Chapter 39 39.
Chapter 39 39.
Chapter 39: Ashley's POV
The conversation should have ended there.
Honestly, we were already drifting dangerously close to entering actual 'personal territory,' and Marcus and I were infinitely better at trading sharp barbs than discussing our actual lives. Sharp barbs were safe. Sharp barbs didn't make the air feel this heavy.
Unfortunately, Marcus apparently had other plans.
Out of nowhere, he dropped a bomb. "Where's the father of your child?"
I blinked.
Well. That was definitely not a question I expected. Especially not from him.
Ever since he found out, Marcus had been careful around the topic of my pregnancy. He was curious, perhaps, and fiercely protective, definitely—but he had never dug deeper. He had never crossed those invisible, personal boundaries.
Until now.
I looked down, staring intensely at the condensation pooling on my glass. "That's random."
"You never talk about him."
I hesitated.
It wasn't because I was hiding some epic, tragic love story. It was because this situation wasn't actually mine to explain. The baby growing inside me wasn't mine—it belonged to Simone and Nash. The surrogacy agreement was supposed to remain as private as possible.
So, I settled for the safest, most generic answer I could muster. "Let's just say he's not involved."
Marcus’s brows knitted together. "By choice?"
I shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. "It's complicated."
Thankfully, he didn't push further. Maybe he sensed the sudden tension in my shoulders, or maybe he just actually respected boundaries. Either way, I mentally sent a prayer of thanks to the universe.
Desperate to steer us away from the dangerous legal minefield, I pointed a finger at him. "My turn."
Marcus looked instantly suspicious, his eyes narrowing. "That's not how conversations work."
"It is now."
A defeated sigh escaped his lips. I smiled, a small burst of triumph blooming in my chest. Victory.
"So tell me something," I continued, leaning back into the sofa. "Do you actually want a family someday?"
Marcus didn't answer right away. He looked toward the endless blue of the ocean, his profile sharp and unreadable against the sunlight. Then, he spoke.
"I want children."
My jaw almost dropped. Honestly, I had fully expected a flat, cynical no.
"You do?"
"Of course."
"But... a wife?"
"No."
I stared at him, completely baffled. That made absolutely zero sense. "Marcus, children don't just magically appear out of thin air."
"They don't need a traditional family structure either," he replied smoothly.
I frowned, trying to wrap my brain around his logic. "How exactly is that supposed to work in your world?"
"Modern medicine exists."
I raised an eyebrow, challenging him. "Meaning?"
"IVF."
I blinked.
Of course.
Only Marcus Bryson would discuss the miracle of creating human life the exact same way he discussed multi-million dollar corporate acquisitions. Matter-of-fact. Logical. Painfully efficient.
"No relationship at all?" I asked, completely fascinated now.
"No unnecessary complications."
A laugh burst out of me before I could stop it. "Marcus, children are literally the definition of complications."
He didn't even flinch. "They're investments."
I nearly choked on my water. My hand flew to my chest as I coughed. "Oh my God."
Marcus looked completely, deadpan serious. Which, honestly, only made the entire thing ten times funnier.
For the first time since my dizzy spell, the tension completely melted away. I threw my head back and genuinely laughed, the sound echoing across the quiet deck.
"Come again?"
"They're investments." He didn't even blink. "What?"
"You just compared human children to financial investments."
"They require time, immense resources, and extensive long-term planning," he reasoned, his tone as even as if he were presenting a Q4 board report. "The analogy is accurate."
"That is officially the least romantic thing I have ever heard in my entire life."
Marcus didn't look even remotely offended. "It wasn't meant to be romantic."
Of course it wasn't.
This was Marcus Bryson. The man probably reviewed vacation schedules like quarterly reports and calculated the ROI on beach towels.
I shook my head, a lingering laugh bubbling in my throat. "Remind me never to let you speak at a baby shower."
"I don't attend baby showers."
"Shocking. Absolutely shocking."
And then, right before my eyes, the corner of his mouth twitched slightly.
A tiny victory. A microscopic crack in the billionaire's armor—but a victory nonetheless.
After that, the conversation settled back into a comfortable silence. The turquoise waves rolled lazily toward the shore while the warm afternoon breeze drifted through the open villa, rustling the sheer curtains. For a while, the quiet felt safe.
Until Marcus spoke again, shattering the peace with a single question.
"Why did you decide to keep the baby?"
My breath caught. I snapped my head to look at him, searching his face for any sign of mockery or judgment. But there was none. His dark eyes were entirely focused on me, filled with nothing but quiet curiosity.
I forced myself to look away, staring out toward the endless expanse of the ocean.
Because the real truth? The real truth was incredibly complicated. Legally bound. A secret involving Simone and Nash that was definitely not something I could ever tell him.
"I wanted to," I answered simply, keeping my voice as light and detached as possible.
Marcus remained quiet. He didn't push, but he didn't look away either. He was just... waiting. Holding me accountable with his silence.
I let out a soft sigh, rolling my eyes. "Not every decision has a dramatic story behind it, Marcus."
"Most do."
"Well, mine doesn't."
It was technically true. Or at least, it wasn't a complete lie. This pregnancy wasn't the result of a tragic heartbreak or a whirlwind romance—it was a quiet, deliberate choice in exchange of a blank check.
Marcus studied me for a long, quiet moment, his analytical gaze tracking the slight tension in my shoulders. "You don't seem scared."
A sudden, sharp laugh burst out of me. "That's only because you're seeing me on a good day."
A faint, devastatingly handsome smile appeared on his face. "I don't think that's true."
I narrowed my eyes at him, leaning forward against the cushions. "What does that even mean?"
"I think you're scared," he said softly, his voice dropping an octave. "You're just very good at hiding it."
My defensive walls instantly snapped right back into place. "There you go again."
Marcus raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"Acting like you're my therapist."
"It's a basic observation."
I groaned dramatically, throwing my hands in the air. "That word should be legally banned from your vocabulary."
To my absolute, utter shock... Marcus actually laughed.
It wasn't a smirk. It wasn't a polite chuckle. It was a real, genuine laugh. Brief. Quiet. Rough around the edges. But entirely real.
My heart did a violent, unauthorized flip in my chest. Because somehow, hearing that sound felt rarer than seeing a shooting star in the middle of the day.