Chapter 3 · Pregnant With My Ex's Child

Chapter 3

Tessa was so baffled by my smooth talk that she kept staring at me, totally confused. Instead of getting angry, she actually went ahead and placed another order.

After seeing Tessa off, I leaned over the sink and puked for ten minutes straight, until I was dry-heaving and my stomach acid was burning my throat.

Holding onto the wall, I managed to stand up and look at my pale, sickly face in the mirror. Suddenly, I felt a little sorry for myself.

But that feeling only lasted three seconds.

My phone buzzed. It was a bank text. Tessa's deposit had landed in my account, 50,000 dollars.

I instantly perked up, flashing a peace sign at my reflection in the mirror.

I said, "Hey, Little Bean. Your mom might be puking crazy, but when it comes to counting money, don't I look like a queen?"

Of course, the little bean in my belly didn't answer, but I could've sworn I felt it move.

Technically, people said a pregnant lady couldn't feel anything at eight weeks, but I was sure I did.

When I was twelve weeks pregnant, I ran into Nicholas.

To be precise, it was during a prenatal checkup at the hospital.

I'd finished my NT scan and was grinning at the report. Everything looked great, and my little bean was growing up just fine.

As I walked, I snapped a pic of the report and sent it to my girls' group chat, captioning it: [Check out my baby. Long legs, just like me.]

My best friend, Edith Wilcox, replied instantly: [Your bean doesn't even have legs yet. That's an embryonic bud.]

I sent her an eye-roll emoji and ignored her.

I glanced up, and there he was, Nicholas.

He stood at the far end of the maternity ward, dressed in a deep blue coat, holding a stack of papers, chatting with a doctor in a white coat.

As if he sensed my presence, he turned his head.

We locked eyes.

His gaze drifted from my face to the checkup report in my hand, then down to my barely-there baby bump.

Then his expression changed.

It was subtle. Not shock, not anger, but a lost look I'd never seen in him before. Like a precision machine that had suddenly been unplugged.

Without thinking, I tried to tuck the report behind my back, but he'd already seen it.

Nicholas said something quietly to the doctor next to him, then strode straight over to me.

"Clara," he said, towering over me with that superior look.

It had only been two months since the divorce, but he looked a bit thinner, his jawline sharper, and there was something in his eyes I couldn't quite read.

"Mr. Hayden," I said, forcing a smile. "What a coincidence. You here for a prenatal checkup too? How many are you expecting?"

Nicholas didn't even bother with my trash talk. His eyes locked onto my hand, which was protectively covering my belly. "You're pregnant."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement.

I flatly denied, saying, "Nope. I'm just getting fat. Been eating way too much food lately."

He said, "That's a prenatal checkup report in your hand."

"I— I'm picking it up for a friend," I stammered.

"Clara," he said, his voice dropping, that lawyerly pressure creeping in. "You can't fool me. I've cross-examined over three hundred witnesses. When you lie, your right eyelid twitches."

Instinctively, I reached up and pressed my right eyelid.

Shit, I totally walked right into that one.

Nicholas's lips twitched, so subtle I almost missed it. I couldn't tell if he wanted to laugh or something else.

"Whose is it?" he asked.

I froze. "What do you mean, whose?"

He replied, "Whose baby is it?"

I stared at him, eyes wide, totally stunned.

Did he seriously ask whose baby it was?

We'd only been divorced for two months. Who else could it belong to but him? Was he really hinting that I cheated on him while we were still married?

Rage surged up from my toes.

I gave a sarcastic laugh. "Nicholas, are you seriously interrogating me right now? Last I checked, you're my ex-husband. Since when does an ex get to stick his nose into who his ex-wife has a baby with?"

Nicholas's expression froze for a moment.

I leaned in, dropping my voice. "And another thing. You seriously don't know whose baby this is? Need me to refresh your memory? About a month before the divorce, on a pitch-black night, when you got wasted and ended up in my room—"

"Enough." Nicholas cut me off, his ears actually turning red.

The ace lawyer who never lost his cool in court, not even during the fiercest debates, now had his ears burning red.

I nearly cracked up.

"Clara." Nicholas took a deep breath, slipping back into that cool, unflappable lawyer mode. "What are you going to do about the baby?"

"I'm having it, and I'll raise it myself," I said, not missing a beat.

He was quiet for a few seconds, then said something that nearly made me lose it right there. "If you need it, I can help out financially. But I want you to sign an agreement giving up all rights to the child."

