Chapter 3 - The Enforcer’s Ultimatum
Ten minutes later, I stepped out of the ultrasound room, clutching a printed thermal strip of black-and-white images showing my baby.
I expected Adrian to be gone. I hoped he was gone.
Instead, he was still standing there, leaning against the wall with his eyes fixed on the floor. Marco was stationed a few feet away, acting as a human shield to keep nurses and doctors from interrupting him.
When Adrian heard my footsteps, his head snapped up.
His expression had hardened back into a mask of rigid control, but the white-hot intensity in his eyes gave him away. He pushed off the wall and blocked my path.
“You heard it,” he stated. It wasn't a question.
“Move, Adrian.”
“I heard it through the door, Claire. That’s my child.”
“You don’t get to claim paternity like you’re staking a claim on a corporate asset,” I snapped, my protective instincts flaring up hot and fierce. “You didn't want a family, remember? You wanted your freedom. You wanted Vanessa’s memory, or your sterile penthouse, or whatever empty life you were building. You got what you wanted. Leave me alone.”
Before Adrian could answer, Marco stepped forward, his face carefully neutral, holding out a black leather folder.
“Mrs. Moretti—pardon me, Ms. Bennett,” Marco corrected himself smoothly. “Mr. Moretti has instructed me to inform you that your apartment in Brooklyn Heights is being secured as of this afternoon.”
I glared at Marco, then at Adrian. “Secured? What are you talking about? You can’t touch my apartment!”
“It’s not safe,” Adrian interrupted, his voice dropping into that dark, commanding register that used to make boardrooms fall silent. “A woman sixteen weeks pregnant with a Moretti heir cannot live in a walk-up brownstone with a shared front door and zero perimeter security.”
“I am not a Moretti heir incubator!” I yelled, finally losing my temper as a nearby nurse gave us a scandalized look. “Our divorce is final! We are legally strangers!”
“Legally, perhaps,” Adrian replied coldly, taking a slow step toward me until I could smell his familiar cologne—sandalwood and expensive cedar. “Biologically and financially, you are tied to me for the rest of our natural lives. Do not test me on this, Claire. If I have to buy the entire brownstone building just to put armed guards in your lobby, I will do it before the sun sets.”
I stared up at him, realizing with a sick jolt of terror that he meant every single word.
Adrian Moretti did not negotiate when it came to things he considered his property—and right now, he viewed our unborn child as the most valuable thing he had ever lost.
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“You’re insane,” I whispered.
“No,” Adrian said softly, his hand reaching out as if to touch my shoulder, before he dropped it back to his side. “I’m just correcting a mistake.”
