Mia's entire life fits into seven boxes.
She stares at them lined up in the back of the moving truck, feeling the weight of how little she has. Clothes, art supplies, a few books, her paintings. Seven boxes to represent twenty-five years of existence.
"That's everything?" the mover asks, sounding skeptical.
"That's everything," Mia confirms.
Sophie stands beside her, eyes suspiciously bright. They're in front of Mia's soon-to-be-former apartment building, saying goodbye to a place that was never really home but was hers.
"I can't believe this is happening," Sophie says for the tenth time today. "Yesterday you were here. Today you're moving into a penthouse. Tomorrow you're getting married."
Two days, actually. But who's counting?
"It doesn't feel real," Mia admits. "I keep waiting to wake up."
"If you wake up, take me with you. I want to see the penthouse again." Sophie hugs her tightly. "I'm so happy for you. Terrified, but happy."
"That makes two of us."
A sleek black car pulls up—not the town car from before, but an SUV with tinted windows. Alexander's security detail. Mia's still getting used to the fact that she has security now.
Marcus, the head of her detail, steps out. He's built like a brick wall, ex-military, and surprisingly kind eyes.
"Ms. Chen. Ready to go?"
Ms. Chen. Not Mrs. Kane yet. She has forty-eight hours left of being just Mia.
"Ready as I'll ever be."
Sophie squeezes her hand one last time. "Call me if you need anything. I mean it. Even if it's three AM and you're freaking out."
"I'll probably take you up on that."
The drive to Kane Tower feels like crossing into another dimension. Brooklyn to Manhattan. Struggling artist to billionaire's wife. Old life to new life in twenty minutes of traffic.
Mia watches her neighborhood disappear in the rearview mirror and tries not to cry.
---
The penthouse is full of people when she arrives.
Designers, assistants, delivery people—organized chaos. Alexander stands in the middle of it all, phone to his ear, directing traffic with the ease of someone used to command.
He looks up when Mia enters, holds up a finger—one minute—and concludes his call.
"Sorry," he says, pocketing his phone. "I wanted everything ready before you arrived, but it's taking longer than expected."
"Everything?"
He gestures around. "Your studio is being set up. I have designers bringing wardrobe options for the wedding and beyond. Dr. Okonkwo is coming by at three for your first prenatal appointment here. And—" He pauses. "I may have gone overboard."
A woman in all black approaches, tablet in hand. "Mr. Kane, the furniture delivery is here. Where would you like the nursery pieces?"
"Nursery pieces?" Mia's voice goes up an octave.
Alexander has the grace to look sheepish. "I may have ordered some things. Just basics. A crib, changing table, rocking chair. We can return anything you don't like."
Mia walks past him, following the delivery people down a hallway she didn't explore yesterday. They're unloading boxes into a room adjacent to the master bedroom—sun-filled, spacious, already painted a soft sage green.
"You painted?" she asks.
"Last night. I know we don't know the gender yet, but green seemed safe." Alexander joins her in the doorway. "If you hate it, we can repaint. Change everything. This is your call, not mine."
The room is beautiful. Warm. Full of potential. But it's also overwhelming.
"It's a lot," Mia manages. "The nursery, the studio, all of this. It's only been twelve hours since I signed the contract."
"I wanted you to feel welcome. Wanted you to know this isn't just my space anymore—it's ours." He hesitates. "Did I overstep?"
Yes. Also no. Mia doesn't know how to feel.
"Can we... can we do this in stages?" she asks. "The apartment, the wedding, the baby—it's all happening so fast and I'm drowning."
Alexander's expression shifts. "Of course. I'm sorry. I'm used to solving problems with efficiency. I forget that people need time to adjust." He pulls out his phone, types something. "I'm sending everyone home except Dr. Okonkwo. We'll do the medical appointment and then you can just... breathe. Everything else can wait."
The people start filing out. Designers, delivery crew, assistants—gone in minutes, leaving silence behind.
Mia sinks onto the couch. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me for basic decency." Alexander sits across from her, maintaining distance. "This is your home now. You set the pace."
