The letter was back on the table.
Again.
Sera didn't remember putting it there. She swore she'd stuffed it in her sock drawer last night, buried it under the fuzzy neon pair that never matched anything. But somehow, like a haunted sticky note, it had found its way back to her vanity, waiting in silence like a ghost that refused to be forgotten.
She glared at it. "No."
She spun on her heel and marched toward the kitchen, grabbing the leftover pancake from the fridge like it was a life raft. One bite. Chew. Swallow. Ignore. That was the plan.
Her phone vibrated against the counter.
UNKNOWN NUMBER
Artemis Tower. 10:00 AM. I don't like repeating myself.
Sera choked on her pancake. She coughed, coughed again, and grabbed a glass of water, gulping it down while her brain scrambled like a bad egg.
"Oh, screw you, Mr.suit."
Evander Thorne Ashford. Ice god. Power suit. That voice that could slice butter and probably souls. The man who just… walked into her cafe and flipped her entire life over like a diner table.
Sera glanced at the clock.
8:12 AM.
She still had time to say no. Plenty of time. Loads of time to do absolutely nothing and pretend she never got that text.
She paced the kitchen. Her body said nope, but her brain? Her brain was glitching—buzzing with a million what-ifs and one haunting fact:
Sera was pregnant. And that man? That billionaire whose eyes looked at her like she was a problem to solve? He was the other half of this nightmare.
She needed answers. Closure. Maybe. "Just go. Hear him out," she muttered. "No, bad idea. What if he wants the baby now? What if he sues me for custody? Or—or wants me to be some weird incubator for the next six months while he flies around in a helicopter made of diamonds?"
Sera flopped onto her bed. The ceiling fan spins in slow circles above her, its lazy rhythm doing absolutely nothing to calm the storm in her chest.
What if she stayed home?
What if she didn't go?
What if she just… quit her cafe job, moved to some town in the middle of nowhere, grew tomatoes, and raised this baby on goat cheese and indie rock?
But another part of her—the scrappy, stubborn part that had clawed her way through student debt, heartbreak, and life in a too-small apartment—said, No. Don't run.
Sera groaned and slapped her forehead with a pillow.
She didn't want to go. She also kind of wanted to go.
Mostly to yell.
Partly to see that smug, maddening face of his again and throw a triple-shot espresso in it. And maybe—just maybe—because she needed to know what the hell was going on.
Her phone buzzed again.
Evander Thorne Ashford sent a location pin.
Oh, so now he was just giving out tower coordinates like he was Bruce Wayne.
8:39 AM.
"Goddammit." Sera jumped out of bed and yanked open her closet. After trying on four outfits and rejecting them all like they were cursed, she finally settled on a plain navy-blue dress with a denim jacket and sneakers. She looked like a runaway barista trying to cosplay adulting, but it would have to do.
The subway ride was a blur. She gripped the pole, heart hammering in her chest, eyes wide as station after station passed. Everyone else looked calm. Normal. Like their lives hadn't exploded in the last 24 hours.
She almost bailed twice.
Once on the platform.
Once in the elevator of Artemis Tower.
Artemis Tower. 9:38 AM.
Sera hated it already.
The place looked like a Bond villain's lair—glass, steel, wealth you could smell. The security guards looked like they could break up a prison riot with just their glares. The lawyers in the lobby walked like they sued people for breathing too loudly.
"I don't belong here," she sighed, adjusting her denim jacket.
Sera stepped up to the front desk where the receptionist looked like she'd been grown in a lab to reject people. Perfect hair, perfect nails, a voice smoother than Sera's oat milk latte.
"Hi. Sera Marlow. I'm here to see Evander Thorne Ashford."
The woman tapped something into her sleek tablet, then gestured toward the frosted glass doors behind her. "He's waiting for you."
Of course he was.
The elevator whooshed her up like it couldn't wait to yeet her into trouble. She tapped her foot. Bit her lip. Regretted everything.
And then the doors opened.
Floor 40. Silence. And him.
The office was massive. Sleek. Minimalist. White and black with silver accents. Like someone had bottled "masculine, untouchable billionaire" and turned it into interior design.
And there he was.
Standing in front of a wall of windows, looking down at the city like a king surveying his empire. All brooding elegance and sin in a suit. His dark hair was perfectly styled, and his eyes—those piercing, emotionless grey eyes—landed on her like a spotlight.
Evander turned slowly, like a god descending from Olympus who'd just reviewed your credit score and was unimpressed. Not that she was expecting a red carpet welcome, but the lack of warmth still stung.
"You came, Ms. Marlow." A smoky gleam passed through those metallic eyes and sent heat rushing to her cheeks.
Four words. All it took to trigger her fight or flight.
Shrugging it off, Sera arched an eyebrow, her annoyance rising. She was already sick of his cool demeanor. "Well, I'm here, so let's get to the part where you stop playing god and start explaining why I'm standing here in the first place."
His lips twitched in the smallest of smiles—like a cat toying with its prey—but he didn't let the mask slip for long. Just a twitch. Gone in a blink.
""Very well," Short and simple, delivered with self-assurance from someone who never had to explain himself. Evander walked behind his desk, plopping into the chair.
Sera crossed her arms. "Look, I don't know what kind of twisted billionaire baby drama you're expecting here, but I'm not your employee. Or your surrogate. Or hell I'm not even sure I want to talk to you right now."
A single brow lifted. "You've got a lot of nerve, you know that?" He threw a dark chuckle.
She flinched. His voice was made of winter. She wanted to scream or throw a paperweight at his stupid handsome face.
"I'm offering you a deal."
A tiny frown creased her forehead. "A deal? What kind of deal?"