Mia doesn't sleep.
She lies in bed, staring at Alexander's business card like it might spontaneously combust. Thick cardstock, minimalist design—just his name, a phone number, and the Kane Enterprises logo embossed in silver. The kind of card that whispers money and power and a world so far removed from hers they might as well be different planets.
*When you're ready to stop running, call me.*
The words loop in her head. He thinks she's running. Maybe she is. But what he doesn't understand—what he can't understand from his penthouse tower—is that running is survival. Running is what you do when staying means getting hurt.
And Mia's been hurt enough for one lifetime.
Her phone buzzes at 2 AM. Sophie, unable to sleep either.
**Sophie:** *Did you see the new article?*
**Mia:** *There's another one?*
**Sophie:** *Three more. I'm so sorry. Don't read them.*
Of course Mia reads them.
The first is pure speculation about Alexander's love life, with a particularly cruel sidebar comparing Mia unfavorably to Victoria. The second questions his judgment as CEO—"distracted by mystery women while shareholders suffer." The third is the worst: a deep dive into Mia's background. Foster care. No family. Struggling artist. Dead-end jobs.
*"Sources close to Kane suggest this could be an elaborate scheme,"* the article reads. *"Ms. Chen, with no family money or connections, certainly has motive to pursue one of Manhattan's most eligible bachelors."*
They've made her a character in a story. The gold digger. The opportunist. The girl from nowhere trying to climb the social ladder on her back.
And she hasn't even told them about the pregnancy yet.
Mia closes her laptop before she can read the comments. She already knows what they say. She's lived it her whole life—not good enough, not worthy enough, not enough.
At 6 AM, she gets up. There's no point pretending she'll sleep. She showers, dresses in her café uniform, and stares at herself in the mirror. Her face is pale, dark circles under her eyes. She looks exactly like what she is—exhausted, scared, and in over her head.
Her hand drifts to her stomach. Still flat, but not for much longer. In a few weeks, maybe a month, people will start to notice. Start asking questions.
She needs to decide. Today. No more delays.
---
The café is quiet when Mia arrives for her opening shift. Marcus is already there, doing inventory in the back. He looks up when she enters, expression unreadable.
"Feeling better?" he asks.
"Yeah. Sorry about yesterday."
"Mia." He sets down his clipboard. "I need you to be straight with me. Are you pregnant?"
The question hangs in the air. Mia could lie. Should lie. But she's so tired of lying.
"Yes," she says quietly.
Marcus nods slowly, like he expected this. "How far along?"
"Three months."
"The father?"
"Not in the picture."
That's not technically a lie. Alexander isn't in the picture. He doesn't even know there is a picture.
Marcus sighs, running a hand over his face. "Okay. Here's the deal. I can't officially keep employing you without proper documentation for maternity leave, insurance, all that legal stuff. And honestly, this job—it's not pregnancy-friendly. Long hours standing, heavy lifting, the stress."
Mia's heart sinks. "Are you firing me?"
"I'm being realistic. You need something better than this. Benefits. Stability. A job that won't have you on your feet twelve hours a day." He pauses. "I'll keep you on for another month, give you time to figure things out. But after that..."
"I understand." Mia's voice is hollow. "Thank you. For being honest."
"For what it's worth, you'll be a good mom. I can tell."
She doesn't feel like she'll be a good mom. She feels like she's drowning.
---
Her phone rings during her lunch break. Unknown number. Mia almost doesn't answer, but something makes her pick up.
"Ms. Chen?" A woman's voice, professional and crisp. "This is Elizabeth Harper, calling on behalf of Mr. Alexander Kane."
Mia's blood turns to ice. "How did you get this number?"
"Mr. Kane has asked me to arrange a meeting. He'd like to discuss a private matter with you. Are you available this afternoon?"
"I'm working."
"Mr. Kane is prepared to compensate you for any lost wages. He's also willing to come to you, if you'd prefer not to visit his office."
The efficiency is almost frightening. This is how Alexander Kane operates—assistants who make problems disappear, money that solves inconveniences, a world where "no" probably isn't a word he hears often.
"Why doesn't he just call me himself?" Mia asks. "He gave me his direct number."
"Mr. Kane thought a formal approach might be more comfortable for you, given the media attention." Elizabeth's tone doesn't change, but Mia detects something—sympathy, maybe? "He wants to apologize for the intrusion into your privacy."
"He wants to apologize?"
"Yes. And to discuss how he might help mitigate the damage to your reputation."
Mia laughs, sharp and bitter. "My reputation? I don't have a reputation. I'm nobody, remember?"
"Ms. Chen—"
"Tell Mr. Kane that if he wants to talk to me, he can call me himself. Like a normal person. Not send his assistant to schedule me like a business meeting." Mia's hand shakes. "And tell him I don't need his help. I've survived worse than gossip blogs."
She hangs up.
Her heart hammers. That was stupid. Probably the stupidest thing she's done in a week of stupid decisions. But the presumption of it—sending an assistant, offering compensation, treating her like a problem to be managed—it ignited something in her chest.
She's not a problem. She's a person.
And their baby deserves a father who sees her as more than an inconvenience to be handled by staff.
---
Alexander calls twenty minutes later.
Mia stares at her phone—his name on the screen, the direct number from his card. She should let it go to voicemail. Should make him wait the way he made her wait, even though that's petty and childish and not productive.
She answers on the fourth ring.
"You hung up on my assistant," Alexander says without preamble.
"She was treating me like a dentist appointment."
"She was trying to be professional."
"I don't want professional. I want..." Mia trails off. What does she want? "I don't know. But not that."
There's a pause. Background noise suggests he's in a car. "You're right. I'm sorry. I thought going through Elizabeth would be less pressure. I didn't mean to make you feel managed."
