TOM

"You abandoned your own child."

Those were five words I'd never hoped to hear in this lifetime. Only six years ago, I learned a painful truth about my fertility status.

While sitting inside my cool office, my secretary delivers an envelope to me, watching me curiously before I dismiss her.

For some reason, my fingers begin to shake nervously as I bring out a folded paper from the envelope.

I reach for my water bottle and drink, as I could barely understand the medical jargon, but a single word stands out.

Water burns the back of my throat; I begin to cough violently.

"What the hell?"

I dial the doctor's office; he answers on the second ring.

"Are you sure about this?" I demand.

"Yes, Mr. Ciccotelli," Dr. Meyers replies. "We're one hundred percent sure that the baby's DNA matches the father's."

"So..." I loosen my tie as the air around me suddenly grows thinner. "Hypothetically, what are the chances if the father were infertile?"

Silence, then a crackle.

"I'd say he's a lucky man because one in thirty-three men conceive naturally." Dr. Meyers says. "By the way, we'd really appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone we conducted the test in secret-"

I slam the receiver down, cutting him off.

A rush of excitement swarms me, and a smile slits through my mouth before I catch myself.

I'm the luckiest guy in the world!

Then I slowly frown, remembering the stakes involved here.

"Damn it," I whisper to myself.

The dumbest thing I ever did was check into that hotel with Genevieve and believe she was on the pill.

I straightened my tie again.

I've always been a man of action, taking risks and keeping control; it's how I became CEO instead of my older brother Sebastian.

Gwen O'Brien wouldn't be a problem.

The next day, I sit in her apartment, and Gwen stares at me nervously while holding Michael in her arms.

Her twin kept her skin tan, with a nose ring, but Gwen was fair and looked prettier even without makeup.

Her lips part open, and something warm stirs inside me. God, the way she tried to attack me at the station was very sexy.

No, there was no way I actually liked Genevieve's sister.

"Why did you bring these guys along?" Gwen eyes the three men sitting on her couch. "Friends of yours?"

"My lawyers," I reply.

Gwen stares at me, twisting her body on the dining stool she sits on. "I don't understand. I thought you said the DNA was positive."

"I did, but I prefer to tie up loose ends before taking on a liability," I say, eyeing my son, raising a closed fist.

Gwen narrows her eyes. "Excuse me?"

"Twelve million dollars."

"Okay?"

"That's all the money I'm offering for you to disappear from this city and go back to London. I'll handle the police situation."

As expected, Gwen's eyes widen comically, and her mouth drops open. Twelve million was barely a drop in the ocean from what I earn yearly.

She smiles, and somehow I feel a dread that she's going to take the money anyway.

"Crikey, that's enough for a three-bedroom house in Chelsea!" she explains, then presses her lips together. "I mean the city in England, not the one here in New York."

I forcefully roll my eyes. That's the thing with women; you offer them a tiny diamond, and they'll do anything.

Gwen wasn't any different.

How disappointing.

"Are you daft?" She asks.

I frown. "Huh?"

"Sorry, let me rephrase." She clears her throat. "Did your mom perhaps drop you on your head when you were a baby?"

I hear someone snort, and I glare at one of my lawyers, then back at her.

"I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that."

"Do you and your vultures think you can buy me off?"

I smirk. "Ah, I see. Twenty million."

"Can you shut up for ten dollars?" She glares at me. "You're not going to buy me off."

"Anyone can be bought off or bought over, Gwen," I remark, while taking in her messy living room. "Your sister had me with the baby. You must be quite exhausted from looking after him. When Mitchell comes home with me, he'll have a professional nanny."

Her jaw drops at my suggestion; I wonder if I've said something wrong.

"You can't trade a baby's life for money." She hisses.

I break into a dry laugh. "What about during surrogacy or adoption? There's always a fee involved to get a child. You're getting the higher bargain."

From the way she holds the baby's rattle firmly, I can tell I've struck a nerve, and I hope she's not going to throw it at me.

"Thomas, can your money buy you any dignity?" She asks. "Your son's name is Mikey, as in Michael. You didn't even care about him until I suggested a paternity test!"

I give her a puzzled look. "What kind of an idiot willingly accepts the baby of the woman who stole his family heirloom without confirming the DNA?"

