Chapter 2 2
The door opened again, and this time a middle-aged doctor walked in, adjusting his glasses.
“Ah, Miss Blair. You’re finally awake,” he said with a small, tired smile. “Congratulations.”
Blair blinked, still dazed. “Congratulations?”
He glanced at the chart in his hand. “You’re about six weeks pregnant. You need rest, plenty of fluids, and iron supplements. You’ve been overworking and under-eating, that’s why you collapsed.”
Her chest tightened. “I can’t afford all that—”
“Don’t worry, Miss Blair,” the doctor added, scribbling something on her file. “Your colleagues already handled the hospital bill.”
Blair frowned immediately. Of course they did. Which meant her manager would take a cut from her next pay—he always did.
“Can I go now?” she asked quietly.
The doctor nodded, tearing off a sheet from his clipboard and handing it to her. “Yes, but you’ll need rest. No heavy lifting, and try to eat properly. I’ve prescribed iron tablets—you can get them from the pharmacy downstairs.”
She nodded, already reaching for her bag.
“Make sure to come in for a checkup next week,” he added as she stood up, his tone softening. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard, Miss Blair. Your body is asking you to slow down.”
Blair gave a small, tired smile. “If my body pays rent, maybe I will.”
The doctor chuckled quietly. “Just take care of yourself.”
He left the room, and for a moment, Blair sat there staring at the discharge papers—
“Six weeks pregnant.”
The words looked unreal in print.
Blair pushed open the tiny apartment door and dropped her bag by the wall.
Tacha looked up from the couch, a bonnet on her head and a bowl of Cereal in her lap. “Blair! You look like you just wrestled life itself. What happened?”
Blair stood still for a moment, eyes blank, then whispered, “I’m six weeks pregnant, Tacha… and I don’t even know who the father is.”
The bowl almost slipped from Tacha’s hand. “What?”
Blair sank onto the couch beside her, voice breaking. “I can’t keep it. I’m barely surviving. I’ll just get rid of it quietly before it starts to show.”
Tacha dropped her spoon and turned sharply. “No, Blair! Don’t even say that. You remember the card, right? The one from that hotel suite?”
Blair frowned. “What about
Tacha leaned forward, eyes wide with excitement. “That’s not a regular card, babe.
I googled it—just the logo on it belongs to a company that screams money. What if that’s him? What if the man you slept with is loaded? Like billionaire-loaded?”
Blair gave a short, humorless laugh. “So what, Tacha? I should just walk in there and say, ‘Hi, I might be carrying your baby?’”
Tasha smiled, half-joking, half-serious. “Girl, if that’s your baby’s father, then maybe your luck just changed. You should go see him. Tell him. What’s the worst that could happen? You’re pretty—he might just want to take care of you.”
Blair looked down at her trembling hands, the small business card lying on the table. The edges were crisp, the logo clean and expensive-looking.
“Babe,” Tacha said softly, “maybe fate’s finally giving you something good.”
Blair sighed, staring at the card. Or something worse, she thought.
⸻
Blair took a taxi across town, the folded card clutched tightly in her hand.
The address led her to a gated neighborhood she’d only ever seen in magazines. The kind where the air even smelled expensive.
She stepped out, staring up at the massive estate before her. The name on the tall black gate read Lucas Brooks.
“This is way out of my league,” she whispered to herself. Her palms were sweating. “I just hope he… accepts me.”
She swallowed hard and walked to the entrance. The driveway alone was longer than the street she used to live on. She hesitated at the door before pressing the bell.
A man in a crisp black suit opened it—a servant, tall and polished, with an expression that could slice glass.
His eyes swept over her from head to toe, lingering a little too long on her faded shoes and worn jacket.
“Yes?” he asked curtly.
“I… I need to speak with Mr. Brooks,” Blair said, her voice barely steady. “It’s important.”
The man raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure he wants to see you?” His tone dripped with quiet disdain.
Blair clenched her bag tighter but stood her ground. “Just tell him my name is uhm well the woman from the club hotel. He’ll… he’ll understand.”
The servant gave a small, disbelieving scoff but nodded. “Wait here.”
He turned and disappeared into the mansion, leaving Blair standing on the marble porch, surrounded by a silence that felt far too heavy for one heart to carry.
Inside the mansion, the faint thump of music echoed from the private gym.
Lucas Brooks was shirtless, his muscles flexing as he lifted the barbell. Sweat glistened across his shoulders, tracing the dark curve of a snake tattoo winding along his arm.
The servant stepped carefully into the room, clearing his throat. “Sir, there’s a woman outside asking for you. She says she’s from the hotel.”
Lucas didn’t even turn. “What hotel?”
“The Club Hotel, sir.”
He exhaled sharply, setting the weights down. “Not again,” he muttered under his breath. “Another one of them.”
The servant hesitated. “Should I let her in?”
Lucas grabbed a towel, wiping his face with slow, careless movements. “No. Send the guards. Get her out of here.”
“Sir?”
He finally turned, eyes cold and sharp. “You heard me. Throw her out. And next time, don’t let anyone past the gate without my permission.”
The servant bowed slightly. “Yes, Mr. Brooks.”
Lucas picked up a bottle of water, twisting the cap open. He was already moving toward the treadmill when he muttered, almost to himself, “Can’t even remember their faces, and they still find their way here.”
Lucas had just stepped onto the treadmill when the servant returned, hesitant.
“Sir,” he began carefully, “she insists it’s important.”
Lucas pinched the bridge of his nose. “Write her a check. Whatever she wants. Just get her off my property.”
The servant nodded and left.
Outside, Blair stood at the foot of the grand staircase, her nerves barely holding together. The servant reappeared, holding out a white envelope.
“Mr. Brooks asked me to give you this,” he said stiffly. “Now please, leave before security escorts you out.”
Blair frowned, refusing to take it. “What is this?”
“Compensation,” he said, his tone clipped. “For your… trouble.”
Her eyes flashed. “I don’t want his money.”
The man’s polite mask faltered. “Ma’am, please don’t make this difficult.”
Blair took a shaky step forward, anger and shame burning together in her chest. “Tell him I have his child!”
That stopped him cold.
Upstairs, behind the tinted gym window, Lucas looked down. He couldn’t see her face clearly—just a slim figure at the gate, her voice carrying faintly through the open hall.
He frowned, jaw tightening. “What the hell is she shouting about now?”
“Sir?” the guard at his side asked.
“Nothing,” Lucas said quickly, waving him off. “Just… get her out of here before she causes a scene.”
The guards moved toward the gate.
The guards didn’t shove her, but their grip on her arm was firm enough to make her stumble as they led her past the gates.
The massive iron doors clanged shut behind her with a finality that echoed in her chest.
She stood on the empty sidewalk, tears spilling freely as she clutched the strap of her worn bag. The check envelope had fallen at her feet, but she didn’t pick it up.
“I don’t want his money,” she whispered to herself, her voice trembling. “I just wanted him to know.”
She turned away, her vision blurred with tears as cars rushed past.
Blair stepped off the curb—
—and the blare of a horn split the silence.
Headlights flared, white and sharp, swallowing her in their glare.
Then everything went black.