Ariana's POV

The city night presses against me the second I storm out of the restaurant. Neon signs blur with my tears, car horns blare from the street, and I'm moving so fast my heels clatter like gunfire against the pavement.

Humiliation still burns on my skin. Everyone in that restaurant saw me. Everyone heard me scream that I'm pregnant. Phones were recording. By tomorrow morning, I'll be a headline, a meme, a scandal splashed across gossip sites.

And for what?

Because I trusted the wrong man.

No. Not even the wrong man.

The wrong brother.

I stop under a streetlamp, chest heaving. My hand slides to my stomach, trembling as I press against the small swell that's not showing yet but feels so heavy it could crush me.

"You didn't deserve this," I whisper. My throat closes. "You didn't ask to be born into this mess."

"Wait."

That voice.

I whip around, and there he is. Damian Cole. Striding toward me like he owns the whole damn street, the city, the world. Even now, after everything, he looks composed. His tie loosened, his jacket open, but every step is controlled, precise.

"Stay back." My voice shakes, but I throw my hand up like a barrier. "Don't come near me."

He stops a few feet away, slipping his hands into his pockets. His eyes catch the streetlight-icy blue, sharp, unforgiving. "You shouldn't be walking around out here alone. It's late."

I laugh, harsh and bitter. "Oh, so now you're worried about my safety? Where was that concern when I was in there telling the world I'm pregnant with your brother's baby?"

His expression doesn't change. His voice drops, low and steady. "You humiliated me in there."

My stomach twists. "You think I enjoyed that? You think I liked standing in the middle of that circus, screaming something so personal it broke me to say it out loud?"

He doesn't answer. He just watches me, unreadable.

I take a shaky step forward. "You could've told me. You could've stopped me before I slapped you, before I made a fool of myself in front of everyone."

"You didn't give me the chance." His tone is flat, cutting. "You came in with your accusations, shouting, hitting. What was I supposed to do? Smile and let you wreck me?"

My voice cracks. "I didn't know. I didn't know you had a twin. He never said a word. Do you have any idea what that means?"

His jaw flexes. "It means my brother seduced you, lied to you, and left you with the fallout. And now you've dragged me into it."

Dragged. The word slices through me.

I whisper, raw, "You make it sound like I asked for this. Like I wanted to be here."

His silence is heavy.

"You know what's funny?" My laugh is hollow. "When I walked into that restaurant, I thought facing you was the hardest thing I'd ever do. But it turns out, you weren't even the man I was looking for. I was screaming at the wrong damn person."

Damian's gaze flickers, just briefly, down to my stomach. When his eyes lift back to mine, they're hard again. "By morning, it'll be everywhere. The story. The videos. My name tied to yours. My company dragged through the mud because of a mistake my brother made."

I blink at him. "That's what you care about? Your empire? Your clean reputation?"

"That reputation," he says, clipped, "is what keeps thousands of employees in jobs. It's what keeps the empire my family built standing."

I step closer, shaking with rage. "I don't care about your empire. I care about this baby. I care about not being humiliated and abandoned because your brother used me like I didn't matter."

For the first time, something cracks in his expression. A shadow. Maybe guilt. Maybe pity. But it's gone as fast as it came.

"Listen to me," he says quietly. "Adrian isn't going to step up. He never does. He'll deny everything, laugh at you, and walk away without looking back."

My throat tightens. "So what are you saying? That I should just accept it? Raise this child alone?"

He doesn't answer. His silence is louder than a shout.

I wrap my arms protectively around myself, fury bubbling hot. "I'll find him. I'll make him look me in the eye and take responsibility."

Damian shakes his head slowly. "You'll regret it."

"Maybe I will," I snap. "But at least I'll try. At least I won't just stand there, cool and detached, pretending none of this matters."

His voice sharpens, steel slicing through the night. "If you trust Adrian again, even for a second, he'll destroy you."

I lift my chin, glaring. "Then maybe I'm already destroyed."

We stand there, staring each other down, the night pressing heavy between us.

Finally, he exhales through his nose, controlled, deliberate. "What's your name?"

The question catches me off guard.

I square my shoulders. "Ariana Blake."

His gaze lingers on me like he's memorizing it. "Go home, Miss Blake. Get some rest. You'll need it."

My fists clench. "Don't you dare pretend you care. You don't."

His eyes flick down to my stomach again, softer this time, before he looks back at me. His voice is low, almost rough. "You're right. I don't."

The words slice through me like glass.

I turn away before he can see the tears spilling down my cheeks.

I don't look back. I can't.

Because if I do, I'm afraid I'll see something in Damian Cole's eyes that terrifies me more than Adrian ever could.

Ariana's POV

I hate clinics.

The smell of antiseptic clings to the air, sharp and sterile, making me want to gag. The waiting room is too quiet, just the sound of a woman flipping through a worn magazine and the faint hum of the vending machine in the corner. I sit with my bag clutched tight against my stomach, trying to keep my breathing steady.

My name will be called any second. I should feel relieved-I'm finally going to hear about the baby, confirm that everything is okay. But instead, dread coils inside me.

