The suite he takes me to isn't the same one from that night.
This one is bigger. More luxurious. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Elliott Bay, furniture that looks like it belongs in a design magazine, art on the walls that's probably worth more than I'll make in my lifetime.
But I barely notice any of it.
Because Caspian is standing in the middle of this perfect, expensive space, looking at me like I'm the only thing in it that matters.
"Talk to me." He hasn't let go of my hand since we left the lobby. "Whatever brought you here, whatever you need to tell me—just say it."
I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again.
How do you tell someone they're going to be a father? Is there a script for this? A right way to deliver news that'll change both your lives forever?
"I—" My voice cracks. I pull my hand from his because I need space to think, to breathe, to figure out how to say this. "I don't know how to—"
"Start anywhere." He's watching me with an intensity that makes me feel seen in a way that's both terrifying and comforting. "I'm not going anywhere."
So I do. I start with the truth.
"I'm pregnant."
Two words. That's all it takes to shift the entire atmosphere in the room.
Caspian goes absolutely still.
Not frozen—still. Like every muscle in his body has locked down while his mind processes information that doesn't compute.
The silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating.
"Say something," I whisper.
His eyes haven't left my face. "Is it mine?"
The question shouldn't hurt. It's logical, reasonable, exactly what he should ask. But it does hurt, because it implies I might've been with someone else in the three weeks since that night. Like what we shared wasn't as singular and overwhelming for him as it was for me.
"There's been no one else." My voice is steady even though my hands are shaking. "Before you or after you. You're the only—" I have to stop, swallow hard. "It's yours, Caspian."
Something shifts in his expression.
The stillness breaks, and what replaces it is almost predatory. His eyes darken, jaw tightens, and he's looking at me now with an intensity that makes my breath catch.
Like I've just confirmed something that changes the game entirely.
"How long have you known?" His voice is rough.
"Three days. I took the tests three days ago, and I've been trying to figure out how to tell you or if I should tell you or—"
"If you should tell me." He says it like the concept is incomprehensible. "You thought about keeping this from me?"
"I don't know you!" The words burst out of me, sharp with frustration and fear. "We spent one night together, Caspian. One impossible night, and then you sent me away and said we'd never see each other again. What was I supposed to think?"
He crosses the space between us in three strides.
Suddenly he's right there, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes, and the heat of him is overwhelming.
"You were supposed to think," he says quietly, each word deliberate and controlled, "that I would want to know. That I would take care of you. That any child of mine would be protected and provided for and wanted."
"I didn't know that. I don't know anything about you except what I can google, and articles about your business deals don't exactly scream 'good father material.'"
A muscle in his jaw ticks. "Are you keeping it?"
The question is blunt. Direct. Very him.
And I realize I haven't actually decided yet. Haven't let myself think past the panic and the fear to what I actually want.
But standing here with him, feeling the weight of his attention and the intensity of his focus, something becomes clear.
"Yes." The word comes out certain. Final. "I'm keeping the baby."
The change in him is immediate and visceral.
His hands come up to frame my face, gentle but possessive, and he's looking at me like I've just given him something precious beyond measure.
"Then you're mine." His voice is low, almost a growl. "The baby's mine. This isn't a discussion, Sloane. This isn't a negotiation. You're carrying my child, and that means you're under my protection. In my life. Mine."
Every independent, self-sufficient part of me rebels against that claim.
"I'm not anyone's," I say, even though my voice wavers. "I came here to tell you because you deserve to know. Not because I need you to swoop in and take over my life."
"Too bad." His thumbs brush my cheekbones, and the gentleness of the gesture contrasts with the steel in his voice. "I take care of what's mine, Sloane. And you—you and this baby—are mine now."
"You can't just decide that."
"I already have."
The arrogance should make me furious. Should make me pull away and tell him exactly where he can put his possessive declarations.
But instead, something inside me responds to it. Some primal part that's been terrified and alone for three days and desperately wants someone strong enough to share this burden.
