After an accidental one-night stand, I was dragging my suitcase toward the door, ready to skip town. Just as my hand touched the brass knob, a glowing stream of bullet comments drifted across my vision. [Why is he running? If he runs, he’s a dead man!] [Jeff is such a brainless side character. The female lead is literally carrying his baby, and he’s trying to hide.] [After her car crash, she was told she could never have kids. The baby in her womb is the heir the Moreau family has been desperately praying for.] [If he runs, the male lead will swoop in and take credit. He’ll become the savior of the Moreau family, marry in, and use the kid to secure his fortune forever.] My foot froze mid-step. Half a minute later, I kicked my suitcase back into the walk-in closet, ran out of the building, and headed straight for the penthouse of the Moreau Group headquarters. Michelle Moreau was in the middle of a board meeting. I threw the conference room doors wide open, marched inside, and stared right into her eyes. “Michelle, you’re pregnant.” “And it’s mine.” … You could have heard a pin drop in that massive boardroom. Dozens of pairs of eyes turned to me in perfect unison. Michelle sat at the head of the long mahogany table, her crisp white shirt buttoned all the way to the top. Her features were cold, aristocratic, like a marble statue carved from arctic ice. But everyone in the New York elite knew that behind that porcelain face lay a woman who was ruthless, cutthroat, and completely unyielding. Three years ago, a horrific car crash had nearly claimed her life. She survived, but the Moreau family’s private physicians delivered a devastating diagnosis: Michelle was virtually sterile. For a family whose dynasty was riding entirely on her shoulders—Michelle being the sole heir—this was a catastrophe. Her grandmother, Lady Enid, had desperately summoned every specialist in the hemisphere and even tried setting Michelle up on blind dates, only for Michelle to throw them out with a glacial glare. So, when I dropped my bombshell, the executives’ faces went through a spectrum of shock far more entertaining than my reaction to the floating chat comments. Michelle picked up the document she was reading, studied it for two seconds, and then looked up. “Mr. Beckett, please leave.” I choked on my breath. “You don’t believe me?” She raised her eyes, entirely devoid of warmth. “What is it you want?” The question stung worse than a slap. I, Jeff Beckett, was the spoiled youngest son of the Beckett family. I’d spent my life doing exactly what I wanted, earning a reputation as a reckless playboy. I had spent ten years desperately chasing Fiona MacAllister. And last night, in a stupid, drug-addled attempt to make Fiona jealous after being slipped a spiked drink at a party, I had stumbled into Michelle’s arms instead. When I woke up this morning, my first instinct had been to run. If my parents found out I had compromised the terrifying Michelle Moreau, they would tear me to pieces. But the floating comments said that if I ran, I’d die. And Alan would steal my child. Alan was the supposed “hero” of this story—hardworking, gentle, the perfect, soft-spoken contrast to Michelle’s cold exterior. In the original timeline, he was destined to become the love of her life, while I was just the disposable side character whose only purpose was to pave their way. The chat stream flashed again. [Jeff, play the victim! Cry a little—Michelle is weak for soft boys!] [Don’t back down. You’re the only man who could ever give her a child.] [Alan is already buttering up the grandmother. If you’re a second too late, your wife and kid are gone!] I dug my nails into my palms, forcing my eyes to brim with tears. “Michelle… you don’t believe it was me that night?” Someone in the room let out a sharp gasp. Michelle’s eyelids flickered, a subtle crack in her icy composure. I walked around the massive table, stopped right beside her chair, and gently pressed my hand flat against her lower stomach. “You don’t have to believe me yet… but you have to keep me close.” Michelle froze, her fingers stiffening over her documents. I stared down at her, my heart hammering so hard it physically hurt. She looked up at me, her gaze lingering on my face for what felt like an eternity. “Meeting adjourned,” she said quietly. The board members scrambled out of the room, their heads low. The heavy doors clicked shut. She pulled her hand back and picked up the office phone to dial her personal line. “Have the chief of obstetrics come up to my office immediately.” I finally let out a breath. But before I could relax, the door swung open again. A man in a crisp white linen shirt stood in the doorway, holding a high-end insulated lunchbox. “Michelle? Did I catch you at a bad time?” The chat stream erupted instantly. [Alan is here!] Alan had that clean-cut, boy-next-door look. Dark hair, soft eyes, a gentle smile. Standing next to someone as cold as Michelle, he looked like a ray of pure sunshine. When his eyes fell on me standing so close to Michelle, his eyelashes fluttered with a brief flash of distress. “Michelle, are