Chapter 6 - The Second Father
I spent the next six hours trying not to think about my father’s last sentence.
Ethan isn’t the only man who can claim that baby.
There had been no other man. Not romantically. Not physically. Not ever. So either Thomas Bennett was lying, or someone had interfered with my pregnancy in a way I did not understand.
That possibility was worse.
By dawn, we were back at the Romano Hotel. A real obstetrician, Dr. Naomi Chen, checked the baby again. She looked at my chart, then at me.
“Your blood pressure is elevated.”
“My father returned from the dead, my house exploded, and my fake obstetrician is apparently a geneticist.”
Dr. Chen blinked. “I’m going to write ‘acute stress.’”
“That seems understated.”
She gave me the first normal smile I had seen in days.
When she left, Ethan entered. He had changed into a black shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms. He looked tired in a way money could not hide.
“You should sleep,” he said.
“You should stop telling me what to do.”
“Good. You’re feeling better.”
I almost threw a pillow at him.
He sat beside the window.
“Did you know?” I asked.
“About Providence? No.”
“Your mother never said anything?”
“She said my father did business with monsters.”
“That could describe half your childhood.”
“It did.”
I looked down at my stomach.
“Ethan.”
“Yes.”
“The baby is yours.”
He did not move.
“I told you last night, but I need you to understand. There was never anyone else.”
His eyes locked on mine.
“For how long did you know?”
“From the beginning.”
He stood so quickly the chair scraped backward.
“You let me lose seven months.”
“I was afraid.”
“Of me.”
“Yes.”
He looked as though I had struck him.
“You kept my son from me.”
“I kept him away from your world.”
“My world is burning because I tried to leave it.”
“That doesn’t erase what it was.”
He paced to the window, then back.
“I would never hurt you.”
“You frightened me without meaning to. That mattered.”
His jaw tightened.
“I know.”
The words were so quiet I almost missed them.
Then someone knocked.
Daniel entered with a man I recognized from newspaper photographs.
Luca Moretti.
Ethan’s former rival.
The man who had once put a price on his head.
Ethan reached for a gun that was not there because security had insisted he remove it before entering my room.
Luca smiled.
“Still protective.”
“Still alive,” Ethan said. “Disappointing.”
Luca sat without permission.
“Thomas Bennett contacted me three months ago.”
Ethan’s expression changed.
“And you waited until now?”
“I was enjoying watching you suffer.”
“Charming.”
Luca looked at me. “He offered me something.”
“What?” I asked.
“The child.”
The room went silent.
Ethan’s entire body tensed.
I grabbed his wrist before he could move.
“Wait.”
Luca smiled faintly. “Your wife was always the intelligent one.”
“Ex-wife,” I said.
“Technical condition.”
Ethan and I both glared at him.
Luca continued. “Thomas told me the baby would legally belong to whichever family could prove genetic sponsorship.”
I frowned. “Those words mean nothing.”
“In Providence records, apparently they mean ownership.”
“I am not property.”
“No,” Luca said. “But embryos once were.”
My skin went cold.
Ethan’s voice turned deadly. “Say what you came to say.”
Luca reached into his jacket slowly and removed an envelope.
Inside was a medical form.
My name. My forged signature. A procedure date from eight months earlier.
Two days before Ethan and I had slept together for the last time.
PROCEDURE: EMBRYO TRANSFER.
“No.”
Ethan read it. “This is fake.”
“I hope so.”
I stared at the signature. It looked like mine.
Then I saw the clinic address.
I knew it.
Six months before I left Ethan, I had gone there for what I was told was a fertility evaluation. Ethan and I had been trying to conceive for almost a year. The clinic had sedated me for a uterine procedure. I remembered waking groggy. I remembered Claire Vale, then using another name, telling me everything looked normal.
My mouth went dry.
“What does Thomas say they transferred?”
Luca hesitated.
“Say it.”
“He claims the embryo was created using Ethan’s sperm and an egg that was not yours.”
The room tilted.
“What egg?”
Luca looked at Ethan. “Alessandra Romano’s.”
Ethan stepped backward.
“That’s impossible.”
Luca nodded. “I thought so too.”
I felt sick.
“His mother’s egg?”
“Frozen material from Providence.”
“No.”
Daniel stepped in. “If that were true, the fetus would be genetically—”
“Stop,” I snapped. “No one talks about my baby like a specimen.”
