POV: Jasmine
The ultrasound confirmed what the tests suggested—pregnant, approximately ten weeks, heartbeat strong and steady on the grainy screen.
I stared at the flickering image, trying to reconcile the tiny blob of pixels with the reality currently colonizing my uterus. The technician pointed out features with practiced enthusiasm—here's the head, here's the heartbeat, see that flutter? That's your baby.
My baby. The words felt foreign, like a language I'd never learned to speak.
"Everything looks healthy," the doctor said, stripping off her gloves with a snap. "Good fetal development for ten weeks. Strong cardiac activity." She made notes on her clipboard. "Do you have any questions?"
A thousand. Starting with: how do I tell three men they might all be the father?
"No," I heard myself say. "No questions."
The doctor handed me a strip of ultrasound photos—four identical images of the tiny life I'd accidentally created. Evidence. Proof. The beginning of a conversation I had no idea how to start.
Back at Liam's villa, I arranged my confession with the precision of someone defusing a bomb. Three gift boxes from the craft store. Three pregnancy tests—different brands, all positive, all damning. Three ultrasound photos tucked beneath the tests like secrets waiting to detonate.
I texted each of them separately: Come to the villa at 7. Important news. Please.
Liam arrived first, because of course he did. Golden retriever punctuality, already scanning my face for clues.
"You okay?" He reached for my hand. "You've been quiet since the cemetery."
"I'm fine. Just—wait for the others."
Asher came next, still in his suit from the office. He took in the scene—the gift boxes, my too-careful posture—and his eyes narrowed.
"What's going on?"
"Wait for Finn."
Finn burst through the door eight minutes late, trademark grin in place. "Sorry, sorry—traffic was a nightmare, and—" He froze. "Okay. Why does everyone look like someone died?"
"Sit down." I gestured to the couch. "Please."
They arranged themselves in a row—Liam on the left, Asher in the middle, Finn on the right. Three pairs of eyes fixed on me.
"I have gifts," I said, voice steady despite trembling hands. I distributed the boxes. "Open them together."
"Is this a proposal?" Finn joked, shaking his box near his ear. "Because traditionally—"
"Finn." Asher's voice cut sharp. "Shut up."
They complied. Lids lifted simultaneously. Tissue paper rustled. And then—silence.
Three men staring at three positive pregnancy tests.
Finn figured it out first. His head snapped up, eyes wide. "Holy shit. Is this... is this what I think it is?"
I nodded, throat too tight for words.
"Holy SHIT." Louder now. He shot to his feet. "You're pregnant?"
"Yes."
Liam's face transformed. Not shock—something brighter breaking through, golden and warm and unmistakably hopeful. His eyes found mine, shining with an emotion that made my chest ache.
"Pregnant," he breathed, like the word itself was a miracle. "We're having a baby?"
Asher said nothing. His jaw tight, body perfectly still, processing in that silent way of his that meant either he was about to explode or shut down completely. His fingers traced the edge of the test, but his expression gave away nothing.
"Say something," I begged. "Please."
"How far along?" Liam asked, already moving toward me, hands reaching for my face like he needed to touch me to believe this was real.
"Ten weeks. I had an ultrasound today." I pulled the photos from my pocket, spreading them on the coffee table. "There's a heartbeat. Everything looks normal."
Liam took one of the photos with reverent fingers, staring at the grainy image like it contained the secrets of the universe. "That's our baby," he whispered. "Jasmine, that's our baby."
"And the father..." Finn started, running a hand through his hair. His playboy mask had slipped into something more genuine—not panic, not fear, just thoughtful acceptance. "Could be any of us, right?"
"Yes." The truth tasted like ash. "I don't know. Can't know without tests."
"So one of us is going to be a dad." Finn shrugged, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Could be worse. Kid could do a lot worse than having three potential fathers who are all obscenely wealthy and devastatingly handsome."
"This isn't a joke, Finn," Asher finally spoke, his voice rough.
"Who's joking?" Finn raised an eyebrow. "I'm stating facts. The kid's going to be fine. Better than fine." He looked at me. "You're keeping it?"
"Yes."
"Then we're keeping it." Simple. Easy. Like the decision cost him nothing.
Liam pulled me into his arms, one hand cradling my head against his chest, the other settling protectively over my still-flat stomach. "I don't care about tests," he murmured against my hair. "I don't care whose DNA it is. This baby is ours. All of ours. We figure it out together."
Asher remained seated, still holding the pregnancy test, still silent. But when I met his eyes over Liam's shoulder, I saw something flicker there—not rejection, not anger. Just the careful processing of a man whose entire world had shifted and who needed time to rebuild the framework.
"Asher?" My voice came out small.
He stood slowly, crossing the distance between us. For a long moment, he just looked at me—at the way Liam held me, at the ultrasound photos scattered across the table, at the three positive tests that had detonated our carefully constructed world.
Then he nodded. Once. Sharp and decisive.
"We handle it," he said. "Like we handle everything else."
From him, that was a declaration of love.
Finn clapped his hands together, breaking the tension. "So. Who's going to tell my uncle he's going to be a grandfather? Because I vote not me. That man already hates me enough without adding—"
"We'll deal with Jackson later," Liam said firmly.
The tension broke, just slightly. Enough for me to breathe. Enough to let the tiniest spark of hope catch fire in my chest. Three men. One baby. Infinite complications. But they were choosing me. Choosing this. Choosing the chaos over walking away.
Maybe that was enough. Maybe that was everything.
Then Jackson's voice cut through from the doorway, cold and sharp as a blade: "Well. Isn't this interesting."