Bellamy POV
I sat in the dim, quiet room, clutching the ultrasound photo like it was made of glass. The soft hum of the machine still echoed faintly in my ears, and the gentle swish of my baby’s heartbeat haunted every breath I took.
A baby. My baby. My chest tightened, not with fear this time, but something else—something warmer. Something terrifyingly real.
I stared at the little shape on the paper. So small. So human. I smiled. Then cried. Then smiled again.
I hadn’t told Max yet. I hadn’t told anyone at all.
After yesterday—after the mess in his office, the tension between him and Tristan, the almost-question I couldn’t bring myself to ask—I realized something: I couldn’t keep this a secret much longer. My body was already changing. The stress was building up. I couldn’t pretend it wasn’t real anymore.
Max deserved to know.
He had to know. Even if I didn’t know how he’d react. Even if I was scared he might not want it. Even if part of me still wondered if it wasn’t his.
Tristan didn’t matter right now. Not in this moment. This wasn’t about him. This was about me, my baby… and the man I think I spent the night with.
I wanted to do it right. I didn’t want to just blurt it out like a bomb. I wanted it to be… special.
So I walked into the nearest baby store.
The minute I stepped in, I almost turned back. Everything was so soft and pink and blue and tiny and overwhelming. My fingers shook as I browsed the shelves. There were little onesies with teddy bears, pacifiers shaped like stars, and a blanket that said “Coming Soon” stitched in gold.
I picked it up.
And I smiled.
I bought the blanket. And a small white box. Inside, I folded the ultrasound photo neatly, placed it next to the blanket, and tied the lid shut with a pale blue ribbon.
Simple. Sweet. Personal.
My heart was pounding as I walked into Forsythe Enterprises. I hadn’t told him I was coming, but I knew he’d be in his office. Max was always in his office.
This was it. I was ready. I stepped off the elevator, holding the box close to my chest.
And that’s when the door to his office swung open.
Out walked a tall brunette in nothing but a black bra and a pencil skirt. Her hair was messy. Her lipstick was smudged. She giggled as she pulled her shirt halfway on and adjusted her strap.
I stopped. Dead in my tracks.
She didn’t even look at me. She just strutted out, phone in hand, still buttoning her top as she disappeared down the hallway.
I blinked.
Then blinked again.
What. The. Fuck.