Chapter 10
1587words
"You can do this," I look at myself in the mirror. "Just tell him the truth. If he walks away, you'll manage on your own. You always have."
I've changed outfits three times, finally settling on a simple blue wrap dress. My apartment has never been cleaner—as if perfectly arranged throw pillows will somehow make this conversation easier.
The doorbell rings precisely one hour after our call. Taking a deep breath, I open the door.
Damon stands in the hallway, even more devastatingly handsome than I remembered. His charcoal suit screams money, and those unusual amber eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that makes my knees weak.
"Sienna." My name on his lips sounds like a caress.
"Thank you for coming," I manage, stepping aside. "Please, come in."
He enters with that fluid grace I remember, his presence immediately making my modest apartment feel smaller. His gaze sweeps the room, taking in every detail.
"Would you like something to drink?" I offer, desperate for normalcy. "Water, coffee—"
"Water is fine."
When I return from the kitchen, he's examining the framed photo of my mother and me on the bookshelf.
"Your mother?" he asks, accepting the water.
"Yes. She died when I was twelve."
Something flickers in his eyes. "You look like her."
"Thank you." I gesture to the couch. "Please, sit."
He does, his powerful frame making my furniture look suddenly delicate. I perch on the edge of the armchair across from him, too nervous to sit beside him.
"So," he says after a moment, "what was so important that you needed to see me?"
I've rehearsed this moment a dozen times, but now all my carefully prepared speeches evaporate. There's no gentle way to say this.
"I'm pregnant," I blurt out. "And it's yours."
For a moment, he doesn't react at all. Then, something extraordinary happens—his eyes literally flash, the amber brightening to a molten gold for just a second before returning to normal.
I blink, certain I've imagined it.
"You're certain?" His voice is perfectly controlled.
"Yes. I took three tests." I hesitate, then add, "It shouldn't be possible. The day we met, I'd just been diagnosed with advanced endometriosis. The doctor said natural conception would be nearly impossible."
"Yet here we are." He sets his untouched water on the coffee table. "And you're certain I'm the father?"
"Yes. My ex was secretly giving me contraceptives, and you're the only... since then."
Something dangerous flashes in his eyes. "The one who drugged you without your consent."
"Yes."
"His name?"
The question catches me off guard. "Lucas Grant. Why?"
"No reason." But the cold smile that briefly touches his lips suggests otherwise.
I take a deep breath. "Look, I don't expect anything from you. I just thought you should know. I'm keeping the baby, but you can be as involved or uninvolved as you want."
He leans forward. "And what do you want, Sienna?"
The question throws me. No one has asked what I want in a long time.
"I want my baby to have a better family than I did. I want to keep my coffee shop. I want to not be terrified of the future." To my horror, tears spring to my eyes. "I'm sorry. This isn't your problem."
"Actually," he says, his voice softening, "I believe it is."
He stands and moves to the window, looking out at the darkening sky.
"I should tell you who I am," he finally says. "My name is Damon Sinclair."
The name should mean something to me, but it doesn't. I shake my head slightly.
"Sinclair Enterprises," he continues. "Real estate, technology, pharmaceuticals."
Understanding dawns slowly. Sinclair Enterprises—the multinational corporation with its name on half the buildings downtown.
"You're... rich," I say lamely.
A smile tugs at his lips. "That's one way of putting it."
"But at the club, I thought—" Heat floods my cheeks as I remember offering to pay him. "Oh God, I tried to pay you for sex."
"Yep. You were refreshing. Most people either want something from me or are intimidated by me. You treated me like a person."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I have a proposition for you." He moves closer. "Marry me, Sienna."
I stare at him, certain I've misheard. "Excuse me?"
"It's quite simple. You need money to save your business. I need an heir. You're carrying my child—a medical miracle, according to your doctor. We both get what we want."
My mind reels. Marriage? To a billionaire I've met exactly twice?
"This is insane," I breathe. "You don't even know me."