Because now my life isn't just mine anymore.

"Miss Blake?"

The nurse's voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. She smiles politely, clipboard in hand.

I force my legs to move. "That's me."

As I stand, I feel the weight of eyes on me. Maybe it's paranoia. Maybe it's just guilt. But the humiliation from last night still clings to my skin like smoke. By now, surely half the city has seen the videos.

I swallow hard and follow the nurse down the narrow hallway.

Then I freeze.

He's here.

Damian Cole.

Leaning against the wall like he owns it, his suit black, tie loosened just enough to make him look dangerous instead of polished. His gaze is sharp, locked on me the moment I appear, like he's been waiting.

My chest tightens. My first instinct is to turn and run.

"You've got to be kidding me," I mutter under my breath.

He straightens, calm, unreadable. "Miss Blake."

I cross my arms. "What are you doing here? Stalking me now?"

One corner of his mouth lifts-not quite a smile, more like a taunt. "You storm into my restaurant, slap me in front of half the city, scream that you're pregnant, and somehow I'm the stalker?"

My cheeks heat. "It wasn't your restaurant."

"It might as well have been," he says smoothly. "Half the board members from my company eat there. Half the city's elite. Do you know how fast a story spreads in my world?"

I grit my teeth. "This isn't about your world. This is my life."

The nurse looks between us, awkward. "Is everything alright?"

"Perfectly fine," Damian says smoothly, with a smile that could sell lies for a living.

I want to scream.

The nurse hesitates, then gestures toward a door. "This way, Miss Blake."

I walk past Damian, brushing so close my shoulder nearly hits his. He doesn't move an inch. Of course he doesn't.

Inside the exam room, I sit on the paper-covered bed, fidgeting with the hem of my dress. The walls are blank, the kind of place designed to keep emotions out. I can't. My chest feels too tight.

Then the door creaks open again.

Damian steps in.

I glare. "Excuse me? You can't just barge in here."

"I can." He closes the door behind him, leaning against it casually. "Unless you'd rather discuss your pregnancy in front of the press outside."

My stomach drops. "There's no press here."

"Not yet." He shrugs. "But word travels. Do you really want to bet on your privacy?"

I groan, burying my face in my hands. "Why are you like this?"

"Like what?"

"Cold. Detached. Acting like this is just another boardroom meeting you need to control."

His jaw ticks, but his voice stays even. "Because I've spent my life cleaning up Adrian's messes. It's easier not to feel anything."

Before I can reply, the door opens again and the doctor steps in. Middle-aged, kind eyes, warm smile. "Miss Blake. How are we feeling today?"

I force a small smile. "Nervous."

"That's normal." He gestures for me to lean back. "We'll run some checks. Nothing to worry about."

Damian doesn't leave. He stays in the corner, arms folded, eyes trained on me like a hawk.

The doctor takes my blood pressure, asks questions, makes notes. I answer softly, my throat tight.

Then he asks it.

"Is the father involved?"

The question pierces me. Shame, anger, heartbreak, everything surges at once.

I shake my head quickly. "No. Just me."

And then Damian's voice cuts in. "She's not alone."

My head snaps toward him. "Excuse me?"

The doctor nods approvingly. "Good. Support makes a big difference."

I glare daggers at Damian, but the doctor is too busy explaining the next steps to notice.

When it's done, the doctor smiles. "The baby is developing well. Just focus on reducing stress. Rest is important."

"Thank you," I whisper, my chest loosening just a little.

The doctor leaves.

The second the door clicks shut, I whip around. "What the hell was that?"

"What?" Damian looks maddeningly calm.

"You telling him I'm not alone. You don't get to say that. You don't get to insert yourself into my life like that."

"I wasn't lying," he says evenly. "You're not alone. Not anymore."

Fury burns in me. "You are not the father. You don't get to play protector because you feel guilty about your brother."

His eyes lock on mine, steady and unflinching. "You're right. I'm not the father. But I also won't stand by while Adrian destroys another life. If he won't take responsibility, someone has to."

My laugh is bitter. "Oh, don't give me that noble act. This isn't about me. This is about your image. Your company. Your spotless name."

His jaw tightens. "Maybe it was at first."

I blink. His words are softer now, almost... dangerous.

"But don't mistake me for Adrian," he continues, voice low. "I don't run. I don't hide. I deal with problems. And right now, Ariana, you're mine to deal with."

The way he says my name makes my breath catch.

I take a step closer, trembling. "Then let me make this clear-you are not welcome in my life. Stay away from me."

I push past him toward the door, but his hand shoots out, catching my wrist. His grip is firm, not cruel. His voice drops, rough, almost raw.

"You won't survive him alone."

For a moment, something flickers in his eyes. Not cold. Not detached. Something else. Something that terrifies me more than Adrian ever could.

I yank my hand free, choking on the lump in my throat. "Watch me."

I storm out of the clinic, my pulse racing, tears burning my eyes.

But his words follow me all the way out into the street.

You won't survive him alone.

And the worst part?

A small, treacherous voice in my chest whispers that maybe, just maybe, he's right.