you feeling unwell?” I glared at him, letting my irritation show. “What’s it to you?” Alan’s face paled slightly. “I’m only worried about Michelle.” Michelle’s voice was flat. “Who gave you permission to come up here?” “Your grandmother asked me to bring you some broth,” Alan said softly, his tone incredibly patient. “The doctor mentioned your stomach has been acting up lately.” Michelle’s expression grew even colder. “Leave it on the table. And get out.” “Michelle, your grandmother also mentioned she wants you to come over to the estate tonight.” The stream went into overdrive. [Here it comes! Lady Enid wants to play matchmaker for Alan and Michelle.] [Alan saved the grandmother’s life once. She absolutely adores him.] [Jeff, throw a tantrum! If you annoy Michelle, she’ll kick you out!] I immediately leaned closer to Michelle, practically brushing shoulders with her. “You can’t go tonight.” Michelle looked down at me, her brow arching. “Are you trying to control me?” I tilted my chin up, meeting her gaze defiantly. “You’re carrying my baby. Of course I am.” The remaining color drained from Alan’s face. Michelle stared at me, her eyes calm and analytical, as if she were reviewing a contract filled with loopholes. “Jeff, you had better be very clear about the consequences of lying to me.” I was terrified of her. But I was more terrified of dying. I squared my shoulders, doing my best to look completely vindicated. “Then test me. Right now.” Ten minutes later, the chief of obstetrics arrived at Michelle’s private office suite, accompanied by a nurse and a portable ultrasound machine. Blood tests, urine samples, an ultrasound. Michelle lay on the medical daybed, her dark skirt draped over her lap. I stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, keeping my back rigidly straight to hide the fact that my palms were slick with sweat. Alan hadn’t left; he was lingering in the hallway, peering in through the partially open door. When the initial quick-screen tests were complete, the doctor held the charts, his expression a mixture of awe and disbelief. “Ms. Moreau… you are indeed pregnant.” Michelle froze, staring blankly ahead. “According to the gestational age,” the doctor continued, “the timeline aligns perfectly.” I turned around immediately, a smug grin plastered on my face. “See? What did I tell you?” But Michelle was still staring at the doctor. “Can we confirm the paternity?” The doctor swallowed hard under her intense gaze. “An invasive prenatal paternity test is not recommended at this early stage. However, we can schedule a non-invasive prenatal paternity test in a few weeks.” My smile faltered. “Michelle, you still don’t believe me?” She remained silent. Alan stepped into the room, his voice dripping with gentle reason. “Please don’t be upset, Jeff. Michelle’s situation is unique. It’s only natural for her to be cautious.” I grabbed a decorative throw pillow from the sofa and hurled it directly at his face. “Who the hell asked you?” The pillow hit Alan, forcing him back a step. His eyes instantly pooled with hurt tears. Michelle frowned. A wave of bitter frustration washed over me, and I marched toward the door. “Fine. I’m leaving.” But as I turned to storm out, a wave of dizziness hit me, and the world spun into darkness. I stumbled, my knees giving way. Before I could hit the floor, Michelle was there, catching me in her arms. “Doctor!” her voice cracked with sudden panic. I grabbed her wrist, my own eyes burning with tears. “Let go of me.” Michelle went entirely rigid. An instant later, the sharp, rhythmic click of a cane echoed down the hall. Grandmother Enid had arrived. She marched into the suite, her sharp eyes locking instantly onto Michelle’s stomach. “Whose child is carrying the Moreau name?” Lady Enid was in her late seventies, her silver hair perfectly coiffed, her posture immaculate. But as soon as her eyes shifted to me, she stared at me as if I were a solid gold statue. I tried to pull away from Michelle’s grip, but her hold only tightened. “Don’t move,” she whispered near my ear. The old matriarch hurried over to the bed. “How far along?” “About six weeks,” the doctor answered quickly. The string of pearls in Enid’s hand trembled. “She’s truly pregnant?” The doctor nodded. Tears welled up in the old lady’s eyes. Alan quickly stepped forward to support her, murmuring softly, “Enid, please don’t get too worked up. We still need to verify the paternity.” The joy on the grandmother’s face flickered. She looked at Michelle. Michelle guided me gently to a plush armchair, pulling a soft cashmere throw over my legs. “We are not doing any risky procedures during the first trimester.” Her grandmother frowned. “Michelle, this concerns the future of our family bloodline.” Michelle’s voice was cold and heavy. “And this baby concerns my life.” Silence blanketed the room. The chat comments drifted lazily across my vision. [Michelle believes him? Alan is panicking now.] [In the original story, Lady Enid was grooming Alan to be her grandson-in-law. Now Jeff has completely hijacked the plot.] [Jeff, don’t get cocky. The greedy