The apology surprises her. "Oh."
"Can we talk? Please. Not as a scheduled meeting. Just... talk."
Mia looks around the café. Marcus is watching her from behind the counter, pretending he's not. Two customers are definitely eavesdropping. This is too public for what she needs to say.
"I'm working until four," she says finally.
"I'll meet you. Wherever you want."
"There's a park. Prospect Park, near the Brooklyn Museum entrance. Five o'clock?"
"I'll be there."
He hangs up. Mia stares at her phone, wondering if she just made the best or worst decision of her life.
Probably both.
---
The afternoon crawls by with agonizing slowness.
Mia serves coffee and tries not to throw up and rehearses what she'll say a thousand different ways. None of them sound right. How do you tell a billionaire he's going to be a father? How do you convince him you're not after his money when every article says you are?
At 3:30, Sophie texts.
**Sophie:** *I saw the assistant call registered on the café phone (James knows the guy who owns the phone company, long story). What happened?*
**Mia:** *I hung up on her.*
**Sophie:** *Oh my god*
**Mia:** *Alexander called back. I'm meeting him at 5.*
**Sophie:** *WHAT. Are you telling him???*
**Mia:** *I don't know. Maybe. Probably. I need advice.*
**Sophie:** *Tell him. He deserves to know. And you deserve support.*
**Mia:** *What if he thinks I'm lying? What if he accuses me of trying to trap him?*
**Sophie:** *Then he's an asshole and you're better off without him. But Mia... I don't think he will. I saw the way he looked at you at the wedding. Before everything. He was INTO you.*
**Mia:** *That was before I became a media scandal.*
**Sophie:** *You're not a scandal. You're a person who got caught up in something beyond your control. If he can't see that, he doesn't deserve you OR the baby.*
Mia wants to believe that. Wants to believe she's worth fighting for, worth believing in. But a lifetime of foster homes and rejection has taught her not to get her hopes up.
Still. She has to try. For the baby, if not for herself.
---
At 4:58 PM, Mia stands at the park entrance, freezing despite her coat.
December has turned brutal. The trees are bare skeletons against a gray sky, and the few people in the park hurry past with hunched shoulders. Mia's about to assume Alexander isn't coming when a sleek black car pulls up to the curb.
He steps out, and her breath catches.
He's in casual clothes—relatively speaking. Dark jeans, a black coat that probably costs more than her monthly rent, a gray scarf that matches his eyes. He looks tired. Worried. And when he spots her, something in his expression softens.
"Hi," he says, approaching carefully, like she might bolt.
"Hi."
They stand there awkwardly. A billionaire and a waitress in a Brooklyn park, the space between them filled with everything unsaid.
"Want to walk?" Alexander asks.
They do. Slowly, hands shoved in pockets, maintaining careful distance. For a few minutes, neither speaks. Just the crunch of gravel under their feet and distant city noise.
"I'm sorry," Alexander says finally. "For the photos. The articles. Victoria." He says her name like it tastes bad. "I didn't know she'd contacted you until this morning. She's been... dealt with."
"Dealt with?"
"Told in no uncertain terms to leave you alone. She won't bother you again."
Mia doesn't ask how he knows Victoria threatened her. He probably has people for that too.
"The articles are worse than her threats," Mia admits. "Reading what people think about me. What they've decided I am."
"They're wrong."
"They don't know that. You barely know that. We spent one night together, Alexander. One night, and now my life is being dissected online by strangers."
He stops walking, turns to face her. "Then let me know you. Let me prove they're wrong."
"Why?" The question bursts out. "Why do you care? I'm nobody. You could have anyone—supermodels, actresses, women from your world who understand the rules. Why me?"
"Because you're the first person in years who looked at me and didn't see a bank account." His voice is low, intense. "That night—you didn't know who I was. Didn't care about the money or the company or any of it. You just saw me. Do you have any idea how rare that is?"
Mia's throat tightens. "I still don't care about your money."
"I know. That's why I'm here."
This is it. The moment. Mia takes a breath, feeling like she's standing on the edge of a cliff.
"Alexander, there's something I need to tell you."
"Okay." He waits, patient.
"That night. We didn't... I don't remember if we used protection. And I—" Her voice shakes. Just say it. "I'm pregnant."
The words hang in the frozen air.
Alexander goes absolutely still. His face drains of color. For a terrible moment, he just stares at her, and Mia can see him processing, calculating, deciding.
Then he says, very quietly, "How long have you known?"
"Six days. I found out six days ago."
"And you're sure it's—"
"Yours? Yes. You're the only person I've slept with in over a year. I can take a paternity test if you want proof, but—"
"No." He cuts her off. "No, I believe you."
That surprises her. "You do?"
"You just handed me a reason to demand millions in child support. If you were lying, you'd have brought lawyers." He runs a hand through his hair, and Mia sees it trembling. "My god. A baby."
"I'm not asking you for anything," Mia says quickly. "I can handle this on my own. I just thought you deserved to know. You can be involved or not, that's your choice, but I won't force anything or demand—"
"Stop." Alexander's voice is sharp. Then softer, "Stop. Of course I want to be involved. This is my child."
"You're not angry?"
"Angry?" He laughs, but it sounds broken. "I'm terrified. But angry? No." He steps closer, and his eyes search hers. "Are you okay? Physically? Have you seen a doctor?"
"I'm fine. The baby's fine. I go to a clinic—"
"A clinic? Not a private doctor?"
"I can't afford a private doctor."
Something shifts in his face. Determination, maybe. Decision.
"We need to talk," he says. "Really talk. Not here in the cold. Somewhere private."
Mia hesitates. But she's already jumped off the cliff. Might as well see where she lands.
"Okay," she whispers.
Alexander calls his driver.
And Mia's life changes forever.