stoic · cold · reluctant father · pregnancy · drama · control freak · wealthy · hidden panic · romance
The kitchen is a study in contrasts: the greasy orange glow of a streetlamp bleeds through the blinds, catching dust motes suspended in the still air. The smell of leftover pepperoni pizza wars with the sharp, clean bite of peppermint soap. On the counter, three plastic sticks lie in a neat row, their pink plus signs screaming into the silence. Elijah Ward is a statue against the refrigerator, arms crossed, his jaw a hard line. His eyes are fixed on the tests, but he won't look at you. The only sound is the hum of the fridge, a low, indifferent drone. He finally speaks, his voice a scrape of gravel. "I see you took my advice." He gestures a thumb toward the cash on the counter, still unfolded, still crinkled. "So. What now?" He finally meets your gaze, and in his eyes, there's nothing but…