extended Moreau family is already on their way to fight for the inheritance.] Lady Enid sat down on the edge of the seat next to me, taking my hand in her warm, papery ones. “Jeff, dear. What would you like to eat? Where would you like to stay? You looked so pale just now.” I opened my mouth to say it didn’t matter. But Alan beat me to it. “The family estate is quiet and perfect for rest. I could stay there and keep Jeff company.” I let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “You? Keep me company?” Alan nodded smoothly. “I only worry you might feel out of place on your own.” I turned my eyes to Michelle. “I’m not going to the estate.” Lady Enid’s expression soured. “And why is that, Jeff?” I forced my eyes to water again, my voice dropping to a vulnerable whisper. “I’m scared.” “Scared of what, darling?” I pointed a trembling finger at Alan. “Of him.” Alan froze. Even the grandmother looked taken aback. I looked down at Michelle’s belly with tear-filled eyes. “The second he walked in, he was obsessed with testing the baby, and now he wants me hidden away at the estate. What if something happens to the baby while I’m away from Michelle?” “Jeff, you’re completely misinterpreting my intentions,” Alan pleaded, panic leaking into his voice. I wrapped my arms around Michelle’s waist, burying my face against her. “Look at him. He’s glaring at me again.” Alan: “…” Michelle looked down at me, a faint, almost imperceptible trace of amusement dancing in her eyes before she quickly masked it. Lady Enid turned to Alan, her expression noticeably cooler. “Alan. Go home for now.” Alan’s lips parted, pale and dry. “Enid, I—” “I said, go home.” Alan picked up his untouched insulated box and left. The moment the door clicked shut, the grandmother’s stern facade dissolved. She clasped my hand warmly. “Jeff, sweetheart, you can stay wherever makes you feel safest.” I looked up at Michelle. “I want to stay at her place.” Michelle’s brow furrowed slightly. But her grandmother didn’t hesitate. “Done. You’ll stay with her.” “I didn’t agree to that,” Michelle said, her voice dropping an octave. Lady Enid slammed her cane against the hardwood floor. “Hush up.” I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing out loud. The chat stream drifted by: [Step one of using the baby to secure the bag: Complete.] [Too bad the Beckett family hasn’t made their move yet.] Right on cue, my phone began to vibrate. My mother’s name flashed on the screen. I stared at it, frozen. Michelle glanced down at the screen. “Scared of your parents?” “Who’s scared?” I lied. The call timed out, but two seconds later, it started ringing again. This time it was my father. If I didn’t answer, the Becketts would storm the Moreau building themselves. Taking a deep breath, I swiped to accept the call. My mother’s voice was shrill enough to shatter glass. “Jeff! Where on earth are you?” I stole a glance at Michelle. “Just… shopping.” “Shopping on the penthouse floor of the Moreau Group?” A cold chill ran down my spine. Had Fiona ratted me out? Sure enough, my mother’s next words confirmed my fears. “Fiona told me you went to see Michelle Moreau.” I held the phone a few inches away from my ear. “Is she pregnant?” she shrieked. Lady Enid’s ears must have been fine-tuned for drama; she instantly leaned closer to the receiver. I closed my eyes. “Yeah.” The line went completely dead for three agonizing seconds. Then, my mother burst into tears. “Have you lost your mind? What is going on between you and Michelle?” Before I could answer, Michelle reached out and took the phone from my hand. “Mrs. Beckett, I am on the line as well.” My mother choked back her sobs, silenced by the sheer authority in Michelle’s voice. A moment later, my father’s deep voice boomed through the speaker. “Michelle, send Jeff home. Immediately.” Michelle looked down at me. I shook my head frantically. She spoke back into the phone, “That is not possible right now.” My father let out a harsh laugh. “You have no right to hold my son hostage.” Michelle’s expression remained utterly blank. “If he wishes to leave, I won’t stop him.” I grabbed her sleeve, tight. “I’m not leaving.” The sound of glass shattering echoed from the other end. My mother’s voice trembled with absolute fury. “Jeff Beckett, you wait right there.” The line went dead. I buried my face in my hands. I was screwed. Lady Enid patted my shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t you worry, dear. The Moreaus will protect you.” I looked at her dryly. “You were just trying to banish me to the estate a minute ago.” The old matriarch coughed, suddenly finding the wallpaper very interesting. Michelle cleared her throat. “Let’s head to my place first.” I knew she was incredibly wealthy, but when the town car pulled into the ultra-exclusive gated community where every square foot cost more than my entire trust fund, I couldn’t help but let out a quiet “Wow.” My mood instantly brightened. “Michelle, I have to admit, your place is perfect for recovery.” She set her designer bag on the console table. “You can take the master bedroom.” I plopped