“You don’t belong in my son’s world,” Arthur Sterling said without looking at me. His voice was precise, practiced—like a surgeon making an incision. “This is more than enough for a girl like you to live comfortably for the rest of your life.”
The check slid slightly, its edge brushing my fingertips. The numbers were obscene. A lifetime for most people. Pocket change for the Sterlings.
My hand drifted to my stomach on instinct. The faintest curve was there—barely noticeable, even to me—but I felt it. Four tiny heartbeats, still secret. Still mine.
Arthur pushed a stack of papers toward me. Divorce documents. Non-disclosure agreements. A future carefully erased.
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