"I know enough." His amber eyes seem to see right through me. "You're resilient, determined, and loyal—evidenced by how you're fighting for a business your partner betrayed. You're compassionate—you offered to pay me, thinking I was an escort, rather than simply using me. And you're carrying my child against medical odds."
"And what about love? Compatibility? All the things that actually matter in a marriage?"
Something flickers across his face—a shadow of old pain. "My first wife died five years ago. I've learned that practical partnerships are more reliable than emotional entanglements."
"I'm sorry about your wife," I say softly. "But I can't just marry someone I barely know."
"Can't you?" He moves closer. "Think about it, Sienna. Your business saved. Financial security for you and our child. The best medical care during your pregnancy. A family for our baby."
His words hit their target with precision. Everything I want, everything I need, offered on a silver platter.
"And what would you expect from me?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
"To be my wife in all the ways that matter publicly. To raise our child together. To present a united front to the world." He pauses. "The rest would be... negotiable."
"The rest?" I echo, my cheeks warming.
His eyes darken slightly. "I think we've established that physical compatibility isn't an issue for us."
The memory of our night together sends heat coursing through me.
"I need time to think," I say, standing up.
"Of course." He reaches into his jacket and produces a small black card. "In the meantime, use this card for whatever you need. It has no spending limit."
I stare at the sleek black credit card, no numbers visible on its surface, just his name embossed in silver. "I can't accept that."
"You're carrying my child," he says simply. "Its mother shouldn't want for anything."
Before I can respond, he pulls out his phone, taps the screen a few times, then shows me the display. It's a banking app, showing a transfer of $500,000 to an account with my name on it.
"What did you just do?" I ask, stunned.
"Solved your immediate problem." He slips the phone back into his pocket. "Consider it a gesture of good faith, regardless of your decision about my proposal."
I should refuse. I should tell him I can't be bought. But the reality is, he's right—pride is a luxury I can't afford right now.
"Thank you," I say quietly. "But this doesn't mean I'm agreeing to marry you."
"Not yet." There's that confidence again. "But I hope you'll consider it."
He moves toward the door, then pauses. "One more thing. When is your ex getting married?"
The question catches me off guard. "Next month. The fifth. Why?"
A slow smile spreads across his face. "Just curious."
As he reaches for the doorknob, a sudden wave of dizziness washes over me. I sway on my feet, and in an instant, he's there, strong arms steadying me.
"Are you alright?" Concern colors his voice.
"Just a little lightheaded. It's been happening a lot lately."
His hand moves to my forehead, checking for fever. The touch is surprisingly tender. "You should sit down."
He guides me back to the couch, his arm around my waist. The contact sends electricity racing through me, awakening memories of our night together.
"I should go," he says, but makes no move to release me.
"Or you could stay," I hear myself say.
His eyes search mine. "Are you sure?"
No, I'm not sure of anything anymore. But I do know that despite everything, I want him.
"Yes," I whisper.
Later, we lie tangled in my sheets, my head resting on his chest.
"If we marry," I say into the darkness, "I have one condition."
"Name it." His voice rumbles through his chest.
"I want our wedding to be on the fifth of next month."
He shifts to look down at me, amusement dancing in his eyes. "The same day as your ex?"
"Yes." I don't try to hide my petty motivation. "And I want to book every decent venue in the city so they have nowhere to hold their wedding."
A laugh escapes him—rich and genuine. "Vengeful. I like it. Consider it done."
"I haven't said yes yet," I remind him.
"But you will." There's that infuriating confidence again.
As I drift toward sleep, wrapped in Damon's arms, strange images flicker through my mind—running through a moonlit forest, the wind in my fur, a sense of freedom I've never known.
I jolt awake, disoriented. Fur? What a bizarre dream.
"What is it?" Damon asks, instantly alert.
"Nothing," I murmur, settling back against him. "Just a strange dream."
His arms tighten around me, protective and possessive. "Sleep," he whispers. "I've got you."
As I slip back into slumber, I can't shake the feeling that something is changing within me—something beyond pregnancy, beyond this unexpected connection with Damon.