onto the plush sofa, hugging a velvet accent pillow. “Where are you sleeping?” “The guest room.” I frowned. “That’s too far. What if you get hungry in the middle of the night?” Michelle stopped and looked at me, her dark eyes unreadable. “Where exactly do you want me to sleep?” I pointed a finger toward the massive king-sized bed in the master suite. “The bed is huge.” Her gaze darkened, a subtle, dangerous warmth flickering in her eyes. “Jeff. Don’t push me.” I shut my mouth instantly. Later that night, my stomach woke me up. I crept downstairs barefoot to raid the kitchen. The fridge was packed with high-end, organic ingredients, none of which I knew how to cook. I finally found a container of fresh strawberries. I was just taking a bite of one when Michelle’s quiet voice sounded from behind me. “Why aren’t you wearing shoes?” I jumped, dropping the strawberry onto the cold hardwood floor. She walked over, kneeling down without a word, and used a clean kitchen towel to wipe my feet. Her movements were incredibly gentle. Looking down at her dark lashes and softened features, my heart skipped a sudden, erratic beat. Suddenly, the chat comments flared up in bright red text. [Friendly warning: Fiona is downstairs.] [She brought the Beckett family with her.] The doorbell rang. Michelle slid a pair of warm slippers onto my feet and stood up. “Go back to the bedroom.” “No way,” I muttered. “I want to watch the drama.” She sighed, taking her soft cashmere coat from the chair and draping it over my shoulders. She opened the front door. My parents stood on the porch, flanked by Fiona. Fiona was wearing a classic camel coat, her soft features looking tired and worn. When she saw me, her eyes softened. “Jeff.” Once, just hearing her say my name would make my entire week. Now, my only instinct was to shrink behind Michelle. When my mother saw Michelle’s coat wrapped around me, her eyes flooded with tears. “Jeff, get over here.” I shook my head. My father’s face was set in granite. “Michelle, the Becketts and the MacAllisters are already in the middle of arranging a marriage. By keeping him here, are you trying to start a war with both of our families?” Michelle stood firm, her tone completely level. “Jeff hasn’t agreed to any marriage.” Fiona looked at me, her eyes searching mine. “Jeff, you told me you wanted to marry me.” My throat tightened. It was true. I had written her countless love letters, bought her expensive gifts, and made an absolute fool of myself fighting with Alan over her attention. But the floating comments had already warned me of the original plot: I would chase her until I lost my family, my fortune, and my life, and she would only show up at my funeral to drop a single white rose on my casket. Looking at Fiona now, a wave of cold reality washed over me, leaving a sour taste in my mouth. “My eyesight wasn’t great back then.” Fiona’s face froze. My mother stepped forward, frantic. “Jeff, stop talking nonsense.” I stepped out from behind Michelle and wrapped my arms around her waist. “She’s pregnant with my baby.” My father’s hand flew up, swinging a heavy slap aimed directly at me. But Michelle moved instantly, throwing herself in front of me and taking the full force of the blow. The sharp crack echoed through the foyer. Even my father stared at his hand, stunned by what he had done. Michelle’s head was turned to the side, a small bead of blood forming where her lip had split. A sharp pain pierced my chest. “Dad!” Michelle grabbed my wrist, her grip steady. “Don’t.” My eyes burned. “Are you out of your mind? Why did you do that?” The chat stream flashed across my vision: [Oh no, Jeff is softening up.] [Fiona’s face is literally green with jealousy.] [Alan tipped off the Moreau family’s greedy relatives. Round two of the drama has arrived.] The private elevator at the end of the hall chimed open. Several men in sharp, tailored suits stepped out. The middle-aged man leading them cast a cold, calculating look at Michelle’s abdomen. “Michelle, dear. A miracle like this, and you didn’t think to inform your Uncle Alistair?” Michelle’s eyes went utterly black. “You have no right to speak to me.” Uncle Alistair’s expression darkened. “The Moreau bloodline cannot be compromised by some low-rent scandal. This boy needs to be locked down at the estate.” My parents’ faces grew even more hostile at the suggestion. Fiona stepped forward, her voice tight. “We don’t even have proof that this child belongs to a Beckett.” Alistair sneered. “Then we run a DNA test.” Every single person in the room stared at Michelle’s stomach as if it were a prize trophy—or a piece of meat. Suddenly, Michelle threw the front door wide open. “If you want to negotiate, we do it in the living room.” She squeezed my hand, her voice dropping to a low murmur that only I could hear. “Don’t be afraid.” But the moment we sat down, a maid brought over a tray with a glass of warm milk. In my vision, the glass was suddenly highlighted in a flashing, warning red by the chat comments. [Don’t drink it.] [There’s something in it.]
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