Chapter 37 He has a baby
Elena pulled into the company’s private parking lot and eased her car into her designated space.
The engine went silent, but her mind didn’t.
The events of the previous night replayed in fragments she hadn’t yet sorted through—glass walls, shocked silence, unspoken rules, a house that was no longer just Jaxon’s.
She reached for her bag just as another car slid neatly into the space behind hers.
The door slammed almost in sync with hers.
“Elena!” Brielle’s voice rang out, bright and familiar.
Elena turned, and the tension she’d been carrying loosened instantly. “Hey.”
Brielle was already walking toward her, heels clicking confidently against the pavement.
Elena met her halfway, and they fell into a warm embrace, the kind that spoke of shared history and unspoken understanding. They pulled back slightly, cheeks brushing as they exchanged quick smiles that lingered longer than usual.
Brielle stepped back and gave her a slow, appreciative once-over. “Okay,” she said, folding her arms. “You look good.”
Elena laughed softly and did a small spin, the layered white gown fluttering gently around her thighs. “Thank you,” she said, smoothing the fabric. “I tried not to look like I survived a psychological war.”
Brielle raised a brow. “That bad?”
Elena’s smile widened, but there was something guarded behind it. “You have no idea.”
Brielle’s curiosity sparked immediately. She moved closer, lowering her voice even though they were alone. “Oh no. Don’t do that. You can’t just drop a line like that and walk away. What happened? How did moving in go?”
Elena scoffed, shaking her head as she adjusted her bag on her shoulder. “Let’s get inside first,” she said, already heading toward the elevator. “You love gossip way too much to be trusted in an open space.”
Brielle laughed, hurrying to catch up. “Excuse me? I don’t love gossip. I curate information.”
“Sure you do,” Elena replied dryly.
They reached the elevator together, and Brielle pressed the button with exaggerated patience.
As they waited, Brielle leaned casually against the wall and studied Elena more closely this time—not the outfit, but her face.
“You okay though?” she asked, softer now.
Elena hesitated for half a second. “I’m… functioning.”
The elevator doors slid open, and they stepped inside. The quiet hum as it ascended wrapped around them, sealing them into a private bubble. Brielle crossed her arms, clearly preparing herself for whatever story was coming.
“I swear,” Brielle said, “if this has anything to do with another woman, I will personally—”
“Elena Montclair?” a voice interrupted.
They both turned to see a junior staff member standing awkwardly at the far corner of the elevator, clutching a tablet.
Elena straightened immediately, slipping seamlessly into her professional composure. “Good morning,” she said with a polite smile.
“Good morning, ma’am,” the girl replied quickly, clearly flustered.
Brielle bit back a grin.
The rest of the ride passed in silence. When the doors finally opened onto their floor, Elena stepped out first, heels clicking with purpose. Brielle followed, already bursting with restrained questions.
They walked side by side down the corridor, staff greeting them respectfully as they passed. Elena acknowledged each greeting with a nod or a smile, but her thoughts were elsewhere.
Whatever Elena was walking into—at work, at home, or with Jaxon—one thing was clear.
This story was only just beginning.
Jaxon was still seated behind his desk, his thoughts heavy and tangled, when the sound of the door opening pulled him back to the present.
“Hey.”
The voice was familiar.
He looked up instantly.
“Dad,” Jaxon said, rising to his feet in one smooth motion. A flicker of surprise crossed his face before he masked it. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
Mr. Wentworth stepped fully into the office, dressed impeccably as always, his presence commanding even without effort. “I know,” he replied calmly. “I just decided to pay you a visit.”
Jaxon gestured toward the chair across from his desk. “Please, sit.”
His father waved a dismissive hand. “No need for ceremony.”
Still, he sat.
Jaxon remained standing for a moment out of habit, then finally took his seat, folding his hands neatly on the desk as if bracing himself for what he already knew was coming.
His father studied him for a brief second before speaking. “You did well,” he said at last.
“Last week was executed perfectly. The engagement, the guests, the press—everything reflected strength.”
Jaxon nodded once. “Thank you.”
Mr. Wentworth leaned back slightly. “You must always remember this, Jaxon—family and reputation come first. Always. What we represent is bigger than personal comfort, bigger than emotions.”
Jaxon said nothing.
His father continued, his tone slipping naturally into lecture mode. He spoke of legacy, of perception. Of how the world watched every move the Wentworth name made and waited for cracks to appear.
“Business is not just contracts and numbers,” his father said. “It’s image. Control. Consistency.”
Jaxon listened, his face unreadable, his thoughts far from the polished words filling the room.
After a moment, he interjected, politely, “Would you like anything? A drink, perhaps?”
His father shook his head. “No. I’m fine.”
They moved on to business matters—investors, timelines, expansion strategies. His father spoke more than he listened, and Jaxon responded where necessary, concise and efficient.
Then, unexpectedly, his father’s voice softened.
“Your mother would have been very proud of you,” he said quietly. “If she were here.”
Something in Jaxon’s chest tightened.
He didn’t respond.
His jaw set slightly, his gaze dropping to the desk as memories threatened to surface. He didn’t trust his voice enough to speak, so he didn’t.
Mr. Wentworth rose to his feet. “I’ll take my leave now.”
Jaxon stood immediately. “Alright.”
