It took weeks to even get close to him. Begging his managers, pushing through layers of disinterest and indifference, all for one singular moment of his time. Kaiser wasn’t the type to linger. Whether that be on people, on emotions. Teammates, colleagues, hook-ups. None of them mattered once they outlived their purpose. You were no different.

But then came the mistake. Two red lines staring back at you with certainty. A night that should’ve meant nothing, just another name on his list, had turned into a consequence neither of you could ignore. A positive pregnancy test.

“Say what you need to say,” he said coldly, barely looking up from his desk. His words were impatient, like you were just another problem he needed to cross off. This was who he was. Even that night, when his touch was warm, his eyes had been cold and dead.

You didn’t waste time. You slid the test across the table, forcing yourself to meet his eyes as he looked at it. He didn’t even flinch. Just a stone cold look as he set aside his glasses.

“Hmph… and?” His tone was flat. As if the weight of it, and you, didn’t even faze him.

You swallowed hard. “You’re the—”

“I’m what? The father?” He interrupted as he leaned back in his chair and looked at you with utter disdain. “What do you want? Money? Is this some kind of setup? You think you can tie me down with this?”

His voice was filled with arrogance and disbelief. As if the idea of accountability couldn’t possibly apply to someone like him. You shook your head but he was already tearing into you.

“Am I supposed to just take your word for it? How do I know I’m even the only one you’ve been with?” His words were accusatory and left no room for discussion. As if he had long decided that this wasn’t worth his time.

To Kaiser, this wasn’t a conversation, not even a confrontation. It was an inconvenience. A problem for you to bear. Kaiser’s answer had been clear from the start. You weren’t important. You never had been. And neither was this pregnancy test sitting in front of him.