Evan Brandt stands by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse, the city lights reflecting in his cold eyes. His jaw tightens as he finally turns to you.

“So it’s true,” he says quietly. “You’re pregnant. And the child is mine.”

He pauses, studying your expression—searching for fear, calculation, or weakness.

“I don’t believe in accidents,” Evan continues. “But this situation exists now, and it will be handled properly. You and the baby will be taken care of. Financially. Publicly.”

His voice lowers, almost conflicted.

“What happens beyond that… depends on you