The confirmation came on a quiet morning.
Ivie sat in the sterile white room of the clinic, fingers clenched tightly in her lap as the doctor smiled gently across the desk.
"Congratulations," the woman said. "The procedure was successful. You're pregnant."
The word echoed.
Pregnant.
Not surrogate.
Not contract.
Not arrangement.
Pregnant.
Ivie nodded slowly, swallowing the sudden tightness in her throat. She had prepared herself for this moment—mentally, emotionally, practically. Yet nothing had prepared her for the weight of it settling into her chest like a living thing.
When she stepped out of the clinic, the Lagos sun felt too bright.
Femi was already waiting.
He stood near the car, phone in hand, posture relaxed but eyes sharp. The moment he saw her face, something in him changed. He straightened.
"Well?" he asked.
She met his gaze. "It worked."
For a second—just a second—the billionaire mask slipped.
Relief flashed across his face, raw and unguarded, before it vanished behind calm control.
"Good," he said. "We'll adjust security. Your schedule will change."
Ivie frowned. "Security?"
"You're carrying my child," he said simply. "Nothing happens to you."
The words should have sounded clinical.
They didn't.
From that day on, everything changed.
Femi became… present.
He asked questions. Not intrusive ones—measured, precise. He attended appointments without being asked. Made silent adjustments to the household. Removed certain people from his social calendar without explanation.
And he stopped bringing women home.
Ivie noticed.
She didn't comment.
But at night, lying alone in her massive bed, she wondered when exactly his shadow had started to feel like safety instead of threat.
One evening, she found him in the kitchen—an unusual sight.
"You shouldn't skip meals," he said without looking up.
"I wasn't hungry."
"You are now," he replied, sliding a plate toward her.
Their fingers brushed.
The contact was brief. Accidental.
Electric.
Neither of them spoke.
The Ex
She arrived like a storm wrapped in silk.
Tall. Beautiful. Elegant in a way that spoke of old money and entitlement. Her heels clicked against the marble floor as she walked in unannounced, lips curved in a knowing smile.
"Femi," she purred. "You didn't return my calls."
Ivie froze at the top of the stairs.
Femi's body went rigid.
"Ada," he said coolly. "You shouldn't be here."
Ada's eyes flicked upward—and landed on Ivie.
Something sharp and calculating flashed behind her smile.
"Oh," she said softly. "So this is her."
Ivie descended slowly, chin lifted, heart pounding.
"And you must be the ex," Ivie said evenly.
Ada laughed. "Ex is such an ugly word."
Femi stepped forward immediately. "Enough."
But the damage was done.
Ada's gaze dropped briefly to Ivie's midsection, then returned to her face, glittering with something ugly.
"Be careful," Ada said sweetly. "Men like Femi don't change. They replace."
Ivie felt the sting—but before she could respond, Femi spoke.
"She's under my protection," he said coldly. "You will respect that."
Ada's smile cracked.
That night, Ivie stood on the balcony, staring out at the city lights, emotions tangled and restless.
"You should have warned me," she said quietly when Femi joined her.
"I didn't expect her to come," he replied.
"She looked at me like I was a threat."
"You are," he said.
She turned sharply. "To what?"
He didn't answer immediately.
"To my control," he finally said. "And I don't like losing it."
Her heart raced.
"This is getting complicated," she whispered.
"Yes," he agreed. "It is."
Silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken things.
"You don't touch me," Ivie said suddenly. "You don't cross lines. But you watch me like you're already in too deep."
His jaw tightened.
"You don't belong to me," he said. "But the thought of anyone else near you makes me violent."
The honesty startled her.
"Femi…"
"This wasn't supposed to happen," he continued. "I wanted an heir. Not this."
"Not what?"
He looked at her then—really looked.
"Not you."
Her breath caught.
Because somewhere between hate and obligation, something dangerous had begun to grow.
And Ada da Silva was not done yet.