"The same idiot who walks around with his family's heirloom in his wallet," she retorts.

The room grows quiet. One of my lawyers suggests we settle this mutually.

I glare at her. "You realize I could take you to court and get full custody, right?"

She places the baby into its crib, and thankfully, it doesn't cry; she picks up her telephone.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Oh, I wonder how the public will feel when they hear Thomas Ciccotelli, a proud billionaire tycoon from an alleged traditional family, suddenly had a son and was trying to bribe his aunt just to keep custody?"

Gwen muses with a devious smile as she pushes the dial button. "Oh man, the media is definitely going to bury you alive. Your stocks will go down, and I hope you have a retirement plan."

I barely have time to think when I hear a female voice on the other end say..."New York Post newsroom?"

I leap to my feet, and in two quick strides, I snatch the phone away from her.

"Are you out of your mind?" I ask angrily.

"Are you ready to listen to my terms?" she counters.

* * * * * * * *

"What do you mean you have a son?" Diana Ciccotelli asks me the next morning in her office, while staring at her tablet. "This headline says rumor has it that a powerful New York dynasty is hiding an illegitimate heir, and while the article doesn't say a name, they mention the father's Italian."

Crossing my arms across my chest, I reply, "Mom, I told you it's just a low-rate website."

"This is the New York Post; they don't publish anything if it's not true," Diana growls. "How could you hide this from your family?"

My voice rises in a deep echo. "Because I just found out?"

She stares at me long enough for me to pull my gaze away, and I drag my fingers through my thick hair.

"She wants me to find her sister."

Diana scoffs. "Oh, great, the thief and the mother of my grandson, God forbid."

"Mama, I don't know what to fucking do about this," I admit. "Okay, let's say I request full custody with the DNA report; it's going to go public and break into a scandal. Gwen has made it clear that money is out of the question; besides, I don't know how long it'll take to find Genevieve.

Diana shuts her eyes. "Let me think about this for a moment."

Two days later, Gwen and I meet again, this time at a restaurant for dinner while her friend is watching Michael.

"I don't want thirty million either, Tom," Gwen says to me.

A knot forms in my gut. "Yes, you're very noble, but have you considered the fact that Genevieve might be dead?"

Gwen pauses midway through taking a bite of her food. "No. If she were, I would probably feel it. Have you hired a private investigator?"

"Sweetheart, the PI says these types of cases could take months or years because she took a huge gamble on stealing a high-profile heirloom. She wanted to leave."

Gwen turns pale, and her eyes become glossy with tears that did not fall. "Then you better hurry it up."

I glare at her. "The press can be unforgiving. Did you at least think about your safety, or Michael's, in the biggest crime city in the country? He could get kidnapped, and I could end up paying double the money I offered."

When Gwen realizes that I'm not bluffing, she closes her eyes, and her skin turns sickly pale.

A thought sharpens in my mind as I feel elated at my triumph. A Ciccotelli never backs down without a fight.

"Until your sister is found, I want you to take her place," I offer evenly, "In exchange for security, I won't even charge your sister unless she returns the medallion. You, Gwendolyn O'Brien, will marry me."

GWEN

"Are you out of your bloody mind?" I whisper in shock while watching Tom go down on one knee.

As if it's not enough, my mouth waters at the sight of the fifty-five-carat diamond-cut ring Tom brings out of his pocket.

After years of selling these to excited men, I was finally on the other side.

Suddenly, a bunch of men and women aiming high-tech cameras swarm around us, taking photos, while my mouth remains open.

If I say no, I'm doomed anyway.

"Fine," I choke out.

Tom smiles at me, knowing he's won this round.

Surprisingly, as the news hit the websites, everyone wanted to know the mystery woman who finally tied down one of New York's most eligible bachelors.

I know I should have taken that money. I really miss sleeping nine hours a day and not daydreaming about a squealing baby at work.

But I can't give up on Genevieve and poor little Mikey.

Within days, I have my first meeting with my soon-to-be in-laws in their Hampton mansion.

I haven't been inside for five minutes when Diana, the matriarch, fires her first words aimed at me:

"If only you were fraternal twins."

The smile on my face instantly freezes, despite the heat rising in my chest.

