CHAPTER SIX AN HEIR OR HER

ZAYN'S POV

My uncle thought he was being helpful.

That's what made it worse. Logan actually believed arranging a surrogate to carry my kid was some kind of gift. A legacy. Like I gave a shit about leaving behind a baby I'd never meet.

The only thing I wished to leave behind was in this room with me, looking at me like I'd just asked her to jump off a cliff.

Which, essentially, I had.

I noticed the way she pressed her body into mine, the little tremors radiating through her.

When have I not noticed everything about her?

I squeezed her hand.

Why? Why the fuck did fate have to bring us together as step-siblings? Who cares about fate and its doings anyway?

I've always taken everything I want, and Emery will never be an exception.

"Ready?" She leaned in and gave me a peck on my cheek.

I saw that mischievous smile as she stepped backward.

I grabbed her from behind, my hand resting on her waist. "Not so soon, Emery." My hand traced along her neckline, gently and slowly, like I was moving through water.

A smile tugged at my lips as I watched her mouth part, and hell, it turned me on.

I wanted to pull back, to control myself, not to take her right here in this room.

But the moment my eyes met those freckles, my thoughts scattered.

I drew her closer, my hand cupping her neck—not hard enough to choke, but enough to leave her breathless.

Our lips were dangerously close. I pressed against her, making her feel exactly what she did to me.

Her hair tumbled down her shoulder, making her look so breathtaking I wanted to stay like this forever.

"You're…"

"Shhh, save your breath till I make you scream." She swallowed hard.

I pulled her closer till our lips nearly touched. I didn't kiss her—I just got lost in the way she stared hungrily at my mouth.

"I'm sorry I took so long, Emery"

She couldn't form words. Only a slight nod.

I licked the tip of her bottom lip. She went still, her body collapsing into mine like dead weight.

"Hmmm," she whispered.

Hell. I loved this. Her voice, her lips, her body, her insecurity about her freckles.

Every damn thing about this woman.

"Say it clearly. Tell me what you want me to do to you. List every fantasy you have, baby. You've got your book boyfriend right here in real life."

Her body trembled, eyes fluttering.

Those words affected her. Fuck, she's so sexy.

I continued teasing her lips, making her swallow down the moan building in her throat. Her nails dug into my arms.

The door jerked open before we could separate.

Well, let them see. I wasn't ready to keep hiding this.

Emery pushed me away, her eyes snapping to the door.

Her breathing was ragged. I drew her back, my eyes still not leaving hers.

"Zayn," she whispered, trying to get out of my grip.

I rolled my eyes. Who ruined my moment?

A maid.

Standing still in the doorway, her eyes wide like saucers, drained of all color.

"Laila!" Emery finally got out of my grip and gave the maid an awkward smile.

"Did you see…" I didn't get to finish. Laila—or whatever her name was—ran out of the room like she'd just seen the sun fall from the sky.

Emery began to panic. "Someone saw us, Zayn. She's so close with my mother." She started pacing. "What if she decides to tell my mom?"

"That's exactly what I'd love to happen. Think about it, Em. If we head downstairs, I'll probably have no choice but to listen to my father's pleas." I paused, letting that sink in. "This is the only way. We have to let them know about us."

No response came from her. I knew she was weighing her choices.

"I'll respect your decision, whether we tell them or not," I assured her.

"Uncle Logan's right."

No, no. Fuck no.

"He's not," my voice was rising.

"You need to give your father an heir."

Now I hated this. "What are you insinuating? That I should father an heir through another woman? This is not a conversation." I let go of her arm.

"Zayn…"

I ignored her eyes. "Let's head downstairs."

I was already walking off. She's scared, and I'm selfish.

But I'm not leaving this world without having her to myself.

The last thing I should ever wish to have.

She trailed behind me till we got downstairs.

"Son, you're here."

I greeted my father, and Emery did the same.

"It's the same as what the doctor in Minnesota said. The tumor is in an inoperable location. Surgery would be fatal," Emery said quietly.

"Oh heavens, Emery." Richard clutched his chest, his legs shaking like he might fall.

I quickly moved to him and steadied him. He looked at me and lifted his hand to my face.

"Your uncle left just now. He proposed... the inevitable. You need an heir."

I broke his gaze.

"The company will be in ruins without it. My legacy—yours—will be destroyed. No one will be left of our bloodline, son." My father's tears ran freely down his face. "I've never forced you into things. But this... we're running out of time."

For the first time since I'd arrived, I was speechless.

Emery looked away from me, her face etched with hurt.

The room fell silent, everyone waiting for my decision.

"I have someone in mind already. I'm ready to father her child. She's…"

Emery's face went pale.

Saying this without her consent was selfish as hell.

Oh fuck. Since when did I start putting others first?

I shut my eyes. The words danced on my lips.

"You've found someone? That's wonderful news!" Her mother squealed.

"Yes. And she's right here in..."

CHAPTER SEVEN: THE WRONG YES

EMERY POV

I stood wearily, clutching my arm tightly.

If looks could bore holes, Zayn would be transparent by now. I couldn't breathe again, the weight of his words pressing down on my chest.

What was he going to say? Would he really mention me out loud, here in front of our parents? Please don't... Zayn.

He opened his mouth to continue speaking. Everything went silent.

Anxiousness clouded Richard's and my mom's faces. Their necks craned forward, eager to hear who'd struck Zayn's heart.

My head was pounding loudly. If only they knew how close I was to collapsing right here.

"She's right here in my heart. I've always loved her."

My breath caught.

I should have felt relieved. Instead, my throat burned like I was swallowing acid.

The look on his face—one I'd never seen before. He looked like a powerless man. The way his shoulders slumped, the way his pupils dilated. Like I'd just caused him the greatest pain ever. Like he'd never get over this.

