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.

Damian's POV

There are moments when I wonder why I don't just let it all burn.

Adrian. His scandals. His messes. His endless trail of chaos that somehow always ends up at my feet.

But then I remember the last name we share. Cole. And that name means something. At least, it's supposed to.

Tonight though... watching Ariana Blake storm out of that lounge with tears in her eyes, carrying a baby my brother created and discarded?

Something twists in my chest I don't have a name for.

Guilt. Responsibility. Rage.

Maybe all three.

Adrian slouches back in his seat, pouring another glass of whiskey like none of this matters. "Well, that was fun," he says, smirking. "I give her credit, a fiery little thing. You sure you don't want her? She might spice up that cold life of yours."

I want to break the glass in his hand. "She's carrying your child, Adrian. And you laughed in her face."

He shrugs. "Better she learns now than later. I'm not father material."

"You're not human material." My voice is low, sharp.

"Careful, brother." He grins, but there's no humor in it. "You're starting to sound like Dad. And we both know how much fun he was."

My jaw tightens. He knows exactly where to stab. "This isn't about our father. This is about you. You've destroyed lives before, but this-this is different. There's a baby involved."

Adrian rolls his eyes. "And you'll swoop in, right? Play the savior. You always do."

My fists curl. "Someone has to."

For a second, his smirk slips. Just a second. Then it's back, wide and sharp. "Good luck, brother. She hates you almost as much as she hates me."

I leave before I do something I can't take back.

My penthouse feels colder than usual when I walk in. The city skyline glows outside the glass walls, but it doesn't impress me tonight. Nothing does.

I loosen my tie, drop my jacket, pour myself a drink, and sit in silence.

Ariana's voice won't leave my head.

"You think this is about your reputation? I care about my baby."

She's right.

But I can't let her see that.

Because if I start caring, if I let that wall crack, then I'm trapped. And I can't afford to be trapped , not by her fire, not by her tears, not by a child that isn't mine.

I take a long swallow of whiskey. It doesn't help.

I see her again, standing in that exam room, glaring at me with eyes full of fury and fear. Telling me to stay away. Pulling her hand out of mine like my touch burned her.

And yet...

I couldn't stop myself.

I told her she wasn't alone. I told her Adrian would destroy her.

Because it's true.

And because the thought of her fighting this battle by herself makes something in my chest ache in a way I can't explain.

The next morning, my assistant barges into my office with a tablet in her hand. "Sir... you need to see this."

I glance up from the contracts on my desk. "What now?"

She slides the tablet toward me.

There it is.

Video from the restaurant. Ariana storming in. Slapping me. Shouting that she's pregnant. Vanessa storming out. The entire scene captured from three angles, already viral.

"Half the city's talking about it," my assistant says carefully. "The board wants answers. And..." She hesitates. "So does the press."

I close my eyes briefly, fighting the urge to slam my fist into the desk.

Of course. I knew this was coming. Ariana warned me.

But seeing it-seeing myself splashed across headlines as the cheating billionaire, the scandalized lover, the man who knocked up a stranger-makes my blood boil.

"Get PR on it," I say tightly. "Damage control, now. And keep Vanessa quiet. She'll try to milk this if we don't shut her down."

"Yes, sir." My assistant hesitates again. "What about... the woman?"

My jaw tightens. The woman. Ariana.

"She's off-limits to the press," I say finally. "If anyone comes near her, I'll bury them."

My assistant nods quickly and leaves.

I lean back in my chair, rubbing a hand over my face.

Why do I care?

She humiliated me in public. She screamed accusations that weren't even true. She threw my life into chaos.

And yet...

I can't stop thinking about her.

Her fire. Her stubbornness. The way she looked when she pressed her hand protectively over her stomach, even as she stood toe-to-toe with me.

She doesn't want my help. She made that clear.

But whether she likes it or not, she's in my orbit now.

And Adrian sure as hell isn't going to lift a finger.

Which leaves me.

Always me.

That night, I pour another drink, staring out over the glittering city.

I should hate her.

But all I feel is guilt.

For my brother. For my family name. For a baby that isn't mine but is still somehow my responsibility.

And maybe, just maybe, for the way she makes me feel something I've spent years burying.

The phone buzzes.

It's a message from an unknown number.

Stay away from Ariana Blake if you know what's good for you.

I stare at the screen, fury sparking low in my chest.

Adrian.

Of course.

I toss the phone down and grab my jacket.

Because no matter how much she hates me, no matter how much I try to stay detached...

I can't let her fight this alone.

Not when I know exactly how dangerous Adrian can be.