Rafael Vexley stood rooted to the polished marble floor of his corner office, a fortress of glass and steel high above the restless city. The skyline stretched endlessly beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows—towers of light stitched together like a glittering web, beautiful and treacherous all at once. A low hum from the air conditioning filled the silence, a sterile, artificial cold that couldn't touch the feverish heat gathering in his chest.
His jaw tightened. Those storm-grey eyes of his—usually calm, calculated, unreadable—were locked on the phone in his hand as though it were a live explosive. The message stared back at him, every word searing itself into his mind like a brand.
"Rafael, I don't know if you'll believe me or not… but what I wanted to tell you all this while is that I'm pregnant. And the baby is definitely yours."
Pregnant.
