Incubator No More: The Billionaire's Secret Heir

Florence didn't knock. She pushed past the sputtering secretary and threw the door to Dr. Saunders' office open.

Dr. Kevon Saunders jumped. A glass of amber liquid sloshed over the rim of his tumbler, staining the mahogany desk. The smell of whiskey hit Florence instantly. It was barely noon.

"Mrs. Livingston," he stammered, grabbing a napkin to dab at the mess. His face was flushed, his eyes darting around the room. "I wasn't expecting-"

Florence turned and locked the door. The click of the lock was loud in the silence.

She walked to the desk and slammed the pregnancy report down on top of the wet napkin.

"Garnett told me," she lied. Her voice was steady, cold steel wrapped in velvet. "He said the baby has Alison's genes. Explain that to me, Doctor."

It was a gamble. A bluff. But looking at the sweat beading on Saunders' forehead, she knew she had hit a nerve.

Saunders went pale. All the blood drained from his face. "He... he told you?"

"Everything," Florence said. She leaned forward, placing her hands on the edge of the desk. "Now, I want to hear it from you. Was the embryo you implanted from Alison's egg?"

Saunders looked like he was going to be sick. He slumped back in his leather chair, running a hand through his thinning hair.

"It... it wasn't Alison's embryo," he whispered. "It was an accident. A terrible accident."

Florence frowned. This wasn't the script she had written in her head. "What do you mean?"

"The embryo we transferred... it wasn't from the cycle you did with Mr. Livingston," Saunders said, his voice trembling. "It was from the anonymous cycle you funded yourself two months ago. The one you insisted on keeping off the Livingston record. Garnett's sample... the motility was too low. It wasn't viable. The nurse... she grabbed the wrong vial during implantation. The one fertilized with donor sperm."

Florence felt a chill crawl up her spine. "So whose sample did you use?"

Saunders looked at the safe in the corner of the room. He looked back at Florence, his eyes pleading. "Mrs. Livingston, please. If Garnett finds out the child isn't his, he'll kill me. He'll ruin me."

"He won't find out from me," Florence said, her mind racing. "Not if you tell me the truth right now. Who is the father?"

Saunders opened the drawer with shaking hands. He pulled out a file marked with a red stripe. He didn't hand it to her. He just opened it and pointed to a code.

Donor S.

"Who is Donor S?" Florence demanded.

"Sterling Sharp," Saunders whispered.

The air left the room.

Florence stared at the doctor. "Sterling Sharp? The tech mogul? The billionaire?"

"He stored samples here years ago," Saunders said, burying his face in his hands. "Back when this clinic was a private research facility under a grant from Sharp Industries. He never authorized their use. It's malpractice. It's criminal."

Florence stepped back. Her hand went instinctively to her stomach.

The child wasn't Garnett's. It wasn't Alison's.

It was hers. And it belonged to one of the most powerful men in the world.

A strange, twisted sense of relief washed over her. It was followed immediately by a surge of power.

Garnett thought she was carrying his heir. He thought he had her trapped. But she was carrying a nuclear weapon.

"Does anyone else know?" Florence asked sharply.

"Just Nurse Joy," Saunders said. "I paid her to keep quiet. We fixed the records."

Florence pulled out her phone. She snapped a picture of the file, capturing the code and the name Sterling Sharp.

Saunders reached out. "You can't-"

Florence shot him a look that withered him in his seat. "This is my insurance, Doctor. And yours."

She put the phone away. "You are going to continue to treat me. You are going to tell Garnett everything is normal. The baby is his. The due date is on track."

"Mrs. Livingston..."

"Do we have an agreement?" Florence asked.

Saunders nodded, defeated. "Yes."

Florence unlocked the door. She looked back at the pathetic man cowering behind his desk.

"Clean up that whiskey," she said. "You have a long nine months ahead of you."