"Shit," I mutter through my teeth. Tom didn't even bother to tell me his family knew I wasn't really Genevieve.

Tom's exact words about her were, "She demands everyone's respect, yet gives none in return."

I glance at Tom, who's in the middle of texting on his phone.

Diana gives me a stern look. "So, you want to destroy my family's reputation? Good effort, but it will be a complete waste of your time."

Mikey squirms in my arms, and she quickly reaches for him with a fond expression.

"Thank God that conniving woman gave him a Christian name. Is he baptized? Are you even Catholic?" Diana demands.

I cross my arms with disbelief. Who does she think she is? Ah, so this is where Tom's shallowness comes from.

"Yes," Tom says, finally speaking up to defend my honor. "They're Catholic."

"Hurray," I say without humor.

At this point, I know Diana and I will definitely not get along.

I meet with Sebastian and Laura, who both share their mother's distaste for me.

Later, Tom and Diana settled inside an office. My fingers nervously tap my thighs, and then I catch Tom watching me.

"What?" I ask.

He looks at his mother.

"The contract isn't complicated," Diana declares. "You and Tom will remain married for two years and get divorced afterwards. It doesn't matter if Genevieve returns or not."

Diana fans herself as she turns pale.

I know she hated saying every word. "Oh, dear, the church frowns at divorce." I sigh dramatically.

Underneath the desk, I feel Tom squeeze my hand lightly, but it doesn't deter the fire in Diana's hard gaze.

"How about we stay married for six months?" I suggest. "Celebrities stay even shorter than that."

"We're not those kinds of celebrities," Tom replies glumly.

I twirl a strand of my red hair with a finger playfully. "Really? I believe I saw you in a men's knickers ad last month."

He maintains a straight expression. "The contract has already been drawn, and we're not changing a sentence."

I glare at him. "So, you're already making my decisions for me, huh?"

"Don't act like you're getting the best bargain."

I wrinkle my nose and squint at him in disgust. "In what way?"

He leans back in his chair. "You go back to your boring life."

I open my mouth, and a soft gasp escapes, then I remember I'd prayed to be free from the life of changing diapers and singing lullabies.

Two points for Tom, I guess.

Inside my heels, my toes curl. No man has ever gotten on my nerves the way Tom did.

He was an arrogant and disrespectful bastard, yet I'm starting to see that, just like me, he was trapped in this situation too. Except for the fact that Tom thinks money is the key to everything.

"I don't have a good feeling about this contract," I say to him.

"Wonderful," Diana exclaims dryly.

"Okay, I'm sorry I didn't ask before," Tom replies. "But were you dating anyone or even planning?"

I pause for a second. "Well, there was..."

"I did have a girlfriend." He blurts. "Katie."

I roll my eyes, recalling the model he was usually spotted with on the streets. They didn't appear to be serious, considering he changed girlfriends like every other month.

"It was very difficult for me to end things with her for the baby," Tom admits, shifting uncomfortably as he continued. "Look, I'm not planning to cheat on you either, Gwen, and I don't expect you to do the same."

Somehow, I feel his tone implies he wouldn't want me ten feet near another man.

Did Tom really think he sounded like a protective alpha male while letting his mother run his life? The mommy's little boy energy from Tom and Diana was unbearable.

"Fine," I say tightly.

"Fine," he replies equally. "Because if you tell anyone outside this building about the contract, we're going to sue your ass."

* * * * * * * *

It takes ten days for Tom and me to pull off a shotgun wedding while excluding all extended family and friends at a courthouse.

"You may now kiss the bride," the judge instructs.

Hastily, I think of a way to evade, but Tom bends low, cups his face, and captures my mouth with his. His breath is minty.

A hot rush of excitement fills my body; it nearly knocks my breath away. Before I know it, I respond to his kiss.

Tom releases me, and from the strange look he gives me, I finally realize that I was the one who held on to that kiss.

Bollocks.

For the reception, we have dinner, and all they talk about is the furniture company.

I don't join in either; I feel a tremendous weight of tiredness.

After the dinner, I confront Tom on the balcony.

"So, when do we leave?" I ask.

"Leave?" He narrows his eyes. "I thought you didn't want a honeymoon."

A sharp pain pricks in my forehead. Maybe drinking three glasses of champagne had been a terrible idea.

