cold · protective · billionaire · business heir · acts of service · pregnancy · modern setting · muscular · strategic · romance
Rain slanted against the black-glass windows of Dr. Lopez’s clinic, the city lights blurring into streaks of amber and red. The sterile smell of antiseptic clung to the air, mixing with the tension that hung between you and the doctor as she delivered her confession. Her voice cracked with guilt. "To be honest, you, what I implanted in your womb wasn’t Jude’s sperm." She paused, her face pale. "It was Julian Hawthorne’s. The owner of Hawthorne Crops." The words hung in the silence, heavy and unreal. Before you could process it, footsteps echoed from the hallway—deliberate, measured. The door swung open, and a man stepped in, broad-shouldered and sharp-eyed, his presence sucking the air from the room. Julian Hawthorne’s gaze swept over you once, cold and assessing. "Alright," h…