“She doesn’t think so,” he replied. “Called me an emotionally constipated control freak last week.”
“Was she wrong?” Natalie asked.
Her question pulled a laugh out of him.
“Absolutely not,” he said. “She was completely right, which is why it stung.”
“I like her already,” Natalie said.
“She’d probably like you, too,” he said. “Once she got past being suspicious of any woman in my life.”
“Suspicious,” Natalie repeated.
“After Vanessa, after the press, they’ve seen how some people act around us,” he said. “They’re protective. Maybe a little too much.”
He reached across the table, hesitated, then took her hand anyway.
“They’ll be cautious,” he said. “But once they meet you, really meet you, they’ll see what I see.”
“Which is?” she asked softly.
“Someone genuine,” he said. “Someone honest. Someone strong enough to stand outside my building all day just to tell me the truth, even though I gave you every reason not to bother.”
Natalie looked down at their joined hands.
“You really need to stop saying things like that,” she said. “It makes it hard to stay mad at you.”
“You can stay a little mad,” he said. “I deserve it. But maybe also give me a chance to prove I’m not completely terrible.”
“One chance,” she said. “Mess it up and I’m done.”
“One chance,” he echoed. “I can work with that.”
Dinner turned into a habit.
Checkups turned into a schedule.
They talked about everything—the baby, her work, his never‑ending meetings, Gran’s insistence on teaching the baby Portuguese.
He started leaving meetings early for appointments in Brooklyn, baffling his board.
She started texting him sonogram photos and complaints about nausea.
He started reading books about pregnancy.
He also started worrying about the inevitable collision between Natalie and his family.
He didn’t have to wait long.
When the first tabloid article hit, Natalie woke up to seventeen missed calls and a text from Charlotte that said simply: “I’m so sorry.”
Her stomach dropped.
That was never a good sign.
She opened a news app and wished she hadn’t.
Translator Claims Pregnancy with Billionaire CEO.
The headline screamed at her in bold letters, accompanied by a grainy photo of her leaving Sullivan Tower.
Another article followed.
Gold Digger or Genuine? The Woman Who Says She’s Carrying Sullivan’s Baby.
And another.
After Past Scandal, Has Carter Sullivan Been Fooled Again?
The articles were brutal.
They dissected her modest background, her mother’s history, her finances. They compared her to Vanessa, implied she was after money, questioned the timing of her “convenient” pregnancy.
One particularly vicious piece quoted “anonymous sources” who claimed she’d trapped Carter on purpose.
Natalie’s hands shook as she scrolled.
Her phone wouldn’t stop buzzing—unknown numbers, emails from clients cancelling contracts, social media notifications she was too afraid to open.
“Gran,” she called, her voice breaking. “Gran!”
Her grandmother appeared in the doorway, took one look at her face, and immediately pulled her into a hug.
“What happened?” Gran demanded.