"I don't. When do we move into your home or apartment?"

"Sorry, I'm not following."

"I have a lot of stuff back at my apartment, and I need to get started on the moving process before going back to work."

Tom's lips curl up. "So, move them here, Gwen. This is my house."

My vision blurs, and the entire balcony spins around me.

"But your mom...lives here."

"So?" Tom widens his eyes. "Oh hell, Gwen-"

The rest of whatever he says doesn't come to me, as I see the floor rising to hit my face, and then darkness sets in.

* * * * * * * *

My eyes fly open, and it takes a few seconds for me to realize I'm lying in a bedroom.

"Good morning, Mrs. Ciccotelli." Tom murmurs.

"Hrrnh?" I groan unintelligibly.

I sit upright the second I see Tom lying on a nearby couch, watching me with his arms folded, with a sleepy, amused look.

"You look like a ray of sunshine," he teases.

I squeeze my eyes shut as a headache flashes in my head. "Please... don't tell me that we..."

"Made love all night?" He asks. "No."

I push down the covers to see I'm wearing a blue bathrobe. "Did you really touch me?"

He barks a rich laugh. "Come on, Laura helped you change after you fainted from stress."

"You were supposed to catch me."

"Faint slower next time, and I will."

We look at each other. For two random married people, we were taking the whole thing quite well.

He moves to the bedside and hands me painkillers and the water bottle on the bedstand, which I quickly drink up.

Then I involuntarily cough out the water.

"Where's Mikey?" I ask frantically, searching the room.

"Relax, he's with the nanny," Tom says.

I sigh with relief.

"While you were drooling in your sleep," he says. "I was talking to a realtor."

"Oh, thank God, you're buying a house," I say.

He raises a brow. "Not exactly."

That evening, he drove us to an upscale building.

"Did you bring me in here to murder me?" I ask as I study the interior; there were so many shelves inside.

"No," Tom replies. "I was thinking you can show me your worth."

Tom quickly dodges a fist I aim at his face, staring at me as if I were the crazy one here.

"I thought I made myself clear to you that I'm not going to be a walking doormat," I hiss, while pointing at a huge tarp covering something big. "What is that?"

Tom moves past me, and in a neat move, he yanks the fabric away as the object comes into view. I wonder why, of all things holy in the world, it had to be this.

GWEN

"Thomas, where did you get all of these?" I exclaim at the glass cases containing all kinds of jewelry made up of every gemstone in the world!

I even look out the window, wondering if we're being watched.

"I called a major supplier," Thomas replies.

As much as I'm too dazed to respond, I begin calculating the profits in my head until I reach one conclusion.

Millions.

"Absolutely not!" I blurt in disbelief.

Tom's mouth folds down; he looks disappointed and slightly confused.

"I beg your pardon?"

"What is your angle, Tom?" I demand, "No one in their right mind would offer this kind of asset for free. Tell me, are the gems conflict-free? Or are you trying to set me up?!"

Tom breaks into a slow, almost cruel smile. "I like you, Gwen, because you're smart enough to see through me," he admits. "Yes, there's a catch, nothing too serious. Nobody wants to hear that a Ciccotelli wife is just an ordinary sales assistant. She will be the sole owner of her business."

I take a deep breath. I've always dreamed about the day when I wouldn't rely on commissions, and now an opportunity is being presented on a platter.

"My mother was against giving this building to you." He steps closer to me; his cologne envelopes my senses. "But I insisted. So, a controlling share will go to the family's trust, but you can name the store whatever you want."

Like Eve reaching for the forbidden fruit, I agree to the offer.

The risk doesn't matter; I'll be getting more money after the divorce, and I'll use it to find Gennie before that bloody private investigator does.

Two weeks later, Gemini Jewelers officially opened to the public.

"That is a lot of zeroes," I whisper in excitement as I read the sales report on my tablet.

It feels strange being wealthy overnight. I wonder how Tom walks freely without looking over his shoulder.

Speaking of which, I notice a man glancing at me while checking the earrings section. All my assistants are too busy attending to customers, so I approach him.

"Is there a problem, sir?" I ask.

He eyes me curiously. "What's it like to be Tom Ciccotelli's wife?"

