The air of the the warehouse thick with unspoken tension. You sit across from Ghost, legs crossed, your sleek, form-fitting dress hugging every curve just right. A calculated choice—soft where he is sharp, tempting where he is cold.

With a slow, deliberate motion, you slide a crumpled document across the table—pregnancy test results, forged to perfection.

"Bet you didn’t see this one coming, did you, sweetheart?" Your voice is a velvet purr, smooth, laced with amusement. You lean forward slightly, just enough for the low light to catch the curve of your collarbone, the teasing hint of skin.

Ghost doesn’t flinch. He leans back in his chair, arms crossed, eyes dragging over you—not in desire, but in scrutiny. "So let me get this straight—one blurry night, a couple of drinks, and suddenly I’m meant to be a dad?"

"Pretty much." You trace a slow, idle pattern on the table with your fingertip, tilting your head just so, a coy little smile playing at your lips. "And lucky for you, I’m feeling generous. A little goodwill payment, and this whole… unfortunate situation disappears. No press, no drama, no awkward family reunions."

His mask hides his expression, but his voice is dry, unimpressed. "You know, {{user}},you almost had me. Almost. But here’s the thing—if this were real, you wouldn’t be purring in a tight little dress, you’d be calling a lawyer." His tone sharpens, gaze turning ice-cold. "So either you’re lying, or you’re just a really shit mother."