at me. Are you okay?"

"Just dizzy," I managed. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine." He pulled out his phone. "I'm calling an ambulance."

"No! No ambulances. I can't afford it," I stopped, humiliated. "Just help me sit down."

He guided me to a nearby bench, his arm around my waist. When had he gotten so warm? Or was I just cold?

"Tell me what you need," he said.

I looked up at him, this man who'd promised to love me and then forgotten I existed. This man who was here now only because he needed something from me. This man was the father of my daughter, whether I liked it or not.

"I need you to tell me the truth," I said. "If your grandmother hadn't died, if you didn't need this baby for your company, would you be here right now?"

He was quiet for so long, I thought he wouldn't answer.

"No," he finally said. "Probably not. And I'll have to live with that for the rest of my life."

At least he was honest.

"Take me home," I said. "And then leave me alone."

His jaw tightened. "What if I don't want to?"