Chapter 48 48.
Chapter 48 48.
Chapter 48: Ashley's POV
The cool gel on my stomach had long since gone warm by the time Dr. Santos began pointing out the grainy, gray-and-white shapes on the monitor.
Beside the examination bed, Marcus was entirely silent. I couldn't see his expression from where I was lying, but I could feel his intense, unblinking focus.
He hadn't taken his eyes off the screen since the machine hummed to life.
"Alright, let's take a closer look here," Dr. Santos murmured, moving the transducer with practiced ease. She smiled, looking over her shoulder at Marcus. "Dad, if you want to get closer, you can see the spine forming right here. He’s growing perfectly."
My heart stopped.
I opened my mouth, a wave of panic crashing through my chest as I prepared to launch into an aggressive, clumsy explanation. He’s not the father. It’s a misunderstanding. He’s just—
But the correction never came. Because Marcus didn't say a word.
I risked a glance at him. He looked entirely frozen, a subtle, profound shock written across his usually unreadable features. His dark eyes flicked from the monitor to me, then back to the screen, his jaw tight.
He didn't correct her
He just let the word Dad hang heavily in the sterile air, anchoring him even deeper into a reality that wasn't ours.
"And there we go," Dr. Santos announced with a triumphant little nod, tapping the screen. "Clear as day. Congratulations, you two. It’s a boy."
A boy.
A tiny, fierce warmth bloomed in my chest, a sudden rush of emotion that caught me completely off guard.
I looked back at Marcus, but his expression had shifted into something entirely hidden, his face a masked fortress of quiet intensity as he stared at the tiny form on the screen.
Ten minutes later, the appointment was over. The gel was wiped away, the printouts were tucked into my bag, and we walked out of the clinic doors together.
The silence between us was deafening, charged with a strange, heavy electricity that neither of us knew how to navigate.
We rounded the corner toward the lobby, my mind still spinning from the doctor's words, when the elevator doors at the end of the hall dinged and slid open.
I froze. Marcus stopped dead in his tracks beside me.
Stepping out of the elevator, leaning heavily on his polished cane, was Edward Bryson.
It was too late to turn around. There was no hallway to duck into, no backup exit to take. The moment the old man’s sharp, piercing eyes scanned the lobby, they locked directly onto us.
"Marcus?" Edward’s booming voice echoed in the quiet hallway, his thick brows drawing together in immediate suspicion. "What on earth are you doing at a women's medical center this early?"
Before Marcus could even formulate a calculated executive response, Edward’s gaze dropped.
I was standing completely still, my hands instinctively defensively holding the round curve of my belly through the dress. It was a dead giveaway.
The bump was unmistakable, framed perfectly by the fabric.
Edward Bryson looked at my hands, then at the swelling of my stomach, and I watched the exact moment the realization hit him like a physical blow. The color drained from the old man's face.
To the Brysons, the world was built on legacy, bloodlines, and power.
And right now, I knew exactly what was flashing through his mind.
The ultimate pressure of an heir.
And he thought it was sitting right there, hidden in a maternity dress.
"Finally! A Bryson heir! I knew it!" Edward’s booming voice echoed off the white walls—drawing the attention of three nurses at the reception desk and a couple sitting across the waiting room. "The legacy continues! The Bryson bloodline is secure!"
"Mr. Bryson, please, lower your voice," I stammered, my face burning as a nearby patient whispered to her husband.
But Edward Bryson was far too hyper, practically vibrating with a hysterical kind of happiness. He was already turning to a bewildered hospital staff member, gesturing wildly toward my stomach.
"Did you hear that? My grandson is finally going to be a father! We need to celebrate! Call the director, we’re funding a new wing for this clinic!"
Panicking, I shot a desperate look at Marcus.
Say something.
Tell him the truth.
Tell him this isn't yours before he takes out a front-page ad.
Marcus, however, remained a total statue. His jaw was set, his dark eyes fixed on his grandfather, completely unreadable.
"Grandpa," Marcus said calmly against the old man's chaos. "We have to go. The driver is waiting."
"Go? You're just leaving after delivering the greatest news of the decade?" Edward blabbered, reaching out to pat Marcus aggressively on the shoulder. "You better be taking care of her, Marcus, or I’ll write you out of the will by tomorrow morning!"
"Goodbye, Grandpa," Marcus said flatly. Without a single word of clarification, he placed a firm, steady hand on the small of my back and guided me past the cheering reception staff and straight into an empty elevator.
The moment the metal doors slid shut, cutting off the echo of Edward's joyful shouting, I snapped.
"Are you entirely out of your mind?!" I hissed, spinning around to face him in the enclosed space. "Why didn't you say anything? He’s out there acting like you just saved the family empire!"
Marcus didn't flinch. He stood perfectly straight, leaning back against the handrail with his hands tucked casually into his trouser pockets. He looked entirely unfazed, a stark contrast to my mounting hysteria.
"Let's just let him think that way."
I blinked, wondering if the white lights had scrambled his brilliant executive brain. "Excuse me? Let him think that way? Marcus, he thinks you're the father!"
"I am aware," he replied, his tone shifting into that cool, practical register he used for major corporate takeovers. "My family has been pestering me about producing an heir since the day I turned thirty. Every family dinner, every board meeting, every casual conversation with my grandfather eventually devolves into a lecture about legacy, bloodlines, and the future of our name. It is a relentless, exhausting pressure."
"So your solution to family pressure is to borrow my pregnancy?!" I cried out, gesturing wildly to my bump.
"It’s a temporary solution," Marcus countered smoothly, his gaze dropping briefly to my hands before locking back onto mine. "Edward Bryson is happy. The board will stop asking questions. The pressure on my end stops completely. We let this setup stand temporarily, Ashley. It buys me time."
I stared at him, my mind spinning into an absolute frenzy.
Temporarily.
He wanted to play the part of the doting father temporarily to get his family off his back.
He thought it was a harmless, convenient arrangement.
But he didn't know that when this pregnancy ended, I would be handing this baby over to Nash and Simone, and the old Ashley was supposed to disappear back into anonymity.
If we let this lie grow... how on earth were we ever going to survive the fallout when the truth finally came out?