Alice's POV
I made it to the bathroom just in time.
Again.
Fifth morning in a row I'd woken up feeling like my stomach was trying to escape through my throat. I gripped the toilet bowl, my whole body shaking, tasting nothing but bile and regret.
This wasn't normal. This wasn't stress or grief or the cheap ramen I'd been living on since the funeral.
This was something else.
The funeral. Three days after my mother died, I'd stood in a cemetery surrounded by strangers who claimed to know her. Every single one of them had stared at me with the same expression—pity mixed with something that looked like fear.
Nobody told me about my father. Nobody explained the cryptic warnings. Nobody revealed the big secrets that were supposed to come out.
Instead, I got a letter from my mother—sealed, private, meant only for me. But when I tried to open it after the service, it was gone. Disappeared from my purse like it had never existed.
Someone had stolen it.
Five weeks had passed since then. Five weeks of looking over my shoulder. Five weeks of unknown numbers I didn't answer. Five weeks of wondering if Miles was watching me, if whoever sent those threats was real, if I was losing my mind.
Five weeks of throwing up every single morning.
I flushed the toilet and pressed my forehead against the cool bathroom tile. My tiny apartment—a new one across town, cheaper, safer, anonymous—was silent except for my ragged breathing.
When was my last period?
My mind raced backward, counting days. Before the betrayal. Before Miles. Before everything fell apart.
No.
No, no, no, no, no.
I scrambled to my feet and grabbed my phone, searching for the nearest pharmacy. There was one three blocks away. Open 24 hours.
I threw on yesterday's clothes and ran.
The morning air was cold, but I barely felt it. My heart pounded so loud I couldn't hear the traffic. People stared as I rushed past, probably wondering why some crazy girl was sprinting down the sidewalk at 6 AM.
I didn't care.
The pharmacy was almost empty—just a tired cashier and an old man reading magazines. I found the pregnancy tests on aisle seven, grabbed three different brands with shaking hands, and paid cash so there'd be no record.
"Good luck," the cashier said softly, her eyes kind.
I didn't respond. Couldn't.
Back at my apartment, I locked myself in the bathroom and opened the first box. The instructions were simple. Pee on the stick. Wait three minutes. Look for lines.
Easy.
Except my hands were shaking so badly I almost dropped it.
I set a timer on my phone and sat on the edge of the bathtub, staring at that little plastic stick like it was a bomb.
Three minutes had never felt so long.
Please be negative. Please be negative. Please—
My timer went off.
Two pink lines.
Positive.
"No." I grabbed the second test. Did it again. Three more minutes of torture.
Positive.
The third test. Same result.
I was pregnant.
With Miles Ashford's baby.
A man I'd spent one night with. A man who'd lied to me. A man I'd blocked and run from and swore I'd never see again.
A man I had no way to contact even if I wanted to.
I slid down to the bathroom floor, three positive pregnancy tests scattered around me like evidence of my stupidity. How could I be so careless? We'd used protection—I remembered that clearly—but nothing was foolproof. Nothing.
Tears came, hot and fast and angry.
I was twenty-five years old with no job, no family, no support system. I'd cut off everyone who'd ever hurt me, and now I was completely alone. How was I supposed to raise a baby? How was I supposed to afford food and rent and diapers and everything else?
My phone buzzed. Text from Linda Martinez, my mother's estate executor. She'd been trying to reach me since the funeral, but I'd been ignoring her calls.
Linda: Alice, we really need to talk about your mother's estate. There are assets you need to claim. Please call me.
Assets? My mother had nothing. We'd been poor my entire childhood. She'd worked three jobs just to keep us afloat.
Unless that was another lie.
I stared at my phone, at the pregnancy tests, at my empty bathroom in my empty apartment where I was about to raise a baby by myself.
And something inside me shifted.
Not broke. Shifted.
I wasn't that girl anymore—the one who let Derek make her feel worthless. The one who believed she deserved scraps. I'd survived betrayal, grief, and five weeks of terror. I could survive this too.
I had to.
Because this baby—this tiny, impossible, terrifying baby—was mine. Not Miles's. Not anyone else's. Mine.
And I was going to protect it no matter what.
I called Linda Martinez.
"Alice!" She sounded relieved. "Thank God. I've been trying to reach you for weeks."
"I know. I'm sorry. Things have been..." I took a breath. "What did you mean about assets?"
"Your mother had a trust fund set up for you. Quite substantial, actually. Nearly two million dollars."
The phone almost slipped from my hand. "What?"
"There's also property—a house upstate that's been in your family for generations. And life insurance. Between everything, you're looking at close to three million dollars, Alice."
Three million dollars.
My mother, who'd worked herself to death in crappy jobs, who'd kicked me out because I wouldn't become a doctor, who'd told me we had nothing—had three million dollars?
"That's impossible," I whispered.
"It's very real. But there's a condition." Linda's voice changed. "You need to come to my office to claim it. And you need to meet with someone your mother designated as the trustee of her estate."
"Who?"
"Miles Ashford."
My blood turned to ice. "No."
"Alice, I understand this is complicated, but legally—"
"Find someone else. Anyone else. I'm not meeting with him."
"I can't. Your mother's will specifically states that Miles Ashford must be present when you learn the truth about your inheritance. It's non-negotiable." Linda paused. "Alice, I know you and Mr. Ashford have history, but your mother trusted him. She made him promise to protect you. Please consider—"
"He's been lying to me from the start!" My voice cracked. "He knew who I was, he manipulated me, and now he's controlling my mother's money? How is that protection?"
"Maybe you should ask him that yourself."
"Maybe I don't want to see him ever again."
Silence. Then, quietly: "Alice, are you sure about that?"
Something in her tone made me freeze. "What do you mean?"
"I mean your mother left specific instructions about what Miles should do if certain... circumstances arose. Circumstances she predicted might happen." Another pause. "Has anything changed in your life recently? Anything significant?"
My hand moved to my stomach automatically.
How could she know?
"I don't know what you're talking about," I lied.
"Then come to my office tomorrow at 2 PM. If I'm wrong, you leave with three million dollars and never see Miles Ashford again. But if I'm right..." She took a breath. "If I'm right, you need to hear what he has to say. For your own safety."
She hung up.
I sat there, phone in one hand, the other pressed against my still-flat stomach where a tiny life was growing. A life that connected me to Miles whether I wanted it to or not.
My mother had predicted this. Had planned for this. Had left instructions about what to do if I got pregnant.
How?
Unless...
Unless she'd known Miles and I would meet. Known we'd sleep together. Known I'd end up pregnant.
Unless the whole thing had been planned from the start.
The room spun. I gripped the edge of the sink, trying to breathe through the panic.
My phone buzzed again. Another unknown number. Another text.
Against every instinct, I opened it.
Unknown: Congratulations on the pregnancy. Your mother would be so happy. But you need to know—Miles Ashford isn't who he says he is. The baby you're carrying is worth more than three million dollars. It's worth EVERYTHING. Meet me before you meet with Linda. Come alone. Pier 49, midnight tonight. Your father will explain everything.
Then, before I could process those words:
Unknown: P.S. - Don't take the prenatal vitamins Linda will give you tomorrow. They're not vitamins.
My hands started shaking so hard I dropped the phone.
My father. The father who was supposedly dead. Who might be alive. Who apparently knew I was pregnant.
And someone was trying to poison me.
I looked at my reflection in the bathroom mirror—pale, scared, alone. A girl who'd lost everything and gained a secret that might get her killed.
Tomorrow at 2 PM, I'd learn the truth from Miles.
Tonight at midnight, I'd learn it from my father.
The question was: which truth would keep me alive?
And which one would destroy me?