Chapter 9
1367words
"It's okay, thank you." I force a smile as the loan officer at Silver Creek National Bank slides my application back across the desk. Her sympathetic expression only makes the rejection sting more.
"I'm sorry, Ms. Rivera. With your current debt-to-income ratio and no additional collateral..."
I've heard variations of this speech five times this week. My credit is good, but not good enough for an unsecured loan of half a million dollars. And the clock is ticking—two weeks left until the time required by Lucas.
After leaving the bank, I sit in my car, resting my forehead against the steering wheel. The exhaustion that's been plaguing me all week washes over me in a heavy wave. I've been blaming stress and poor sleep, but this bone-deep fatigue feels different somehow.
There's only one option left, and it's the one I've been avoiding. My father.
Richard Rivera and I haven't spoken more than a dozen sentences to each other since my mother's funeral ten years ago. When he married Nancy just three months after Mom died, something broke between us.
I drive to his office—a sleek, modern building downtown with RIVERA PROPERTIES emblazoned across the entrance.
"Sienna. This is unexpected."
"Hello, Father." The formality feels strange on my tongue, but we've never been the kind of family that hugs or uses terms of endearment.
"I assume this is about Lucas and Vanessa's wedding?" He remains standing, making no move to invite me to sit.
"No. It's about my business." I straighten my spine, determined not to show weakness. "Lucas is forcing me to buy his share of Moonbrew for five hundred thousand dollars, or he'll sell to someone else."
My father's eyebrow arches slightly. "And you're here because...?"
"I need a loan." The words taste bitter. "Just until I can refinance or find investors. Six months, a year at most."
He studies me for a long moment, then sighs. "No."
The bluntness shouldn't surprise me, but it still stings. "You haven't even heard my terms."
"I don't need to. Your coffee shop is a hobby, Sienna, not a real business. If Lucas wants out, perhaps it's time you moved on as well."
"A hobby?" I repeat, heat rising to my face. "I've built Moonbrew from nothing into one of the most successful independent coffee shops in the city!"
"And yet here you are, begging for money." His voice remains calm, infuriatingly reasonable. "If you'd gone to business school like I suggested instead of chasing your mother's... wild nature, you wouldn't be in this position."
"Wild nature?"
Something flickers in his eyes—caution, perhaps. "Your mother never could be tamed by conventional expectations. She was... different. Not like normal women."
The casual dismissal of both my mother and my life's work ignites something fierce inside me. "My mother believed in following our passion."
"Yes, and look where that got her." His eyes flash with something I can't quite identify—anger? Fear? "Dead at thirty-eight, leaving behind a daughter who inherited all her... unpredictable traits."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, suddenly feeling defensive.
He looks at me intently, as if searching for something in my features. "You're more like her than you know, Sienna. The same restlessness around the full moon. The same... intensity. It's why I've kept my distance. Some things are better left dormant."
The cryptic comment leaves me momentarily speechless. When I find my voice again, it's surprisingly steady. "What exactly did you hate about her, Father? That she had dreams beyond being your perfect society wife? That she taught me to value creativity and compassion over money and status?"
"I didn't hate your mother," he says quietly, and for a brief moment, I glimpse genuine pain in his eyes. "I loved her too much. But loving something... inhuman... comes with consequences I wasn't prepared for."
"Inhuman? What are you talking about?"
He shakes his head, composing himself. "It doesn't matter now. The answer is still no to your loan. I have another meeting." He glances at his watch. "Some lessons you need to learn the hard way, Sienna. Just like she did. Just be careful who you... mate with. Your mother's bloodline has... complications."
I leave my father's office with empty hands, a heart heavy with rejection, and a mind swirling with confusion over my father's strange comments. As I reach my car, nausea rolls through me, forcing me to lean against the vehicle until the wave passes. This is the third time this week. At first, I blamed it on stress, but a terrifying thought begins to form.
No. It can't be. The doctor said...
But my period is late. Very late. With everything happening, I hadn't even noticed.
Twenty minutes later, I'm pacing the small bathroom of my apartment, waiting for the timer on my phone to signal that the pregnancy test is ready. I bought three different brands, needing to be absolutely certain.
The timer chimes, and I'm staring at two pink lines, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
Positive.
With shaking hands, I take the second test. Then the third. All positive.
I sink to the bathroom floor, my back against the cool tile wall. How is this possible? The doctor said my endometriosis was advanced, that natural conception would be difficult if not impossible. And Lucas had been secretly giving me contraceptives...
Damon.
It has to be him. That one night, two weeks ago. The timing fits.
But this makes no medical sense. One night with a stranger resulting in pregnancy when years of trying had failed? When my own body was supposedly working against me?
I press my hand to my still-flat stomach, a mixture of disbelief and wonder washing over me. Inside me grows the very thing I thought I'd never have—a baby. My baby. The family I thought I'd never have.
But I can't do this alone. And I can't keep this from Damon, whoever he is. He has a right to know, even if he wants nothing to do with us afterward.
I pull out the sleek black business card I've kept in my wallet, running my finger over the embossed silver number. What would I even say? "Hello, remember me? The emotional wreck you slept with? Well, surprise! I might be carrying your child."
And what if he doesn't remember me? What if this was just one of many one-night stands for him? What if he thinks I'm lying, trying to trap him?
I take a deep breath and press call.
One ring. Two rings. Three.
Just as I'm about to hang up, convinced this is a mistake, he answers.
"Sienna." His voice is exactly as I remember it—deep, resonant, with that underlying rumble that sends shivers down my spine.
He remembered my name. He knew it was me calling, even though I never gave him my number.
"How did you—" I begin, then shake my head. Not important right now. "I need to see you. It's important."
"Is it now?" There's amusement in his voice, and something else—a predatory interest that makes my pulse quicken. "How important?"
"Life-changing important," I reply, one hand unconsciously moving to my stomach. "Could you... could you come to my apartment? I'd rather discuss this in private."
There's a brief silence on the other end, and I worry I've overstepped. After all, we had one night together. I have no right to make demands on his time.
"Text me your address. I'll be there in an hour."
I hang up, my heart racing. I just invited the man I thought was an escort to my apartment to tell him I'm pregnant with his child. I have no idea who he really is beyond his first name and the memory of his touch.
As I frantically tidy my small apartment, trying to make it presentable, I wonder what kind of man will show up at my door. Will he be angry? Disbelieving? Will he want nothing to do with me or the baby?
I place my hand on my stomach again, a protective gesture that already feels natural. "Whatever happens," I whisper to the tiny life inside me, "we'll figure it out together."