I wonder if Tom sent him to test me.

Ah, he'll never get the best of me.

I flash him my best customer service smile. "Absolutely wonderful."

Before I can walk away, the man utters. "Don't let him fool you."

My heart races. "What?"

"Tom's nothing but a crook." The man remarks lightly with a dark stare that sends a chill down my spine.

"Who are you, and how dare you talk about Tom in that way? Leave before I call security." I threaten, pointing at the door behind him.

"Adam Richardson," he introduces, while handing me a card. "How do you think Ciccotelli got so rich and famous?"

"I heard they come from a long line of Italian royalty."

Adam's eyes lift upward and back at me, this time with a sharp look. "He and his wretched mother stole all of my designs."

The atmosphere becomes still, and I place my hand over my chest to relieve my beating heart.

"Where's your proof?" I lift my head, but Adam is already moving out of the store. I sprint after him, but he's climbing into a black Camaro. "Mr. Richardson?"

He flashes a thumb and little finger to his ear. "Call me."

Then the car disappears down the road. I look at the card again, and there's a number on it.

"Terrific."

That evening, Tom and I sit at dinner alone, as Diana is currently out of the country.

When I look up from my meal, I discover Tom watching me.

"What?" I shrug.

"Nothing," he says. "I gave you a business start-up, yet you look miserable."

"It's not that," I reply. "The CEO of Aspen Designs dropped by the store today."

Tom, in the middle of chewing, begins to cough profusely, and his eyes grow wide.

Could Adam Richardson be telling the truth?

"What did Adam say?" Tom asks after recovering.

"Nothing," I lie. "He was just window-shopping."

Tom's instant look of relief doesn't restore comfort to my legs shaking under the table.

"Listen, if Adam comes back, don't sell him anything," Tom warns.

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

"You can't earn your profit if I chase clients away."

Tom drops his fork with a clatter and gives me a serious look. "How do I explain this gently? He's psychotic. Adam's been on trial for attempted murder."

My heart drops into my stomach, and I sit straight with my mouth open. "Who-"

"Gwen, for God's sake, don't you watch the news?"

"No, Tom. I've been too busy raising your child."

A few moments later, we move to Tom's office, where, on his computer, he shows me news articles about Adam standing trial for the murder of his ex-wife, McKenna.

"Somehow, the court ruled the case a suicide, and Adam suddenly became a hero. He even wrote a New York Times bestseller on it." Tom tells me. "I doubt he's innocent."

"Why?"

Before Tom can answer, a loud wail echoes from the baby monitor in my pocket.

We hurry into the nursery, and I pick Mikey up in my arms.

"Shh, it's okay, little bugger," I whisper.

Tom frowns. "Where's the nanny?"

"Probably in the bathroom or something," I guess. I pull back Mikey's nappy. "He's dry. Can you hold him while I get his bottle?"

"No, wait-"

Before Tom could finish speaking, I gently pushed Mikey into his arms.

"I don't like holding crying children," Tom hisses, looking terrified.

"He's your son. You need to carry him one of these days."

After I get Mikey a bottle, he drinks up a little water, and his cries finally simmer down as Tom rocks him.

From the way Tom stares at Mikey fondly, I feel a slight happiness as I imagine a moment where he and Genevieve had talked to Tom about the baby, and it would be the two of them, married and fussing over Mikey.

Until my mouth slowly curls down as a sting claws inside of me. Then, I would just be on the sideline.

Shit, how could I be jealous of Genevieve?

"Hurry, before he cries again," Tom pleads.

Two hours later, I twist and turn in bed, unable to find rest. I can't stop thinking about what Adam said.

It's funny how Tom and Adam don't trust each other, but stealing ideas isn't uncommon in the corporate world. Tom doubting Adam's innocence was a little strange.

Maybe he wanted Adam out of the way back then.

"Bollocks," I whisper.

I climb out of bed and tiptoe out of my room. The empty and quiet hallway makes me feel uneasy.

Thankfully, I'd noticed Tom didn't lock the office after we left. While inside, I begin to check every drawer for anything that leads to Adam's claims.

Click.

I turn to see the doorknob jiggle; I slam a palm over my mouth and quickly crawl under the desk as my heart speeds up. The door creaks open.