Chapter 3 Nadia's POV

I slammed the door in his face.

My hands shook as I leaned against it, heart hammering. How did he know? I'd been so careful. Used my maiden name at the doctor's office, paid cash for everything, and avoided anywhere he might see me.

"Nadia, open the door." Julian's voice was calm, controlled. The same tone he used in board meetings.

"Go away."

"We need to talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about." I pressed my hand to my stomach, feeling the baby kick. She always kicked when I was stressed, like she could sense my anxiety. "The divorce is almost final. You made it very clear you wanted nothing to do with me."

"That was before I knew you were carrying my child."

Of course. The baby changed everything for him, didn't it? Not because he cared about being a father, but because Julian Ashford never left loose ends. A child was a liability, something that needed to be managed, controlled.

"Please," he said, and the word sounded foreign in his mouth. Julian didn't say please. "Just give me five minutes."

I closed my eyes. I could call the police and have him removed. But that would only delay the inevitable. He knew now, and he wouldn't stop until he got what he wanted. He never did.

I opened the door.

He stood in my tiny hallway, looking completely out of place in his three-piece suit. His eyes went immediately to my stomach, and something flickered across his face. Shock, maybe. Or calculation.

"Come in," I said, stepping back. "But make it quick. I have a doctor's appointment in an hour."

He followed me into the apartment, and I watched him take in the space. The cramped living room with furniture from IKEA, the kitchenette barely big enough for one person, the single window overlooking a brick wall. This was my home now, and I wasn't ashamed of it.

"When's the due date?" he asked.

"March fifteenth. Eight weeks." I sat in the armchair, the only comfortable spot in the apartment. I wasn't offering him anything. Not tea, not a seat, not courtesy.

Julian remained standing. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why would I?" The question came out harder than I intended. "You signed our divorce papers during a conference call, Julian. You couldn't even put down your phone long enough to end our marriage. What exactly did you think would happen if I told you I was pregnant?"

"I had a right to know."

"You had a right to be a husband first." I felt tears threaten and blinked them away. I'd cried enough over Julian Ashford. "You don't get to show up now and demand rights. Not after everything."

He was silent for a moment, and I could see him thinking, strategizing. This was what he did best. Find the angle, exploit the weakness, win.

"What do you want?" he finally asked.

"I want you to leave."

"I mean long-term. Child support? Medical expenses covered? I'll set up a trust fund, ensure the child has everything."

"I don't want your money." The same words I'd said eight months ago. "I have a job. I can take care of my baby."

"Our baby," he corrected. "Legally, this child is mine too."

There it was. The real Julian, emerging from behind the careful facade. Everything was about legal rights, ownership, and control.

"Is that why you're here?" I asked. "You want to claim ownership of another asset?"

His jaw tightened. "That's not fair."

"Fair?" I laughed. "You want to talk about fair? I spent six years trying to build a life with you. I cooked dinners you never ate. I planned trips you never took. I tried so hard to matter to you, Julian, and you couldn't even pretend to care. So no, I don't think fair is a word you get to use."

"I know I wasn't a good husband."

"You weren't a husband at all. You were a stranger who occasionally slept in the same house." I stood, my anger giving me strength. "And now you want to be what? A father? You can't even commit to a dinner reservation."

"My grandmother died," he said abruptly.

The change in topic threw me. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"She left me nothing." His voice was flat. "The controlling shares of Ashford Industries go to my firstborn child. Not to me. To our baby."

And there it was. The real reason for his visit.

"So that's what this is about," I said quietly. "The company."

"It's more complicated than that."

"No, it's really not." I felt something break inside me, the last small hope I'd been carrying without realizing it. The hope that maybe, somehow, he was here because he wanted to be a father. Because he cared. "You're here because of business. Just like our marriage was business. Just like everything with you is always about business."

"Nadia."

"How much is it worth?" I interrupted. "The company. If our baby inherits controlling shares, what's the dollar amount? Because I want to know exactly how much my child is worth to you."

"That's not what this is about."

"Then what is it about, Julian? Tell me." I stepped closer to him, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes. "Tell me one reason you're here that isn't about money or power or control."

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Couldn't find the words because they didn't exist.

"That's what I thought," I said. "Get out."

"I want shared custody," he said instead. "Fifty-fifty. And I want a paternity test to make it official."

"Absolutely not."

"Then I'll file for it. My lawyers can have papers drawn up by tomorrow." His voice went cold, the businessman returning. "You can fight it, but you'll lose. I have resources you can't match. I'll bury you in legal fees until you have nothing left."

I stared at him, this man I'd married, and felt nothing but emptiness.

"Is that a threat?" I asked.

"It's a fact." He pulled out a business card and set it on my coffee table. "Call me when you're ready to be reasonable. We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Nadia. Your choice."

He walked to the door, then paused.

"For what it's worth," he said without turning around, "I am sorry. For all of it."