“I didn’t know how else to reach you,” she said, lifting her chin. “You didn’t leave a number when you ran out that night.”
The accusation stung because it was fair.
“My father was dying,” he said quietly.
“I know that now. I didn’t know it then,” she replied, her hands clasped in her lap, knuckles white. “I’m not here to blame you or ask for anything. You just… you deserve to know. That’s all.”
Carter stood, needing to move, needing to think. His mind was racing through logistics, possibilities, outcomes.
“How far along?”
“Eight weeks,” she answered.
The timeline matched their night together.
But timelines could be manipulated. He’d learned that the hard way.
God, he hated himself. Hated the cold calculation creeping into his thoughts when all he wanted was to trust her, to believe her, to pull her into his arms and tell her everything would be okay.
But people had tried to destroy him before, and they’d use any weapon.
“I want a paternity test,” he said finally.
The words dropped into the room like stones.
The silence that followed stretched so long that Natalie wondered if she’d actually heard him correctly. Maybe her exhausted brain had scrambled the words. Maybe he’d said something else entirely.
But no—the look on his face, distant and controlled, told her she’d heard exactly right.
“A paternity test,” she repeated, her voice flat.
“Yes.”
Something inside her cracked. Not broke—breaking would come later. This was just the first hairline fracture in what would eventually become a complete shattering.
“Of course,” she said. She was proud of how steady her voice sounded. “I expected that.”
It was a lie. She hadn’t expected it at all.
In her naive, foolish heart, she’d imagined… what? That he’d be happy? That he’d pull her close and kiss her and tell her everything would be okay? That the man who’d held her so tenderly, who’d whispered soft words in the dark, who’d looked at her like she was precious, would believe her?
Stupid. So incredibly stupid.
“I’ll arrange for the test tomorrow,” Carter said, and was it her imagination or did he sound relieved, like he’d been bracing for an argument? “Dr. Reynolds can handle it discreetly.”
“Fine.” Natalie swung her legs over the side of the bed, ignoring how the room tilted slightly. The IV was still in her arm, but she didn’t care. She needed to leave.
“I’ll go now.”
“You’re not going anywhere.” Carter’s hand shot out, catching her wrist—not hard, but firm enough to stop her. “You collapsed. You’re dehydrated. You haven’t eaten.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” he said. “You’re pregnant, and you spent all day in the sun without food or water. That’s not fine.”
“Why do you care?” The words burst out before she could stop them. “You don’t even believe it’s yours. You think I’m lying, so why does it matter?”
Something flashed in his eyes—pain maybe, or guilt—but it was gone before she could be sure.
“Because if you are pregnant, if that baby is mine, then you’re both my responsibility,” he said quietly. “And I take care of what’s mine.”