"This is insane," I whisper. "We don't know each other. We can't just—"
"Move in with me." It's not a question. It's a statement of intent. "Let me protect you both. Give us a chance to figure this out together instead of you trying to do everything alone."
"I have an apartment. A job. A life."
"Keep all of it." His hands drop from my face but he doesn't step back. "I'm not asking you to give up anything. I'm asking you to let me in. To let me be part of this."
"By moving in with you? A man I've known for exactly one night?"
"Then you'll learn." He says it like it's simple. Like knowing someone is just a matter of time and proximity. "You have three days to decide."
"Three days?" I let out a laugh that sounds slightly hysterical. "That's your timeline? Move in with you in three days or what?"
"Or I show up at your apartment every single day until you see reason." There's no humor in his voice. Just absolute certainty. "This baby needs stability. You need support. And I need—"
He stops himself, jaw tightening.
"You need what?" I push, because suddenly I need to know what's driving this intensity, this immediate claiming.
"I need you safe." The words sound like they're being pulled from somewhere deep. "I need to know you're protected and cared for and not struggling alone in some studio apartment while carrying my child."
The vulnerability beneath the demand cracks something in my chest.
"Caspian—"
He's already moving, pulling out his wallet, extracting a key card. "This is to a penthouse I own in Belltown. Fully furnished, three bedrooms, everything you could need. It's yours."
"I can't accept—"
"It's yours whether you choose me or not." He presses the key card into my hand, his fingers lingering over mine. "I won't have you struggling, Sloane. Won't have my child growing up without every advantage I can provide. So if you won't move in with me at my place, at least live somewhere safe. Somewhere I know you're not climbing four flights of stairs to a building with questionable locks."
How does he know about the stairs? About my locks?
Right. Because he's had people watching me for three weeks.
"This is too much," I protest, but my fingers are already closing around the key card. "I can't just take a penthouse from you."
"You can and you will." He steps back, putting distance between us, and I hate how immediately I miss his closeness. "Three days, Sloane. Think about it. About what's best for you and the baby. About whether you really want to do this alone when you don't have to be."
"And if I say no? If I decide I want to raise this baby on my own terms?"
Something dangerous flickers in his eyes. "Then I'll respect your choice. But I'll still be there. Still protecting you from a distance. Still making sure you have everything you need. Because like I said—you're mine now. Whether you accept it or not."
He's moving toward the door, and panic rises in my chest because we just dropped a bomb and now he's leaving?
"That's it?" I call after him. "You just drop a key card and an ultimatum and walk away?"
He pauses at the door, looks back at me over his shoulder.
"I'm giving you space to think. To process. To make the choice that's right for you." His eyes hold mine across the room. "But Sloane? I've spent three weeks trying to stay away from you, trying to do the right thing by letting you live your life. And it's been the longest three weeks of my existence."
My breath catches.
"So think about my offer. Think about what it could mean for both of us—for all three of us. And when you're ready to talk, you know where to find me."
Then he's gone.
The door closes with a soft click, and I'm standing alone in this expensive suite, holding a key card to a penthouse I don't deserve, carrying a baby I didn't plan for, reeling from a conversation that just turned my entire world upside down.
Three days.
I have three days to decide whether to let Caspian Thorne into my life completely, or try to do this alone.
Three days to figure out if I can trust a man who claims me like I'm his but gives me space to choose him freely.
Three days to determine whether the intensity between us is real or just chemistry and circumstance creating the illusion of something deeper.
My hand drifts to my stomach, to the tiny life growing there that's half me and half him.
"Well," I whisper to the baby who can't hear me yet. "Your father is intense and possessive and completely overwhelming. And I have absolutely no idea what we're going to do about that."
But even as I say it, I'm looking at the key card in my hand.
Looking at the door he just walked through.
Thinking about storm-gray eyes and gentle hands and a man who said I deserve better but can't seem to let me go.
Three days.
I have a feeling I won't need nearly that long to make my choice.