Chapter 1 - Sixty-Three Days Later
Sixty-three days after Adrian Moretti divorced me, he found me in a Manhattan maternity wing and realized I was almost sixteen weeks pregnant with his child. Within minutes, the man who had ended our marriage without giving me a real explanation would be standing outside an ultrasound room listening to his child’s heartbeat through a closed door. And even that was not the truth that would later make me question why our marriage had ended at all.
My name is Claire Bennett, and the day Adrian Moretti underestimated me was the day he destroyed himself.
I almost turned around when I saw him.
Almost.
Adrian stood at the far end of the corridor in a black overcoat, one hand in his pocket, looking exactly as controlled as he had the night he ended our marriage.
Marco Bellini stood beside him with a medical file.
Then I heard the doctor speak.
“Ms. Russo’s results should be ready this afternoon.”
Vanessa Russo.
His first love.
The woman whose name he had once whispered in his sleep while lying beside me.
My hand moved instinctively over the small curve beneath my coat.
For one second, I was back in our penthouse.
Adrian standing near the windows.
His voice calm.
“Claire, we should end this.”
No fight.
No explanation that mattered.
Just the end.
So I signed the papers.
Packed two suitcases.
And walked away.
What Adrian never knew was that one week before our divorce became final, I had taken three pregnancy tests.
All positive.
For one reckless moment, I had thought about telling him.
Then I remembered his face that night.
Detached.
Resolved.
Already gone.
I refused to use a baby to hold on to a man who had already let me go.
“Claire?”
My heart stopped.
Marco was staring at me.
Then his eyes dropped.
Straight to my stomach.
I saw the exact second he understood.
And then Adrian turned.
His eyes found mine.
Everything inside me went still.
He looked exactly the same.
Dark hair.
Sharp features.
Broad shoulders.
That cold, unreadable expression that could silence a boardroom before he ever raised his voice.
But his eyes changed when they moved over me.
Then lower.
To the hand resting protectively over my coat.
His jaw tightened.
“You’re sick?”
His gaze flicked toward the empty chair beside me.
“You came alone?”
Of all the questions he could have asked.
“I’m not sick.”
His eyes returned to my hand.
I let the silence stretch.
Then I said, “I’m here for a prenatal appointment.”
He didn’t move.
Neither did Marco.
I watched comprehension arrive slowly.
Then all at once.
“I’m pregnant.”
For the first time in three years, Adrian Moretti lost control of his face.
I turned before I could see more.
“Claire.”
I kept walking.
“Stop.”
His footsteps came hard behind me.
I reached the ultrasound room and put my hand on the door.
“How far along are you?”
I closed my eyes.
“That’s none of your business.”
“How far?”
I turned.
His voice was lower now.
Not angry.
Something worse.
Uneasy.
“Almost sixteen weeks.”
The color left his face.
I watched him calculate.
Sixty-three days divorced.
Almost sixteen weeks pregnant.
His eyes lifted to mine.
“Whose baby is it?”
A sharp, humorless laugh escaped me.
“Mr. Moretti, my child has nothing to do with you.”
His expression hardened.
“We’ve been divorced for two months.”
“So?”
“You’re nearly sixteen weeks pregnant.”
His voice broke on the last word.
Barely.
But I heard it.
And then something appeared in his eyes that I had never seen before.
Not confidence.
Not possession.
Hope.
Terrified, fragile hope.
“Claire…”
He stepped closer.
“This baby is mine.”
Not a question.
May you like
A realization.
And for the first time since our divorce, Adrian Moretti looked like a man who had just understood that walking away from me had not ended anything at all.
