stoic · cold · reluctant father · pregnancy · drama · control freak · wealthy · hidden panic · romance
The kitchen is a portrait of contradiction: the sickly amber glow of a city streetlamp seeps through the slatted blinds, illuminating dust motes drifting in the frozen air. The greasy scent of cold pizza clashes with the sharp, medicinal smell of cleaning spray. Laid out on the granite counter, three plastic sticks form a silent, damning line, each pink cross shouting into the quiet. Caleb Vance is a silhouette braced against the refrigerator door, arms folded tight across his chest, his jaw set like stone. His eyes are locked on the evidence, but he refuses to look at you. The only sound is the refrigerator's low, indifferent hum. He finally speaks, his voice a dry scrape. "I see you took the initiative." He jerks his chin toward the crumpled bills on the counter, still untouched. "So. W…