Maeve’s POV
The trial concludes with all the dramatic flair of a legal thriller. Victoria's sentencing is scheduled for next month. Twenty years minimum hanging over her head like a guillotine.
The Dareth name's destroyed. Officially toxic. Every company, every investor, every socialite who ever kissed their ass now pretending they never knew them.
Poetic justice tastes better than I imagined.
The judge asks if I'd like to make a statement. Victim impact or whatever they call it. Words for the record about how their schemes affected my life.
I rise. Heart hammering against my ribs like it's trying to escape.
But the room tilts violently. Sideways, then completely vertical. Darkness sweeping over me like a wave I can't fight.
I'm falling. Somewhere distant, people are shouting.
Then nothing.
I blink awake to stark white. Hospital white. That specific shade that makes everything feel surreal and clinical simultaneously.
The faint hum of machines. Beeping. Rhythmic. Probably monitoring vitals I can't see.
Caelen's there. Right there. Tense and pale like he's been holding his breath for hours.
He brushes a strand of hair from my face. Gentle. His hand's shaking slightly.
"Don't push yourself." His voice is mixture of relief and frustration. Both fighting for dominance. "Why didn't you tell me?"
The pregnancy. He knows. Of course he knows. They ran tests, did bloodwork, the whole routine.
"We had no time for that when I found out." My throat's dry. Voice scratchy. "Everything was exploding—Kael's lies, the media, your FBI case—"
"Eight weeks." He's looking at me. Processing. Calculating. That brilliant mind putting pieces together.
"I know." Can't meet his eyes.
"Kael." Not a question. Statement of fact.
"Maybe. I don't know." The words tumble out. "It could be yours, it could be—I don't know."
The math's brutal. Seven weeks since the desk incident. Six weeks since we started sleeping together. Could be either.
Schrödinger's baby. Both fathers until we open the box.
I'm crying. Ugly crying. Tears and snot and complete breakdown. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. If you want to leave—"
"Stop." He cups my face. Forces me to look at him. "Breathe. Look at me."
I do. His eyes are dark. Intense. Not angry—something else I can't identify.
"I'm not leaving."
"But if it's not yours—"
"Then it's the baby of the woman I love more than anything." His voice doesn't waver. Doesn't hesitate. "That's enough."
His certainty breaks me. Shatters whatever's left of my carefully constructed walls.
"You mean that?" Barely a whisper.
"Yes." No hesitation. Zero doubt. "We'll do a paternity test after the baby's born. But until then? It's ours."
Ours. Not mine. Not maybe-his. Ours.
I kiss him. Desperate. Grateful. Trying to show him with touch what words can't articulate.
"I love you," I breathe against his mouth.
"I know." He smiles. Actual smile despite everything. "Now we just have to figure out how to tell your father his daughter's pregnant and there's a fifty-fifty shot it's Kael Dareth's kid."
Right. Alexander. Fuck.
The conversation happens in my hospital room three hours later. After they've run every test, confirmed I'm fine, confirmed the baby's fine, confirmed I just passed out from stress and low blood sugar.
Father arrives looking controlled. That scary calm that means he's already strategizing six moves ahead.
"You collapsed in court." Not a question. Statement requiring explanation.
"I'm pregnant." Rip the Band-Aid off. No point dancing around it.
His face does something complicated. Joy. Concern. Calculation. All cycling through in half a second before the mask snaps back.
"How far along?"
"Eight weeks."
I watch him do the math. See the exact moment he realizes the timeline's problematic.
"Does Kael know?" His voice is carefully neutral.
"No."
"Are you planning to tell him?"
I look at Caelen. We haven't discussed this. Haven't had time to discuss anything beyond immediate survival.
"Not yet," Caelen answers. Taking point. "Not until we know for sure."
Alexander nods. Satisfied. "Good. The last thing we need is him trying to use this for leverage."
Leverage. Of course. Because everything's a negotiation. Everything's strategy.
Even my pregnancy becomes a chess piece in whatever game they're playing.
"He won't," I say. Voice firmer than expected. "He won't know until after the baby's born. Until after we have proof."
"And if it's his?" Alexander asks. Blunt. Direct. "What then?"
"Then we deal with it legally." Caelen's hand finds mine. Solid. Real. "Joint custody. Visitation. Whatever's best for the kid. But Maeve and I are together regardless."
The certainty in his voice. The way he says "Maeve and I" like it's one word instead of two separate people.
I fall in love with him all over again.
Alexander studies us. That assessing look he uses in boardrooms to determine who's lying.
Whatever he sees must satisfy him. "Fine. We keep this quiet. Minimal people knowing. No public announcements until after the paternity's confirmed."
"Agreed," Caelen says.
I nod. What else can I do? He's right. The media would have a field day. "Welch Heiress Pregnant—Is Dareth the Father?"
My phone's been buzzing non-stop since I woke up. Probably reporters trying to get comment on my dramatic courtroom collapse.
"What about Victoria's sentencing?" I ask. "I was supposed to give a statement."
"We'll submit it in writing." Alexander's already moving to next steps. "The judge will accept it. Your medical emergency is documented."
Medical emergency. That's one way to describe "knocked up and having a panic attack."
"Get some rest," Father says. Softens slightly. "Both of you. The Dareth situation is handled. Victoria's going to prison. Kael's cooperation bought him immunity but destroyed his reputation. They're finished."
He leaves. Probably off to strategize damage control or crush another dynasty before lunch.
I'm alone with Caelen. Hospital room quiet except for the machines.
"You really meant it?" I ask. Need to hear it again. "About staying regardless?"
"Yes." He climbs into the narrow hospital bed beside me. Carefully. "I meant every word."
I curl into him. Safe. Solid. Real.
"We're having a baby," I whisper. Testing the words. Making them real.
"We're having a baby," he confirms.
Not I'm having a baby. We're having a baby.
The difference matters. Matters more than anything.
Outside, the world's probably still spinning. Media still covering the Dareth trials. Social platforms still tearing apart my reputation.
Don't care. Can't care about anything except right now.
This moment. This man. This impossible situation we're navigating together.
"I love you," I say again. Need him to know. Need him to understand.
"I love you too." His hand rests on my still-flat stomach. "Both of you."
Both of you. The baby and me. Already a unit in his mind.
I close my eyes. Let exhaustion and relief and terror all crash over me simultaneously.
We'll figure it out. Somehow. Together.
Everything else can wait.