Luca lowered his eyes. “You’re right.”
Ethan tore the document in half.
“It’s fake.”
“Maybe.”
“It is.”
Luca stood. “You want the truth? Find Alessandra.”
Ethan’s face darkened. “My mother is in the hospital.”
“Yes. And she asked for Isabella because she knows the transfer claim is a lie.”
“How do you know?”
“She contacted me before she was poisoned.”
Ethan stared at him. “My mother called you?”
“She had few people left she trusted.”
“You were never one of them.”
“She trusted my hatred of Providence.”
That silenced him.
We reached Saint Agnes under armed escort.
Alessandra lay in intensive care, gray beneath fluorescent light. She had always been elegant enough to make rooms feel inadequate. Now she looked small.
Her eyes opened when I entered.
“Isabella.”
“You asked for me.”
She looked at Ethan. “You too.”
His voice was tight. “Who poisoned you?”
“Later.”
“Mother.”
“Later.”
Even half-dead, she could command him.
She looked at my stomach. Tears filled her eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Everything.”
I sat beside the bed.
“Is the embryo mine?”
Her gaze sharpened. “What?”
“Thomas says I was implanted with an embryo made from your egg.”
Alessandra’s face filled with fury.
“He is lying.”
“You’re sure?”
“My stored tissue was destroyed twenty years ago. I watched it burn.”
Ethan exhaled.
“Then why did Claire Vale test me?”
Alessandra’s expression changed.
“She confirmed you are the biological mother.”
Relief hit so hard I almost cried.
“And Ethan?”
“The biological father.”
I closed my eyes.
Thank God.
“Then what did my father mean?”
Alessandra looked at Ethan. “Providence’s records treat genetic sponsors as claimants. Thomas may be referring to the original Bennett trustees.”
“Who?”
“Your biological donor’s family.”
I stared. “You know who she was?”
“No.”
“Does Thomas?”
“Yes.”
The door opened.
A nurse entered holding a syringe.
Alessandra’s eyes widened. “No.”
The nurse stopped.
Ethan turned. “What?”
“That is not my nurse.”
Everything happened at once.
The woman lunged.
Ethan caught her wrist.
The syringe dropped.
Daniel slammed her against the wall.
She fought like someone trained.
Ethan picked up the syringe. “What is this?”
The woman smiled. “Too late.”
Then she bit down.
Daniel cursed.
Foam appeared at her lips. Within seconds, she collapsed.
Dead.
I stared at the body.
Ethan looked at Alessandra.
“Who sent her?”
His mother was already coughing. Her monitors screamed.
Doctors rushed in and pushed us into the hallway.
Ethan stood outside the glass, motionless.
I touched his arm.
He looked at me.
For once, he did not hide fear.
“Is she going to die?”
“I don’t know.”
He looked like the boy he had once been, before power taught him how to bury every weakness.
I squeezed his hand.
He held mine.
Daniel approached.
“We need to move Isabella.”
Ethan nodded. “Agreed.”
“Somewhere Providence doesn’t know.”
“No Romano property.”
“No Sinclair property.”
“No Bennett property.”
I sighed. “That eliminates most of Manhattan.”
Daniel’s phone buzzed.
He checked it.
“Your mother wants to meet.”
“Where?”
“She won’t say unless you come alone.”
Ethan laughed. “No.”
I pulled my hand from his.
“I’m going.”
“Absolutely not.”
“My entire life is collapsing. I need answers.”
“And your father is trying to take you.”
“I know.”
“Then why walk into a trap?”
“Because sometimes the only way out is through.”
He stared at me.
“That is a terrible plan.”
“It’s the first thing you taught me.”
He almost smiled.
The next morning, Catherine sent the location.
An abandoned church in Queens.
I entered alone.
She stood near the altar.
“You came.”
“Tell me who my biological mother is.”
Her face crumpled.
“I don’t know her name.”
My heart sank.
“But I know where she is.”
I stepped closer. “Where?”
Catherine looked toward the confession booths.
One door opened.
A woman stepped out.
Dark hair. Green eyes. British accent.
Claire Vale.
She smiled at me.
“Hello, Isabella.”
I backed away.
“You.”
Catherine began crying.
“I’m sorry.”
May you like
Claire’s eyes dropped to my stomach.
Then she said, “I’m your mother.”