They exchanged a brief nod—formal, restrained—and then his father turned and walked out, leaving behind the faint echo of authority and unspoken expectations.
The door closed.
Silence followed.
Jaxon remained standing long after his father was gone.
And then, without warning, the memory hit him.
He was five years old again.
The beach stretched endlessly before him, the sand warm beneath his small hands as he crouched near the water’s edge, completely absorbed in shaping uneven castles. Waves rolled in gently, brushing closer and closer.
“Jaxon.”
His mother’s voice.
He turned to see her standing a few steps behind him, the breeze lifting strands of her hair, her dress fluttering softly.
“Little Jaxon,” she said with a smile, “you’re going to get yourself wet. Move a bit away from the water, sweetheart.”
He laughed, scrambling to his feet, sandy hands reaching for hers. She took them without hesitation, brushing off the sand as best she could before pulling him into a warm hug.
He buried his face against her, safe, whole, loved.
The memory faded as quickly as it came.
A knock at the door snapped him back to the present.
“Sir?” Damon’s voice came from outside. “The boardroom is ready. They’re waiting for you.”
Jaxon straightened, his expression settling back into its familiar mask of control.
“I’ll be there shortly,” he replied.
He took one last breath, pushing the past—and his emotions—back into their carefully guarded corners.
Then he stepped out of his office, ready to face the world again.
The final box was sealed, its barcode scanned and logged, and Elena let out a quiet breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
“That’s the last of them,” Brielle said, tapping the tablet in her hand. “Shipment’s complete. No missing pieces. No damages.”
Elena nodded, her eyes still roaming over the neatly arranged racks of imported designs—luxurious fabrics, intricate beadwork, silhouettes that whispered elegance and power. These were the kinds of pieces that made the company’s name echo in high-end fashion circles.
“Good,” Elena replied. “The beading team will be relieved. This collection is going to cause chaos—in a good way.”
Brielle grinned. “Fashion chaos is my favorite kind.”
They handed the tablet back to the logistics supervisor and made their way out, heels clicking softly against the polished floor as they headed toward the beadding wing of the company. The hallway opened into a wide showroom where completed designs stood on mannequins under carefully placed lights—each one displayed like a piece of art awaiting its destiny.
And that was when Brielle slowed.
“Elena,” she murmured. “Tell me I’m imagining things.”
Elena followed her gaze.
Standing a few feet away, in front of one of the featured mannequins, was Maya.
She was dressed in a short white gown that hugged her figure effortlessly, the fabric pristine and deliberate—as if she wanted to look innocent and untouchable. A small designer purse hung from her arm as she tilted her head, fingers grazing the fabric of the dress on the mannequin, admiration playing across her lips.
Elena’s jaw tightened.
“What is she doing here?” Brielle muttered.
“She doesn’t work here. She doesn’t belong here.”
As if sensing their presence, Maya turned.
Her eyes flicked from Brielle to Elena, and a slow, knowing smile curved her lips.
“Oh,” Maya said lightly. “Perfect timing.”
Elena folded her arms, her expression cool. “Security must be getting really careless these days.”
Maya chuckled. “Relax. I told the front desk I was just stopping by to see if there was anything that caught my eye.”
Brielle raised a brow. “And?”
Maya glanced back at the mannequins dismissively. “Honestly? Not really. None of these are my taste.”
Brielle scoffed, unable to stop herself. “Funny. These designs are booked months ahead by people who actually matter.”
Maya ignored her and looked straight at Elena instead.
“I see you’ve been doing quite well for yourself,” she said smoothly. “Moving into the penthouse and all.”
Elena didn’t blink. “Yes. And I believe that stopped being your concern the moment you were… removed from the picture.”
Maya’s smile didn’t fade. If anything, it sharpened.
“You seem very quick to assume the picture is finished,” she replied. “What makes you so sure the future won’t surprise you?”
Elena held her gaze, refusing to rise to the bait.
Before she could respond, Brielle stepped forward, her tone firm.
“Okay, this visit is over. You should leave—now—before I call security.”
Maya laughed softly. “Don’t worry. I don’t plan to stay long.”
She took a step closer, lowering her voice just enough for the words to cut deeper.
“Don’t you think,” she continued, “that I should be the one living in the penthouse?”
Elena’s heart skipped.
Brielle frowned. “What are you talking about?”
Maya tilted her head, eyes glittering with satisfaction.
“I mean… since I’m carrying Jackson’s child.”
The world seemed to pause.
Elena felt the words hit her like ice water.
“What?” she whispered.
Brielle turned sharply to Maya. “That’s not funny.”
Maya’s expression remained calm—too calm.
“After the lovely night Jackson and I shared,” she said casually, “I found out last week that I’m one week pregnant.”
Elena shook her head slowly. “You expect me to believe that?”
Maya shrugged. “Believe it or don’t. I don’t owe you an explanation. I’m pregnant—and Jackson is the father.”
Elena’s voice trembled despite herself. “You can’t be serious.”
Brielle reached for Elena’s arm. “Elena, let’s go.”
Maya smirked. “You don’t need to pretend nothing happened between me and Jackson that night. Just enjoy the penthouse while it lasts.”
She adjusted her purse and stepped back.
“Because I’ll be moving in there sooner than you think.”
Elena and Brielle stood frozen, shock etched into their faces, the weight of Maya’s words hanging heavily in the air.