They sit in awkward silence. Two strangers who've agreed to share a life, neither quite knowing how to start.
"Your boxes are in the bedroom," Alexander says finally. "I didn't have anyone unpack them. Thought you'd want to do that yourself."
"I would. Thank you."
More silence.
"This is weird, right?" Mia blurts out. "This is objectively weird."
Alexander's mouth twitches. "Extremely weird."
"How do people do this? The arranged marriage thing. How do they just... start living together like it's normal?"
"Most arranged marriages involve people from the same social circle who've known each other for years. We have none of those advantages." He leans back. "We're making this up as we go."
"That's not comforting."
"Would you prefer I lie and say I have a plan?"
"Yes," Mia says. "Lie to me. Tell me you've got this all figured out."
"I've got this all figured out." His voice is deadpan. "We'll be perfectly happy, never argue, and our child will be a complete angel who sleeps through the night from day one."
Despite everything, Mia laughs. "You're a terrible liar."
"I'm a CEO. I'm an excellent liar. I'm just choosing not to lie to you." His expression softens. "We're going to mess this up, Mia. Multiple times, probably. But as long as we're honest about it, we'll figure it out."
The doorbell rings. Dr. Okonkwo, right on time.
---
Dr. Sarah Okonkwo is everything Mia hoped and nothing she expected.
Late forties, gorgeous dark skin, warm smile, and an energy that immediately puts Mia at ease. She sets up a portable ultrasound machine in the master bedroom—apparently house calls are just something rich people get—and pats the bed.
"Lie back, Mia. Let's meet this baby."
Alexander hovers in the doorway, uncertain. "Should I...?"
"Stay," Mia says before she can overthink it. "You should be here for this."
He sits in the chair by the bed, hands clasped between his knees like a nervous teenager.
Dr. Okonkwo applies cold gel to Mia's stomach—still mostly flat, just the slightest curve. "Thirteen weeks, yes? Let's see what we've got."
The ultrasound wand moves across Mia's skin. The monitor shows black and white shapes that mean nothing to her. Then Dr. Okonkwo angles the screen and suddenly—
A baby.
Actually a baby. Not just cells or a blob but a tiny human with a head and body and little limbs.
"Oh my god," Mia breathes.
Alexander makes a sound—choked, raw. His hand finds hers, squeezes tight.
"There's your baby," Dr. Okonkwo says warmly. "Strong heartbeat, good size for gestational age. Everything looks perfect."
The whooshing sound fills the room. Thump-thump-thump-thump. Fast, steady, impossible.
"That's the heartbeat?" Alexander's voice cracks.
"That's your baby's heartbeat. About 150 beats per minute, right where we want it." Dr. Okonkwo points to the screen. "See here? That's an arm. And there's the profile—you can see the nose."
Mia can't look away. That's her baby. Their baby. A real, actual person growing inside her.
She glances at Alexander. He's staring at the screen with an expression she's never seen—wonder, terror, something that looks like grief and joy tangled together.
"Can you... can we have pictures?" he asks quietly.
"Of course." Dr. Okonkwo prints several images. "I'll do a full workup while I'm here. Blood pressure, bloodwork, vitamin check. But from what I'm seeing, you have a very healthy baby."
The appointment continues. Dr. Okonkwo is thorough, professional, and actually listens when Mia talks. Nothing like the rushed visits at the free clinic where she was just another number.
"I want to see you every three weeks until the third trimester," Dr. Okonkwo says, packing up her equipment. "Any concerns, day or night, call me. I mean it. Weird craving, strange pain, anxiety attack—I've seen it all."
"Thank you," Mia says. "Really. This was..."
"Overwhelming?" Dr. Okonkwo smiles. "First pregnancies usually are. Especially when you're also planning a wedding and moving into a new home. Be gentle with yourself, Mia. Growing a human is hard work."
After she leaves, Mia and Alexander sit on the bed, staring at the ultrasound pictures.
"We're having a baby," Alexander says, like he's testing the words.
"We're having a baby," Mia confirms.
"I'm going to be a father."
"I'm going to be a mother."
They look at each other. The weight of it crashes down—the responsibility, the reality, the absolute terror of being in charge of a tiny human life.
