Chapter 4 Julina's POV

Marcus was waiting in my office when I returned from Brooklyn.

"Heard about the baby," he said, feet propped on my desk like he already owned it. "Congratulations, cousin. Didn't think you had it in you."

I walked past him to the bar cart, poured myself two fingers of scotch. It was barely noon, but I needed something to wash away the look on Nadia's face when I'd threatened her with lawyers.

"Get your feet off my desk."

Marcus laughed but complied. "Touchy. I'm just here to offer my support during this difficult time. Grandmother's death must be hard on you."

"Cut the act. What do you want?"

"Just checking in on family." He stood, straightening his tie. "Making sure you understand the situation. That baby needs to be born within the Ashford family. Legitimate. Legal. No complications."

"I'm aware."

"Are you?" Marcus moved closer, his smile sharp. "Because from what I hear, your ex-wife hates your guts. She's not going to make this easy. And if that baby is born after your divorce is final, if there's any question about custody or legitimacy, the board won't accept it. Too messy. Too risky."

"The board answers to the majority shareholder," I said.

"Which will be me in four months if you can't produce an heir." He checked his watch, mimicking my own nervous habit. "Clock's ticking, Julian. Better figure out how to win back a wife you never wanted in the first place."

He left, and I drained my scotch in one swallow.

My phone buzzed. Mitchell.

"She's not going to agree to shared custody," I said before he could speak.

"Then we file anyway. Establish paternity, push for court-ordered visitation. Once the baby is born-"

"She'll fight me on everything." I set down my glass, staring at the city below. "And she should. I was a terrible husband."

Silence on the other end. Mitchell wasn't paid to comment on my personal failures.

"There's another option," he finally said. "Reconciliation. If you can convince her to give the marriage another chance, the inheritance is clean. The baby is born legitimate, you maintain control, everyone wins."

"Except Nadia."

"She gets financial security. A father for her child. The Ashford name. That's nothing."

It was nothing. Nothing compared to what I'd put her through. But Marcus was right about one thing-the clock was ticking. In eight weeks, that baby would be born. In four months, I'd lose everything if I couldn't prove legal parentage and custody.

"Set up a meeting with the board," I said. "I need to know exactly what they'll accept."

I hung up and pulled out my laptop, searching for something I should have looked for years ago. Nadia Laurent. My wife. The woman I'd married and never bothered to know.

Her social media was sparse. A few photos from charity events, always smiling that polite smile that never reached her eyes. I scrolled back further, before our marriage. There she was laughing with friends, paint splattered on her face at some art gallery. Another photo of her covered in flour, baking with an older woman who must have been her mother.

She looked happy. Alive.

I kept scrolling. Found her college thesis posted on an academic site. "The Ethics of Transactional Relationships in Modern Society." I clicked it open, skimming the abstract. It was about arranged marriages, business partnerships disguised as romance, the human cost of treating people like assets.

She'd written it the year before we got married.

She'd known exactly what our marriage would be, and she'd married me anyway. Because her father was dying and needed the money. Because she'd sacrificed her own happiness for family.

Just like I was asking her to do again.

My phone rang. Unknown number.

"Mr. Ashford?" A woman's voice, professional. "This is Dr. Sarah Chen from Brooklyn Methodist. I'm Nadia Laurent's OB-GYN."

My pulse quickened. "Is she alright? The baby."

"They're both fine. But Ms. Laurent listed you as the father on her medical forms, and I'm calling to inform you that she's been scheduled for an emergency appointment tomorrow morning. There's been some elevated blood pressure readings that we need to monitor."

"What does that mean?"

"It could be nothing, or it could be early signs of preeclampsia. We're being cautious given that she's in her third trimester." Dr. Chen paused. "She mentioned you two are separated. I'm calling because if this develops into a serious condition, you should be prepared. Preeclampsia can require early delivery."

Early delivery. The baby is coming sooner than expected.

"What time is the appointment?" I asked.

"Nine AM. Mr. Ashford, I should tell you, Ms. Laurent specifically asked me not to call you. But as the listed father, you have a right to medical information. I thought you should know."

She hung up, and I sat frozen. Nadia was sick, possibly seriously, and she didn't want me to know. Didn't want my help. Would rather risk her health than deal with me.

I looked at the business card I'd left on her coffee table, remembering the threat I'd made. I'll bury you in legal fees.

What kind of man threatens a pregnant woman?

The kind of man who loses everything, apparently.

I grabbed my keys and headed for the elevator. My assistant called after me, something about a meeting with the Tokyo investors, but I ignored her. For once, the company could wait.

I drove back to Brooklyn, rehearsing what I'd say. An apology, maybe. An offer to help with medical bills. Something that didn't make me sound like a complete monster.

But when I got to her building, I sat in my car for an hour, staring at her window. What right did I have to show up again? To demand entry into a life I'd rejected?

My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.

Stop sitting outside my building. You're scaring my neighbors.

I looked up. Nadia stood at her window, phone in hand, watching me.

I got out of the car.

She met me at the door, arms crossed over her stomach. "What now, Julian?"

"Your doctor called me," I said. "About your blood pressure."

Her face went pale. "She had no right."

"I'm listed as the father. She had every right." I took a breath. "Let me come to the appointment tomorrow. Please. Not as your husband or your enemy. Just as someone who wants to make sure you're both okay."

"Why should I trust you?"

"You shouldn't," I admitted. "I haven't given you any reason to. But I'm asking anyway."

She studied my face for a long moment. "One appointment. You sit quietly, you don't make demands, and you leave when I ask you to. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

She started to close the door, then stopped. "Julian? Why does your grandmother's will matter so much? You're already rich. Already powerful. Why do you need the company?"

I could have lied. Should have lied. But something about the way she looked at me, tired and pregnant and still somehow stronger than I'd ever been, made me tell the truth.

"Because it's all I have," I said. "And without it, I'm nothing."

Her expression softened, just slightly. "That's the saddest thing I've ever heard."