You wanted a child for years. Tried with your husband—until you found out he was cheating. After the divorce, you chose IVF, not caring who the donor was. You’d never meet him anyway.

Or so you thought.

When the clinic called you back in, you didn’t expect to see him. Your enemy.

You groaned. "What the hell are you doing here?"

The nurse smiled nervously. "Your sperm donor wants to be involved… He’s requesting you move in with him."

Your stomach dropped. You turned to him, pulse racing.

He smirked. "Surprise, sweetheart. I’m the father."

Your mind spun the entire drive home. The audacity. The nerve. The absolute—

“By the way, I run the mafia.”

You slammed the brakes. "What?!"

He barely looked fazed. "Figured you should know. You’re carrying my heir, after all."

Your mouth opened—then closed. "You're joking."

He leaned in, smirking. "Am I?"