Marcus sat alone in the dimly lit living room of his penthouse, the city lights of Aurelia Bay glittering far below like distant stars. The half-empty glass of whiskey in his hand had gone warm, untouched for the past twenty minutes. He stared at the floor-to-ceiling windows, but his mind was somewhere else entirely — replaying Clara’s words from the day before like a broken record he couldn’t turn off.

*Saw your precious ex at the hospital today. She looked awful. Was hanging around the maternity wing. Interesting, isn’t it?*

He had kept his face neutral when she said it. He hadn’t let the disappointment show. Not to Clara. She was useful, ambitious, and always ready with a knife if she sensed weakness. But inside, the words had hit him like a punch to the gut.

Fiona. Pregnant.

The possibility had been gnawing at him ever since. It hadn’t even been that long since they broke up. A few months at most. The thought that she could be carrying a child — possibly his — stirred something ugly and possessive inside him. Jealousy. Anger. A strange, unwanted longing that made his chest tighten.

But what if it wasn’t his?

What if it was Martin Mole’s?

That idea burned hotter than the whiskey ever could. Marcus remembered the way Fiona had looked at Martin during meetings at Voss — the stolen glances, the tension in the air whenever they were in the same room. He had brushed it off as work stress at the time. Now it felt like a betrayal that had been hiding in plain sight.

He set the glass down hard on the marble coffee table, the sound echoing in the empty penthouse. He stood up and paced the room, hands running through his hair. He couldn’t just sit here. He needed to see her. He needed to look her in the eyes and know the truth.

Marcus grabbed his keys and left the penthouse without another word.

---

The drive to Fiona’s quiet, leaf-shrouded street felt longer than usual. The city lights faded behind him as he turned onto the familiar road. It was well past midnight, the neighborhood dark and still. He parked a short distance away, not wanting to announce his arrival too loudly. His hands gripped the steering wheel for a moment before he forced himself out of the car.

He walked up the path to her modest cottage, the porch light casting a soft amber glow over the flowerbeds. The house looked peaceful from the outside — warm light leaking from the living room window, the faint scent of lavender in the night air. But Marcus’s heart was pounding with a storm of emotions he refused to name.

He raised his fist and knocked firmly on the door. Three sharp raps that echoed in the quiet night.

Inside, Fiona had been sitting on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, trying to rest after the emotional day. The hospital discharge, the conversation with Lena, the growing fear of rumors — it had all left her drained. She had just started to drift off when the knock came.

Her heart jumped. She glanced at the clock. It was too late for visitors. Elara had gone home earlier, and Caleb was respecting the space she had asked for.

She stood up slowly, still a little unsteady, and walked to the door. When she opened it, her breath caught.

Marcus stood on the porch, his face shadowed by the porch light but his eyes burning with intensity. He looked disheveled — hair messy, shirt untucked, a wild look in his gaze that made her take a small step back.

"Marcus?" she said, voice tight. "What are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night."

He didn’t answer with words.

The moment the door was open wide enough, he stepped forward and grabbed her by the arms — not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to hold her in place. His grip was desperate, his eyes searching her face like he was looking for answers in every line and shadow.

"Tell me this ain’t true," he said, his voice low and rough, almost breaking. "Tell me you’re not pregnant, Fiona."

Fiona’s heart slammed against her ribs. She tried to pull back, but his hold was steady.

"Marcus, let go," she said, her voice shaking. "You can’t just show up here like this—"

He didn’t release her. His eyes were wide, a storm of jealousy and disbelief swirling in them.

"I saw Clara’s message. She said she saw you at the hospital. Near the maternity wing. You looked sick. You were hiding something. Tell me the truth, Fiona. Are you pregnant?"

Fiona’s breath came faster. She could feel the baby flutter inside her, as if sensing the tension. Her mind raced. She couldn’t tell him the truth — not the full truth. Not that the baby was Martin’s. Not when everything was already so fragile.

"Marcus, please," she whispered, trying to keep her voice steady. "This isn’t the time. You need to leave."

But he didn’t move. His hands tightened slightly on her arms, not hurting her, but holding her there as if afraid she would disappear.

"I deserve to know," he said, his voice cracking. "We were together for years. If you’re pregnant... if it’s mine... I have a right to know. Tell me, Fiona. Are you pregnant? And if you are... who is the father?"

Fiona’s heart slammed against her ribs so hard she felt dizzy. She tried to pull back, but his hold — though not painful — kept her anchored in place. The baby gave a sharp flutter inside her, as if sensing the storm. Her mind raced. She couldn’t tell him the truth. Not the full truth. Not that the child was Martin’s. Not when everything was already so fragile.

"Marcus, please," she whispered, her voice shaking. "This isn’t the time. You need to leave. You can’t just show up here like this—"

But before she could finish, a deep, angry voice cut through the night from behind Marcus.

"I am the father. And get your hands off my woman."

Marcus turned sharply, releasing Fiona in the same motion. His eyes widened as he saw Caleb standing a few feet away on the path, fists clenched at his sides, his face a mask of cold fury. Caleb had arrived quietly, having come to check on Fiona after a long day of giving her space. The sight of Marcus grabbing her had ignited something primal in him.

Caleb stepped forward, his presence commanding despite the calm night around them. His eyes locked on Marcus with unmistakable warning.

"You heard me," Caleb said, voice low and dangerous. "She’s pregnant. The baby is mine. And you will never put your hands on her again."

Fiona stood frozen in the doorway, one hand instinctively moving to her belly. Her breath came in short, panicked bursts. She hadn’t expected Caleb to arrive at this exact moment, but his intervention both relieved and terrified her. The secret she had guarded so carefully was now teetering on the edge.

Marcus stared at Caleb, his face twisting with disbelief and rage.

"You?" he spat, taking a step toward him. "You’re telling me you got her pregnant? After a few weeks? Bullshit. Fiona and I were together for years. If she’s pregnant, it’s mine. You’re just the rebound trying to play hero."

Caleb didn’t flinch. He moved closer, positioning himself between Marcus and Fiona, his shoulders squared.

"You lost her the moment you broke her heart," Caleb said, his tone steady but laced with steel. "She chose me. She’s carrying my child now. And I will protect both of them from anyone who tries to hurt them — including you. So back off."

Fiona’s voice finally broke through, weak but urgent.

"Marcus, please go. This isn’t helping anyone."

Marcus ignored her, his eyes locked on Caleb. The jealousy was raw on his face, years of history with Fiona flashing behind his eyes. He had convinced himself he was over her. But hearing she might be pregnant — and with another man — tore open old wounds.

"You think you can just step in and take everything?" Marcus growled. "She was mine first. If that baby is mine, I have rights. I won’t let you steal my family."

Caleb’s jaw tightened. He took another step forward, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

"That baby is mine. Fiona is mine. And if you ever show up here again uninvited, we’re going to have a much bigger problem than this conversation. Leave. Now."

The two men stood locked in a tense standoff, the air thick with raw male rivalry. Marcus’s fists were clenched, his breathing heavy. For a second, it looked like he might swing. But something in Caleb’s unwavering gaze — the quiet, protective fury — made him hesitate.

Marcus finally took a step back, his eyes flicking to Fiona one last time. The pain in his expression was unmistakable.

"This isn’t over," he said, his voice rough. "If that baby is mine, I’ll find out. And I won’t let you take it from me."