I couldn't believe my ears.

"What did you just say?" I blurted out.

Nicholas said calmly, like he was reciting a legal clause, "This child is part of the Hayden bloodline. If you're willing, you can let the Hayden family raise the baby, and we'll compensate you—"

Chapter 3

Tessa was so baffled by my smooth talk that she kept staring at me, totally confused. Instead of getting angry, she actually went ahead and placed another order.

After seeing Tessa off, I leaned over the sink and puked for ten minutes straight, until I was dry-heaving and my stomach acid was burning my throat.

Holding onto the wall, I managed to stand up and look at my pale, sickly face in the mirror. Suddenly, I felt a little sorry for myself.

But that feeling only lasted three seconds.

My phone buzzed. It was a bank text. Tessa's deposit had landed in my account, 50,000 dollars.

I instantly perked up, flashing a peace sign at my reflection in the mirror.

I said, "Hey, Little Bean. Your mom might be puking crazy, but when it comes to counting money, don't I look like a queen?"

Of course, the little bean in my belly didn't answer, but I could've sworn I felt it move.

Technically, people said a pregnant lady couldn't feel anything at eight weeks, but I was sure I did.

When I was twelve weeks pregnant, I ran into Nicholas.

To be precise, it was during a prenatal checkup at the hospital.

I'd finished my NT scan and was grinning at the report. Everything looked great, and my little bean was growing up just fine.

As I walked, I snapped a pic of the report and sent it to my girls' group chat, captioning it: [Check out my baby. Long legs, just like me.]

My best friend, Edith Wilcox, replied instantly: [Your bean doesn't even have legs yet. That's an embryonic bud.]

I sent her an eye-roll emoji and ignored her.

I glanced up, and there he was, Nicholas.

He stood at the far end of the maternity ward, dressed in a deep blue coat, holding a stack of papers, chatting with a doctor in a white coat.

As if he sensed my presence, he turned his head.

We locked eyes.

His gaze drifted from my face to the checkup report in my hand, then down to my barely-there baby bump.

Then his expression changed.

It was subtle. Not shock, not anger, but a lost look I'd never seen in him before. Like a precision machine that had suddenly been unplugged.

Without thinking, I tried to tuck the report behind my back, but he'd already seen it.

Nicholas said something quietly to the doctor next to him, then strode straight over to me.

"Clara," he said, towering over me with that superior look.

It had only been two months since the divorce, but he looked a bit thinner, his jawline sharper, and there was something in his eyes I couldn't quite read.

"Mr. Hayden," I said, forcing a smile. "What a coincidence. You here for a prenatal checkup too? How many are you expecting?"

Nicholas didn't even bother with my trash talk. His eyes locked onto my hand, which was protectively covering my belly. "You're pregnant."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement.

I flatly denied, saying, "Nope. I'm just getting fat. Been eating way too much food lately."

He said, "That's a prenatal checkup report in your hand."

"I— I'm picking it up for a friend," I stammered.

"Clara," he said, his voice dropping, that lawyerly pressure creeping in. "You can't fool me. I've cross-examined over three hundred witnesses. When you lie, your right eyelid twitches."

Instinctively, I reached up and pressed my right eyelid.

Shit, I totally walked right into that one.

Nicholas's lips twitched, so subtle I almost missed it. I couldn't tell if he wanted to laugh or something else.

"Whose is it?" he asked.

I froze. "What do you mean, whose?"

He replied, "Whose baby is it?"

I stared at him, eyes wide, totally stunned.

Did he seriously ask whose baby it was?

We'd only been divorced for two months. Who else could it belong to but him? Was he really hinting that I cheated on him while we were still married?

Rage surged up from my toes.

Nicholas's expression froze for a moment.

"Enough." Nicholas cut me off, his ears actually turning red.

The ace lawyer who never lost his cool in court, not even during the fiercest debates, now had his ears burning red.

I nearly cracked up.

"Clara." Nicholas took a deep breath, slipping back into that cool, unflappable lawyer mode. "What are you going to do about the baby?"

"I'm having it, and I'll raise it myself," I said, not missing a beat.

I couldn't believe my ears.

"What did you just say?" I blurted out.

Nicholas said calmly, like he was reciting a legal clause, "This child is part of the Hayden bloodline. If you're willing, you can let the Hayden family raise the baby, and we'll compensate you—"