Showing up at my ex-boyfriend’s engagement party was a power move. Seeing him hustle toward me, his face pale with panic, confirmed it. “Don’t make a scene,” he hissed, grabbing my arm. I gave him a withering look and walked right past him, my heels clicking on the marble floor. I made a beeline for his uncle. “Daniel,” I said, my voice steady. “I’m pregnant. And it’s yours.” Daniel Russo’s gaze, cool and unreadable, lingered on the pregnancy test in my hand for a long moment. Then, a slow smile spread across his face. He pulled me down to sit beside him, his arm draping over my shoulder as he announced to the table, “Well, if it’s mine, then I suppose I’ll have to take responsibility.” 1 The party Leo threw for himself was exactly as ostentatious as I’d expected. I’d stood at the grand entrance for a few minutes, watching him play the gracious host, a bitter laugh bubbling in my throat. The thought of him whispering sweet nothings to me one night, only to get engaged to his family-approved, childhood sweetheart the next, was enough to make me sick. As guests ebbed and flowed through the doorway, his eyes met mine. First, there was a flicker of confusion, then raw, undisguised panic. He strode toward me, his posture stiff. “Ava, what are you doing here?” he whispered, his voice tight with anxiety. “I thought we talked about this. You can’t be here, not tonight. This is important.” He assumed I was here to pick a fight with his fiancée. A classic, pathetic catfight. But my target was so much bigger than him. I rolled my eyes. “Get out of my way, Leo,” I said, my voice dripping with ice. “You’re blocking my path to the father of my child.” “The what?” I shoved him aside. The look of utter shock on his face was almost satisfying as I walked directly toward the main table, toward the one man who outshone everyone else in the room. The moment I stopped in front of Daniel Russo, the ambient chatter of the ballroom seemed to drop by half. Every eye in the vicinity swiveled in our direction. Their focus wasn’t on me, of course. It was on him. Daniel was the kind of man who always seemed to be smiling, a polite, aristocratic curve of his lips that never quite reached his eyes. Up close, you could see the cool, calculating intelligence behind them. He looked up at me now, that same gentle smile in place, his expression one of polite inquiry. I pulled the pregnancy test from my clutch and held it out. My voice was crisp and clear. “Daniel, I’m pregnant.” His eyes held mine, then dropped to the little plastic stick. The silence stretched. Then, with a smoothness that took my breath away, he pulled me down into the chair beside him, his arm a warm, heavy weight on my shoulders. “Well, if it’s mine,” he said, his voice carrying just enough for the surrounding tables to hear, “then I suppose I’ll have to take responsibility.” 2 After a beat of stunned silence, the old man sitting next to Daniel—his father—clapped him on the shoulder and let out a booming laugh. “Well, well, Daniel! Keeping a girlfriend secret from your old man, were you? And with results like this!” The tension broke. The room erupted in a flurry of excited chatter and congratulations. “And here we were thinking no woman on earth could catch Daniel Russo’s eye,” someone chirped. “Turns out he had one hidden away all along!” “That’s Daniel for you! Quietly becoming a father while the rest of us are still playing games. The patriarch can finally rest easy!” “This certainly puts him ahead of Leo, doesn’t it? So, when can we expect a wedding invitation, Daniel?” I’ll admit, this was a calculated move. Choosing this party, in front of all these people, was designed to hit Leo where it hurt. Daniel was the man Leo both admired and feared above all others. If I suddenly became his fiancée—his future aunt—he’d have to bow his head to me for the rest of his life. I had run through a dozen scenarios in my head on the way here, but I never, not once, imagined he would just… accept it. Not only accept it, but play along, creating this instant illusion of us as a loving, committed couple. The reality was, we were practically strangers. A few brief encounters, a handful of exchanged pleasantries, and one messy, chaotic night. We’d probably spoken less than twenty sentences to each other in our entire lives. The heat from his hand seeped through my dress, and I felt a blush creep up my neck. I was starting to feel completely out of my depth. My unease was broken by Leo, who had finally stormed over to our table. “Ava, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded. His