"What if I'm terrible at it?" Alexander asks quietly. "What if I'm like him? My father."
"You won't be."
"You don't know that."
"I do." Mia turns to face him fully. "You've already proven you're different. You're here. You're trying. That's more than he ever did."
Alexander's jaw works. "My father told me once that children were investments. Heirs to carry on the legacy. That's what I was to him—an investment that didn't pay off fast enough." His voice goes flat. "He used to lock me in my room when I disappointed him. Sometimes for days. Said isolation built character."
Mia's heart breaks. "Alexander—"
"I don't want that for our child." His eyes meet hers, desperate. "I don't want cold efficiency and emotional distance and parenting by spreadsheet. But I don't know how to do anything else. I don't know how to be warm or affectionate or any of the things a parent should be."
"Then we'll learn together." Mia takes his hand. "I grew up in foster care. Fourteen different homes before I aged out. I don't know how to be a parent either. But I know what I don't want to be—absent, indifferent, neglectful. If we can both just be present and trying, that's already better than what we had."
Alexander looks at their joined hands. "We're a mess, aren't we?"
"The messiest."
"Our poor child."
"Hey, at least they'll have therapist material for years." Mia manages a smile. "And money for said therapy."
That gets a small laugh. Alexander's thumb traces her knuckles, absent and gentle.
"Thank you," he says. "For letting me be here for that. The ultrasound. I didn't realize how much I needed to see it. To make it real."
"It's your baby too. Of course you should be here."
They sit there, holding hands, looking at ultrasound pictures of their impending disaster of a life.
"I should unpack," Mia says eventually. "Before I lose all motivation."
"I'll help."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to." Alexander stands. "Besides, if I leave you alone you might organize everything wrong and then I'll have to reorganize it and you'll get annoyed and we'll have our first fight before we're even married."
"You're very controlling, has anyone told you that?"
"Frequently." He offers his hand. "Come on. Let's see what fits in seven boxes."
---
Unpacking takes two hours.
Mia's clothes take up a tiny corner of the massive walk-in closet. Her books fill one small shelf. Her art supplies get carefully arranged in her new studio, which is three times the size of her entire former apartment.
"This is depressing," Mia says, looking at how empty everything still is.
"Or it's potential." Alexander hangs her last painting—a city sunset she did last year. "Room to grow."
The painting looks good on the wall. Everything looks good here. Clean, expensive, perfect.
Mia feels like a smudge on pristine glass.
"Hey." Alexander catches her expression. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Just... adjusting." She forces a smile. "It's a lot of change."
"Too much?"
"No. Just enough to be terrifying." She looks around the bedroom—their bedroom, with its king-size bed and expensive furniture and view that never ends. "I keep waiting for someone to realize I don't belong here and kick me out."
"You belong here because I want you here. That's all that matters."
"Is it?"
"To me? Yes." He hesitates. "But if you're asking if it'll be enough for everyone else—my mother, my board, society—probably not. They'll judge. They'll gossip. They'll question my judgment and your motives and whether our child is really mine."
The honesty stings. "That's not helping."
"You asked for honesty." Alexander moves closer. "So here's the complete truth: the next few months are going to be brutal. There will be articles and speculation and people who treat you like you're not good enough. My mother will probably be horrified. Victoria will find ways to make herself relevant. And strangers will have opinions about our marriage, our baby, and your right to be in my life."
Mia's throat tightens. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you need to know what you're walking into. And because I want you to know—" His hands frame her face, gentle. "None of it matters. Not to me. You could show up to our wedding in jeans and every society matron could clutch their pearls and I wouldn't care. You're the mother of my child. You're my partner. That makes you the most important person in my world."
The words land like an anchor. Steadying her.
"I'm still terrified," Mia whispers.
"Good. So am I." Alexander's thumb brushes her cheek. "Let's be terrified together."
Two strangers becoming partners. Two broken people trying to build something whole.
It's insane.
But standing in their bedroom, ultrasound pictures on the nightstand, her paintings on his walls, Mia thinks maybe—just maybe—it might work.