The car is warm. Too warm.
Mia sits in leather seats that probably cost more than her entire apartment, trying not to touch anything. The interior smells like expensive cologne and new car, and there's a privacy screen between them and the driver. Alexander sits beside her—close but not touching, his jaw tight, staring out the window at Brooklyn sliding past.
Neither of them has spoken since they got in.
Mia's heart hammers. She told him. Actually told him. And he didn't run, didn't call her a liar, didn't immediately summon those lawyers Victoria threatened her with. He said he believed her.
But belief and acceptance are different things.
"Where are we going?" Mia asks finally, because the silence is suffocating.
"My place. We need privacy for this conversation." Alexander glances at her. "Unless you'd rather go somewhere else?"
Back to his penthouse. Where this whole mess started. The irony isn't lost on her.
"Your place is fine," she says, though nothing about this is fine.
They cross into Manhattan. The city glitters in the early evening, Christmas lights already up despite it only being early December. Mia watches people on sidewalks—couples holding hands, families with shopping bags, normal people living normal lives. She used to be one of them. Now she's in a town car with a billionaire, pregnant, about to have a conversation that will determine her entire future.
How did her life become a Webnovel plot?
Alexander's phone buzzes repeatedly. He ignores it until finally he pulls it out, silences it, and tosses it face-down on the seat between them.
"Elizabeth?" Mia asks.
"Everyone." His voice is tight. "Board members, investors, my mother. They all saw the articles. They all have opinions about how I should handle this."
"Handle me, you mean."
"Handle the situation." But he winces. "That came out wrong."
"It came out honest." Mia turns to face him. "I know what I am to your world, Alexander. A problem. An inconvenience. The nobody who got pregnant and complicated your carefully managed life."
"That's not—" He stops, jaw clenching. "Is that really what you think?"
"Isn't it true?"
"No." The word is sharp. "You're not a problem. You're..." He trails off, searching for words. "You're carrying my child. That's not a complication. That's—" His voice drops. "That's everything."
The raw honesty in his tone steals Mia's breath.
Before she can respond, the car pulls up to Kane Tower. Eighty floors of steel and glass, piercing the Manhattan skyline like a declaration of power. Mia's been here once before—that morning after, doing the walk of shame that's now immortalized online.
This time feels different. More real. More terrifying.
Alexander's driver opens the door. Alexander steps out, then offers Mia his hand. She hesitates—taking his hand feels symbolic somehow, like accepting help means accepting everything else that comes with it.
But her legs are shaky, and she's exhausted, and his hand is steady.
She takes it.
---
The penthouse is exactly as she doesn't remember.
All clean lines and minimalist furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing Manhattan like a kingdom. It's beautiful in an untouchable way—more museum than home. Nothing soft. Nothing lived-in.
"Can I get you something?" Alexander asks, shrugging off his coat. "Water? Tea? Are you hungry?"
"Water's fine."
He disappears into the kitchen—actual kitchen, not a kitchenette, all marble counters and professional-grade appliances that have probably never been used. Mia stands awkwardly in the living room, afraid to sit on furniture that costs more than her education.
Alexander returns with two glasses of water and gestures to the couch. "Please. Sit."
She does. He sits across from her in an armchair, maintaining distance. Like they're in a business meeting. Maybe they are.
"How are you feeling?" Alexander asks. "Physically, I mean. Morning sickness? Fatigue?"
"Both. It's manageable."
"Have you had proper prenatal care?"
"I go to a free clinic in Brooklyn. They're good. The doctor is nice."
Something flickers across his face. "A free clinic."
"I don't have insurance. The café doesn't offer it, and I can't afford private coverage." Mia's defensive now. "The clinic is fine. Lots of women use it."
"I'm not judging." But his hands curl into fists on his knees. "I'm angry at myself. That you've been dealing with this alone. Going to free clinics because you can't afford better. While I—" He gestures around the penthouse.
"You didn't know."
"I should have known. I should have followed up when you didn't call. Should have—" He stops, shaking his head. "But that doesn't matter now. What matters is moving forward."
Here it comes. The part where he offers money to make her go away. Child support payments in exchange for her silence. An NDA to sign, probably. Rich people love their NDAs.
Mia braces herself.
"I want to take care of you," Alexander says. "Both of you. Proper medical care, a good doctor, a safe place to live. You shouldn't be working two jobs while pregnant. You shouldn't be stressed about rent or bills or any of it."
"I can take care of myself."
"I know you can. You've been doing it your whole life." His eyes meet hers. "But you don't have to anymore. Let me help."
"Why?" The question comes out sharper than intended. "Guilt? Obligation? Damage control?"
"Because it's my child." Alexander's voice is steady. "Because you're the mother of my child. Because despite what those articles say, I'm not the kind of man who walks away from his responsibilities."
"Is that what we are? A responsibility?"
"That's not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean?" Mia stands, too agitated to sit. "You want to help. Fine. Write a check. Set up a trust fund. Do whatever rich people do. But don't pretend this is about anything other than obligation."
"You think I'm doing this out of obligation?" Alexander stands too, closing the distance between them. "Mia, I haven't stopped thinking about you in three months. Not one day. And now you're telling me you're carrying my baby, and I'm supposed to what—write a check and walk away?"
