Chapter 19

Lauren

The lights flickered, then went out, plunging the elevator into darkness. The sudden silence felt suffocating, broken only by the groan of the stalled elevator. I gasped, my hands instinctively reaching for balance as the space seemed to shrink around me.

“Are you okay?” Alexander’s voice cut through the dark, low and steady, but laced with concern.

“I’m fine,” I snapped, though my knees wobbled beneath me.

“Hold on,” he murmured, closer now. His hand brushed mine—a fleeting touch that sent a jolt through me.

“I don’t need your help,” I bit out, jerking my hand away, though the trembling in my voice betrayed me.

“Of course you don’t,” he said, his tone wry but gentle. “But humor me.”

The elevator’s stillness dragged me into memories I fought to forget. The cold sterility of the operating room, the fear, the crushing helplessness. My chest tightened, my breath coming in shallow gasps as panic clawed its way to the surface.

“Lauren?” Alexander’s voice softened, cutting through the fog. His hands found my arms, steadying me as my knees buckled.

“Don’t touch me!” I gasped, twisting away, my panic flaring. But he didn’t let go. His grip stayed firm, grounding.

“Lauren,” he said again, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. “Breathe. You’re okay. I’m here.”

The walls felt like they were closing in, but his presence cut through the haze. My hands found his shirt, clutching the fabric as though it were the only thing keeping me tethered. When my legs gave out, Alexander caught me, his arms wrapping around me.

“Stay with me,” he murmured, his voice steady and close.

For a moment, I did. I pressed my forehead against his chest, the warmth of his body grounding me in a way I hadn’t felt in years. His scent—woodsy, with a hint of citrus—was infuriatingly familiar, like something I had once trusted.

“Save me… save my child…” The words slipped out of me, raw and broken.

He tensed, his hand moving to cradle the back of my head, his fingers threading gently through my hair. “I’ve got you,” he whispered.

I don’t know how long we stayed like that. The world outside the elevator ceased to exist as I let him hold me, rewriting memories I had tried so hard to bury.

When the doors finally slid open, Beta Mile’s concerned face appeared. “Sir? Are you alright?”

I tried to pull away, but the world spun, and Alexander didn’t let go. His hands lingered on my arms, steadying me as everything faded to black.

“Mommy,” Abigil’s voice was a burst of sunshine in the otherwise cold room. “Are you awake?”

I was back in a hospital bed, the sterile scent of disinfectant unmistakable. The light streaming through the window was too bright, and my head throbbed with a dull ache.

I turned my head to see her perched on the edge of the bed, her little face scrunched in concern. She held a glass of water in one hand and a juice box in the other, as if unsure which I needed more.

“Mommy, drink something,” she insisted, thrusting the glass toward me.

Before I could respond, Owen appeared at the foot of the bed, hands on his hips like a tiny doctor. “You need to take your medicine,” he said seriously, glancing at the clock. “It’s time.”

I couldn’t help but smile, despite the heaviness in my chest. My little doctors. I froze. No—only one was...

“Okay, okay,” I said, sitting up. I took the glass from Abigail and sipped obediently.

The peace didn’t last long.

The door creaked open, and Alexander stepped inside, his presence filling the room like a storm cloud. He set a tray of food on the table with an ease that belied the tension crackling in the air.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” he said, his eyes flicking to me with a mix of concern and exasperation.

I frowned. What was he doing here?

“I’m fine,” I replied, sharper than I meant to. “You don’t need to hover.”

“I’m not hovering,” he said smoothly, pulling up a chair and setting the tray in front of me. “I’m making sure you don’t have another accident.”

His steady gaze sent irritation—and something else—creeping up my neck. “I’m just Owen’s doctor,” I reminded him coldly. “You don’t need to waste your time on me.”

Instead, he leaned back, infuriatingly casual, one arm draped over the chair. His lips curved—not quite a smile, but something sharper.

“If you can’t stand me,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, “then get better already.”

His gaze dipped to my lips for the briefest second before snapping back to my eyes. “Then I’ll leave your side.”

The words were quiet, almost too quiet, but they carried a weight that made my chest tighten.

His tone wasn’t cold—it was searing.

The days blurred together, a cycle of routine and tension. Abigail and Owen’s laughter filled the room, their innocence a sharp contrast to the storm inside me. And then there was Alexander—always there. He claimed he came for Owen, but he always ended up in the chair beside me, watching the kids play.

I tried to focus on work, the foundation—anything—but Alexander would snatch my papers, insisting I rest. It was maddening, a false happiness I had no right to feel.

Worse were the moments I caught him watching me, his dark eyes unreadable, filled with something dangerous. Heat. Tension. It made my pulse quicken and my resolve falter.

One evening, as the sun dipped low, casting the room in gold, we were alone again. The kids slept at the foot of my bed, and Alexander stood by the window, his silhouette softened by the fading light. For a moment, he looked almost vulnerable.

“How are you feeling?” he asked quietly. “I remember you used to—”

“We didn’t know each other back then,” I cut him off, my voice sharp. I wasn’t ready for whatever this was.

He turned, his expression torn between frustration and regret. His lips parted like he wanted to say something—an apology, an explanation—but I couldn’t bear it.

“Lauren—”

“I’m tired,” I said stiffly. “Goodnight, Alexander.”

I turned away, sliding under the covers, squeezing my eyes shut. But his words lingered, suffocating me. I couldn’t forget the raw flicker in his eyes.

And then the thought hit me, relentless and impossible to shake: as soon as I could stand on my own, I was testing Owen’s hair for a match.

I had to know. Because not knowing was worse. If there was even a chance Owen was mine, I couldn’t let it slip away.

Sophia

The thought had been eating at me since Owen’s birthday, a nagging question I couldn’t shake. Could Lauren have been carrying twins all those years ago?

No. Impossible.

But the memories—seeing Alexander carry Lauren into the hospital, her body limp in his arms, his face twisted with something I couldn’t stomach—kept resurfacing. Worry. Fear. Devotion.

It made me sick. He looked at her like she was everything, and I couldn’t stand it.

Now, every time I saw him near her, every lingering glance, it felt like the ground was slipping away. What if they reconciled?

The thought set my blood on fire. My hands shook as I swept everything off my desk, papers, pens, a photo of Owen—everything crashing to the floor.

No. I wouldn’t let that happen.

Alexander was mine. He had chosen me, and I wasn’t going to let Lauren ruin that. Not after everything I’d sacrificed.

I stared at the mess, my fists clenched. I had dealt with Lauren before. I could do it again.

A plan began to form, dark and familiar, like an old habit I couldn’t resist. If Lauren was out of the picture, Owen’s true parentage would stay buried.

I picked up my phone, my fingers steady, and dialed a number I hadn’t used in years. The line clicked.

“I need you to do something for me,” I said, my voice cold, sharp, and cutting through the air.

As I outlined the details, the plan solidified. Lauren’s fears? The dark? She wouldn’t see it coming. Neither would Alexander.