Chapter 1 The Positive Test
I stared at the small plastic stick in my hand, my heart pounding so loudly I could hear it in my ears. Two pink lines. Clear as day. I blinked several times, hoping one would disappear, but they remained stubbornly in place, mocking my carefully constructed life plan.
"This can't be happening," I whispered to the empty bathroom of my Manhattan apartment. My hand trembled as I wrapped the pregnancy test in toilet paper and buried it deep in the trash can. As if hiding the evidence could somehow undo the truth.
I splashed cold water on my face and stared at my reflection. Sophia Montgomery, 28 years old, curator at one of New York's most prestigious art galleries. Daughter of a fallen banking dynasty. Secret lover of Alexander Sterling for three years. And now, apparently, mother-to-be.
Alexander. The thought of him made my stomach clench with anxiety. In our three years together, he'd made his position on family abundantly clear. "Business dynasties are built on strategic alliances, not sentiment," he once told me after a charity gala where we'd watched a colleague parade around his newborn. The cold distaste in his eyes had been unmistakable.
Our relationship existed in carefully defined parameters. Weekends at his penthouse or my apartment. No public appearances together. No declarations of love. No promises for the future. It worked because I never asked for more. After watching my father's suicide following our family's financial ruin and my mother's subsequent descent into depression, I'd learned that emotional dependence was a luxury I couldn't afford.
But a baby changed everything.
I spent the day in a fog, mechanically arranging a new exhibition at the gallery while my mind raced through scenarios, each more disastrous than the last. By evening, I'd made no decisions except that I needed to gauge Alexander's reaction before revealing anything.
He arrived at my apartment at precisely seven, as scheduled. Three years of secret meetings had created a routine as predictable as clockwork.
"The Rothschild collection exceeded expectations," Alexander said as he poured himself a whiskey, his tall frame silhouetted against the Manhattan skyline visible through my living room windows. "The Asian markets responded particularly well."
I nodded, barely hearing him as I served the dinner I'd ordered from his favorite restaurant. My hands shook slightly as I set down the plates.
"Are you unwell?" His sharp eyes missed nothing. "You're pale."
"Just tired," I lied, reaching for the remote. "I saw an interesting documentary preview earlier."
I deliberately selected a streaming service and let it play random content while we ate. When a baby formula commercial appeared, I carefully watched his face from the corner of my eye.
His expression hardened immediately, jaw tightening as he reached for his wine glass. The silence stretched between us, taut and dangerous.
"Are you pregnant?" His voice cut through the room like ice.
The direct question stunned me. I'd expected to need more hints, more time to prepare. My fork clattered against the plate.
"What makes you ask that?" My voice sounded foreign to my own ears.
Alexander set down his glass with deliberate precision. "You've been distracted all evening. You're not drinking wine. And you just 'happened' to play a baby commercial." His dark eyes narrowed. "Don't insult my intelligence, Sophia."
My heart raced. I wasn't ready for this confrontation—I hadn't decided what I wanted yet. But Alexander Sterling didn't tolerate evasion.
"I—I just found out today," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.
His face transformed instantly, all warmth vanishing as he stood up, towering over the table. "Was this planned? An accident? Or perhaps a convenient strategy?"
"An accident," I said quickly, hurt by the implication. "I would never—"
"Let me be clear," he interrupted, his voice dangerously low. "I don't need an heir. My company is my legacy. And I particularly despise being manipulated."
"I'm not manipulating you," I protested, tears threatening to spill. "This wasn't intentional."
"Then you know what needs to be done." It wasn't a question but a statement. "I'll have my assistant schedule an appointment at a private clinic. Discretion assured."
The cold, businesslike way he discussed eliminating our child made something inside me rebel. But I wasn't ready to fight this battle tonight. Not when I was still processing the reality myself.
"Of course," I said quietly, looking down at my plate. "That would be... sensible."
Alexander studied me for a long moment, searching for signs of deception. Whatever he saw seemed to satisfy him because he nodded curtly before returning to his meal.
"I'm flying to London tomorrow morning for meetings with European investors," he said, seamlessly transitioning back to business as if we hadn't just discussed terminating a pregnancy. "I'll be gone for three days. My assistant will contact you about the appointment."
I nodded mechanically, pushing food around my plate without eating. Inside, my thoughts were in chaos. Three days. I had three days to decide what I truly wanted before Alexander returned to enforce his solution.
That night, after he left, I lay awake staring at the ceiling, my hand resting on my still-flat stomach. There was nothing to feel yet—no movement, no physical sign of the life growing inside me. But knowing it was there changed everything.
Tomorrow, I decided, I would see a doctor. A real appointment, not the one Alexander would arrange. I needed information before I could make any decision. I needed to hear a heartbeat, to see an ultrasound, to make this abstract concept real.
As dawn broke over the Manhattan skyline, I made my first appointment with an obstetrician. Dr. Emily Carter had been recommended by a colleague at the gallery who'd recently had a baby. As I put down the phone, I felt something I hadn't expected—a flutter of excitement beneath the fear.
Three days. Three days to decide the course of multiple lives.
And somehow, as I watched the sunrise paint my apartment in shades of gold and pink, I already suspected my decision wouldn't align with Alexander's expectations.