"Most men would."
"I'm not most men."
They're too close now. Mia can see the gold flecks in his gray eyes, the tension in his jaw, the exhaustion carved into his features. He looks as overwhelmed as she feels.
"What do you want from me?" Mia whispers.
Alexander's throat works. "I want to marry you."
The words hit like a physical blow. Mia actually steps back.
"What?"
"Marry me." He says it again, calmer now. "Not because I have to. Not because of obligation or damage control. Because it's the right thing to do. For the baby. For both of us."
"That's insane."
"Is it?" Alexander moves to his desk, pulls out a folder. "I've been thinking about this since you told me in the park. The logistics. The practicalities."
Of course he has. Probably called lawyers the second she said pregnancy. Mia's stomach churns.
"I don't want to marry someone for logistics and practicalities," she says.
"What do you want to marry someone for?"
"Love. Trust. Actually knowing each other." Mia's laugh is hollow. "You know, the usual reasons."
"We can build that." Alexander opens the folder, pulls out papers. "Look, I'm not naive. I know this is fast. I know we barely know each other. But we have eight months to figure it out. And in the meantime, marriage solves everything."
"Everything?"
"The media. Your financial situation. Medical care. Security for you and the baby." He's ticking off points like a business presentation. "My family, my board, the gossip—marriage makes all of it go away."
"Marriage makes me your wife. Not a problem solved."
"I know that." But he's already laying out papers on the coffee table. "Which is why I had my lawyer draft a contract."
There it is. The contract. Of course there's a contract.
Mia sits back down, suddenly exhausted. "A prenup?"
"More than that. Terms and conditions. What we both expect from this arrangement. Financial provisions for you and the baby. Exit clauses." He won't meet her eyes. "If after two years you want out, you can walk away. With full child support, a settlement, and no strings attached."
"An arrangement." The word tastes bitter. "That's what marriage is to you? An arrangement?"
"That's what it has to be." Alexander finally looks at her, and something in his expression cracks. "I don't know how to do the other kind. The love and trust kind. I've never—" He stops. "My parents' marriage was a nightmare. My father was abusive. My mother stayed because of money and appearances. I swore I'd never—"
He cuts himself off, jaw tight.
Mia's anger deflates slightly. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."
"Nobody knows. That's how my family operates—hide the damage, maintain the image." He sits beside her on the couch, careful not to touch. "I'm not good at this, Mia. Relationships, emotions, any of it. But I'm good at contracts. At clear expectations and defined terms. It's the only way I know how to do this without screwing it up."
She understands, suddenly. He's as terrified as she is. Just better at hiding it behind paperwork and business solutions.
"What are the terms?" she asks quietly.
Alexander opens the folder. "Two-year marriage contract. You move in here, we present a united front publicly. You get full medical care—I have a private doctor on call, she's excellent. Monthly allowance for personal expenses. A separate bank account in your name. After the baby is born, we reassess."
"And if I want out after two years?"
"You get a settlement. Five million dollars, plus child support until the child is eighteen. Full custody if you want it, or shared custody if you prefer. I won't fight you."
Five million dollars. Mia can't even conceptualize that amount.
"And what do you get?" she asks.
"A wife. A family. My child in my life from day one." His voice drops. "A chance to be better than my father."
That last part breaks something in Mia's chest.
She looks at the contract. Pages of legal jargon, dollar amounts with too many zeros, clauses for things she never imagined needing clauses for. It's cold. Transactional. Everything a marriage shouldn't be.
But it's also security. Safety. Medical care for her baby. A chance to stop struggling for the first time in her life.
"What about..." Mia hesitates. "The physical side of marriage. Is that part of the arrangement?"
Alexander's cheeks actually color. "Only if you want it to be. That wasn't—I didn't include that in the contract. What happens between us is up to you."
"So we're roommates who happen to be married?"
"We're partners raising a child together." He meets her eyes. "Everything else, we figure out as we go."
Mia looks around the penthouse. At the view she'll wake up to every morning. At the space and security and opportunity this represents. Then she thinks about her crumbling studio, the eviction notice, the free clinic, working two jobs while pregnant.
She thinks about her baby, growing inside her. The baby who deserves more than Mia can give alone.
"I need time," she says. "To think about it. To talk to Sophie. To... process."
"Of course." Alexander gathers the papers. "Take as long as you need. But Mia—" He hesitates. "If you say yes, I promise I'll do everything in my power to make this work. To take care of you both. You won't be alone anymore."
The promise hangs between them, heavy with hope and fear.
"I'll call you," Mia says. "In a few days."
Alexander nods. He drives her home himself this time, in a different car—something less conspicuous. They don't talk. When they reach her building, he walks her to her door.
"Thank you," he says. "For telling me. For giving me a chance to be part of this."
"You're the father. You deserve to know."
"Still. Thank you."
He leaves, and Mia goes inside, clutching the folder with the contract.
Marriage to Alexander Kane. A penthouse life. Security for her baby.
All she has to do is sign away two years of her life to a man she barely knows.
How hard could it be?