But I loved that he'd acknowledged my feelings. That led me to ask myself for the tenth time:

Is it okay to let him go? It was clear he was freeing me, respecting my decision. Was I doing the right thing?

"That's great, son," Richard said in a cheerful tone. His face looked like Zayn had just lifted a burden off him.

"She's gone..." Zayn whispered while Richard patted him on the shoulder, still resting on Zayn's arm for support.

Zayn raised his head to look at me, his eyes holding things I didn't dare name. The only thought echoing in my mind was: *I hurt him.*

"She left even before it could blossom. Even before I could show her what we really wanted." He broke his gaze from me. Whatever assurance we'd given each other in that room was gone. Because of me. Because even after all these years, I still chose to make stupid decisions and hide in my shell.

He's dying.

That was the only reason I could give myself for being reluctant to finally accept the man I'd been dreaming about.

"It's fine, son. We all have a love story like that. If she isn't meant for you, she's not meant for you." Richard assured him.

Zayn turned back to face me, and with a painful smirk, he mouthed: *"Have your time and games, and play them well. I'm not giving up on us. Not even if that's your wish."*

I swallowed hard. My mother frowned.

She saw Zayn's lips moving. My heart hammered.

Did she hear anything?

Zayn led Richard to the sofa.

"World Hockey Day is tomorrow. I'm receiving guests at the mansion across from us."

"Ohhh," Richard replied, squeezing his hand.

"Let me go get ready." Zayn muttered. Without sparing me a glance—or my mother, who was definitely wondering if she'd heard correctly—he started heading upstairs.

His scent didn't spare me. It found my nose and penetrated into my skull. That sweet tulip fragrance.

God. I wanted this, right? I chose to let him go. So why was my chest hurting this much?

Tears were already forming in my eyes.

"Emery," my mother called, and I flinched. "You look like a statue. Are you okay?"

"Oh! Yes. I'm okay." I breathed heavily. Zayn's footsteps were still echoing in my mind.

"What do you say about being Zayn's IVF doctor? Uncle Logan proposed it, and I remember you handling a couple of cases a few weeks ago. Will you, dear?" My mother said.

I glanced back at Zayn. His retreating footsteps had stopped.

He was waiting.

To hear my answer.

My mind was in turmoil. What should I say?

I couldn't possibly say no to this. But he was listening. He was watching my every move. He didn't turn, but his back sent chills down my spine.

Richard was looking at me now. I couldn't possibly say no.

With my mouth dry, I forced out the word. It tasted like venom. "Yes."

The moment the word left my mouth, Zayn resumed walking upstairs.

I grabbed the railing to keep myself from falling on my face.

Richard beamed at me while my mother went to him and served him juice.

They began to chat, leaving me alone with my terrible decisions.

I broke his trust even before he fully let me in.

The chiming of my phone broke through the fog in my mind. I searched frantically for it in my pocket.

Lucia. My assistant.

My eyes flew wide. Fuck. I had an appointment at the hospital.

When did I become so incompetent that I forgot to check my schedule?

I picked up the call and her voice rang through. "Ma'am, there's an emergency. A hockey player got injured on the ice."

Right. This was my calling. The position I'd strived to achieve since his absence.

A doctor specialized in treating injured sports players.

I grabbed my jacket—or maybe his. Fuck. I realized that after getting to the door.

I was supposed to turn back and drop it on the sofa.

But I put it on anyway, letting his scent engulf me as I ran out.

"Emergency?" I heard my mother call after me, but I was already outside. "Stay safe! Drive carefully!"

I ran to my car and headed straight to the hospital, my pulse pounding hard.

I shouldn't even be home right now. What was I thinking? Evenings were always hectic at Blackwood Hospital.

Thankfully, there wasn't much traffic. I got to the hospital quickly.

"Dr. Emery, the patient has a strain in his leg. Top hockey player in Houston. He has a game tomorrow and needs to be treated before then."

I walked briskly, with Lucia following fast behind me until we got to the patient's private ward.

"His ID reads Cassian Hale," Lucia concluded as I opened the door to the ward.

Lying on the hospital bed was a male patient. His piercing deep emerald eyes stared at the door, waiting patiently for his doctor.

I stepped in. "I'm so sorry for taking this long." The guy nodded, his eyes still on me. "I'll treat you now."

"No problem." His deep baritone made me look at him again.

A few minutes later, I was done examining him.

"It's just a mild Grade-1 muscle strain with no tearing. You can rest for a while until you're back to normal," I said to him, professional as I should be.

I checked his leg one more time. "You look exactly like what I've heard." My hand halted, and I frowned.

What was he saying?

"Do you know me?" I asked, then realized almost immediately I was being stupid.

After the Blackwood company introduced me as their lead sports medicine doctor, I'd gotten quite popular.

I scoffed at my own oblivion—until he whispered, "I never knew I'd be meeting you like this. I've seen a lot about you."

*Seen?*

His full lips rolled the words out like he wasn't saying something I didn't quite understand.

I forced a smile and left the ward hurriedly.

What was that eerie feeling?

"Phew," I breathed, brushing the thought off.

As I headed toward my office, my mind wandered back to Zayn.

Soon, I'd be home, and his supposed baby mama would be there too.

The thought felt suffocating. It constricted my throat.

Pushing the door to my office open, I stepped in and locked it. The thought of spending the night here crossed my mind.

But what would that make me? A coward?

I trailed my hand along my desk while the other hand held his jacket—the one I should have left on the sofa.

That's when my phone chimed.

A message from an unknown number: **"Treat him well, unless you want to get hurt."**

Who sent this?

My hands were shaking terribly. My pulse threatened to explode.

"Is... is that a threat?"

My voice came out as a whisper.