anger snapped me back into character. I straightened my spine. “I told you, Leo. I’m here to see the father of my child.” His eyes, wide with disbelief, darted to his uncle. “Uncle Daniel?” Daniel’s smile tightened just a fraction. “Leo, your bride is waiting for you. Go do what you’re supposed to be doing.” The words were soft, but they carried the unmistakable weight of a command. Leo flinched as if struck. He shot me one last, conflicted look, then clenched his jaw and walked away. And just like that, I spent the rest of my ex-boyfriend’s engagement party as Daniel Russo’s baby mama. The spotlight, which should have been on Leo and his new fiancée, was now fixed squarely on us. Especially from the distinguished old man beside me—Daniel’s father, Leo’s maternal grandfather. He spent the entire evening beaming, his eyes crinkling as he peppered me with gentle questions about my life and how Daniel and I had met. Daniel handled it all with unnerving calm. I just… faked it. A wave of regret washed over me. This was a terrible idea. This was a conversation that should have happened in private. When the party finally wound down, Daniel offered to drive me home. He dismissed his driver and slid behind the wheel himself, the engine humming quietly in the cavernous underground garage. But he didn’t start the car. He pulled a dark cigar from his breast pocket, not lighting it, just rolling it between his fingers. He stared straight ahead through the windshield, lost in thought. The silence was so thick I felt like I was suffocating. I opened my mouth to break it, twice, but before I could find the words, he spoke. “Alright,” he said, his voice devoid of its earlier warmth. “Whose baby is it?” 3 I froze, turning to face him. His eyes, now stripped of all pretense, were cold, sharp, and all-knowing. For a second, I was speechless. Then, anger surged through me. “What do you mean?” I demanded. “Are you backing out now?” A humorless smile touched his lips. “You misunderstand. I don’t deny the things I’ve done. But—” He paused, the smile deepening as his eyes grew even colder. “I never touched you.” It was the second time a man had said that to me today. A hysterical laugh escaped me. They both never touched me? Was this some kind of immaculate conception? My breath came in ragged bursts. I fought to control my voice. “Daniel, if you don’t want to be responsible, just say so. I came here fully prepared for you to deny it. It was a mistake, a drunken accident.” I took a shaky breath. “And yes, I chose this party to tell you because I wanted to hurt Leo. I used you, and that was wrong. But you don’t have to humiliate me like this.” He was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. “If I wanted to humiliate you, Ava, I wouldn't have played along back there,” he said patiently. “But I’m telling you the truth. I didn’t touch you.” He said it with such absolute certainty that, for the first time, a sliver of doubt pierced my anger. Could he be right? It had all started on his yacht, at Leo’s birthday party. I saw him—Leo—kissing his fiancée for tonight in a hallway near the restrooms. The sight shattered something inside me. I went straight to the bar and started drinking. I remembered Daniel bringing me back to a cabin. A gesture of kindness, I’d assumed, looking out for his nephew’s drunk girlfriend. But my mind was a toxic cocktail of alcohol and betrayal. All I could see was Leo’s face, his lies. I was hurt and furious, and I wanted to lash out. Back then, I didn't know the girl was his family-ordained fiancée. I just thought I wasn't enough, that my desire to wait, to not have sex before marriage, had pushed him into the arms of someone else. In that moment, it felt like a failing. My failing. So, in a haze of drunken bravado, I’d thrown my arms around Daniel’s neck. I remember slurring something stupid, something like, “It’s just sex, right? If he thinks it’s so casual, so meaningless, then why can’t I? I can be casual too!” So, yes. Maybe. It was probably me who initiated it. Me who practically forced him. But I know what happened to my body. I woke up alone the next morning, but my body remembered. There was a distinct, undeniable ache. Unless— A horrifying thought struck me. “Wait,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “It was you who took me to my room that night on the yacht, wasn't it?” Daniel nodded. “It was.” “And you were the man who stayed with me all night?” He hesitated. “I was.” “Then how can you say you didn’t touch me?!”
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