Ariana's POV

I don't know what kind of masochist part of me thought this was a good idea.

Tracking down Adrian Cole should've been at the bottom of my list - below laundry, below unclogging my sink, below literally anything else. But here I am, standing in the lobby of a high-end lounge where I know he spends his nights, praying my legs don't give out under me.

The place smells like expensive liquor and ego. Velvet couches, chandeliers dripping crystal, laughter spilling out from men in tailored suits and women draped across them like accessories.

And then I see him.

Adrian.

My stomach lurches.

Same face as Damian. Same jawline. Same piercing eyes. Same build. But where Damian is sharp control and pressed suits, Adrian is chaos. His tie is loose, shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, tattoos peeking from the collar. His smirk is wide, lazy, like he knows the world exists for his entertainment.

And he's surrounded. Of course he is. Women on both sides, one perched in his lap, his arm draped around her like she's nothing more than decoration.

My heart pounds. Every step I take toward him feels heavier than the last.

He looks up when I'm just a few feet away. His smirk falters.

"Well, well," Adrian drawls, sliding the girl off his lap. "If it isn't my favorite one-night stand."

Rage burns hot in my chest. "You son of a...."

"Careful, sweetheart." He leans back, eyes glinting. "Pregnant women shouldn't raise their blood pressure."

The women around him giggle nervously before drifting away. He waves his hand at them like he's dismissing servants.

Now it's just us.

I grip the edge of the table so hard my knuckles whiten. "You knew. You knew I thought you were your brother."

His smirk widens. "You didn't seem to mind at the time."

The words hit me like a slap. My throat closes. "You're disgusting."

He shrugs, grabbing his drink, swirling the amber liquid lazily. "Don't act like I forced you. You were eager enough."

My hand trembles. I want to throw his glass in his smug face. "I'm pregnant, Adrian. With your child."

His expression doesn't change. He takes a slow sip of whiskey, then sets the glass down. "Not my problem."

My chest caves. "Not your problem?"

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, eyes locking with mine. "Listen, babe. I don't do diapers. I don't do 3 a.m. feedings. And I definitely don't do family."

The casual cruelty in his tone makes my stomach twist. "You think you can just walk away?"

"I will walk away," he says smoothly. "Because I didn't sign up for this. You want a baby? That's on you. Don't come crying to me for help."

My eyes sting. "I'm not asking for help. I'm asking for responsibility."

He smirks again, leaning back. "And I'm telling you and no thanks. I've got better things to do."

Tears blur my vision, but fury steadies me. "You're a coward."

"Maybe." He shrugs. "But at least I'm honest about it."

The door behind me opens, and a chill runs down my spine. I don't have to turn to know who it is.

Damian.

He steps into the room like a storm in a suit, his gaze slicing straight to his brother. "Adrian."

Adrian grins, spreading his arms. "Look who finally decided to join the party. Come to clean up after me again, brother?"

Damian's jaw tightens. "You crossed a line this time."

Adrian laughs, tilting his head back. "Please. Don't tell me you're playing knight in shining armor for her." He gestures at me like I'm trash. "She was just another night. You know how it goes."

My stomach twists. "Don't talk about me like that."

Adrian's eyes glint. "Oh, but that's what you were. A night. Fun, sure. Memorable? Maybe. But not worth this drama."

Damian steps forward, his voice ice. "She's carrying your child."

Adrian snorts. "So? Not the first time someone's claimed that. Won't be the last."

My breath catches. "You bastard."

Adrian leans forward, resting his chin on his hand. "Let me guess. You want me to play daddy? To show up at Lamaze classes and hold your hand at the hospital? Sorry, sweetheart. That's not my role. I'm not built for that."

Damian's voice is low, lethal. "You're not built for anything except destruction."

"Always so dramatic," Adrian says, rolling his eyes. "Relax. She'll be fine. Single moms are all the rage these days."

My knees weaken, but I force myself to stand taller. "You think this is funny? You think walking away makes you strong?"

Adrian's grin fades, his expression sharpening. "No, sweetheart. Walking away makes me free."

For a second, the weight of his words crushes me. My chest tightens, my throat burns, my vision blurs.

But then I look at him-at his smug, careless face, at the way he thinks this is just another game-and something inside me hardens.

"You know what, Adrian?" My voice shakes, but it's loud. Strong. "You're pathetic. You think you're free, but really? You're just empty. You'll spend your whole life running from responsibility, and one day, you'll look around and realize you've got nothing. No family. No one who loves you. Just an empty bottle and a broken name."

His smirk falters. Just a little.

Damian's eyes flick toward me, something unreadable in them.

Adrian grabs his glass, downs the rest of the whiskey in one gulp, and slams it down. "Enjoy your speech, sweetheart. Because that's all it is. Words. I don't care. And I never will."

The finality in his voice slices through me, but I don't let him see me break. Not here. Not now.

I turn on my heel, shoving past Damian, my vision blurred with tears.

As I reach the door, I hear Damian's voice, low and cold, rumbling like thunder. "You'll regret this, Adrian."

Adrian laughs. "I never regret anything."

But his laughter sounds hollow.

And I don't look back.