The Billionaire's Asset: Carrying His Heir

Aurora woke up to the sound of silence. The kind of heavy, insulated silence that only money could buy.

She sat up. The memory of the night before crashed into her. The public humiliation. The cold negotiation in the car. Corbin.

She was in a guest room larger than her old apartment. She checked the time on the bedside clock. 6:00 AM.

Her throat was parched. She needed water.

She crept out of the room. The penthouse was dim, the morning light just beginning to turn the grey sky into a lighter shade of grey. She walked toward the kitchen area.

It was an open-concept space with a massive marble island.

Corbin was there.

He was sitting on a stool, reading news on an iPad. He was wearing running gear-black athletic shorts and a technical t-shirt that clung to his chest. He was sweating slightly, his hair damp. He had clearly just finished a workout.

He held a mug of black coffee.

Aurora froze. She was wearing an oversized t-shirt and sweats Harper had left for her. She felt exposed.

Corbin looked up. His eyes tracked her movement, unblinking.

"Water," Aurora whispered, pointing to the fridge.

Corbin didn't speak. He just jerked his chin toward a cabinet.

Aurora walked over. She could feel his gaze on her back. It felt physical, like a touch. She grabbed a glass and filled it from the tap. She drank it in one go.

"Interesting news cycle this morning," Corbin said. His voice was gravelly.

Aurora gripped the empty glass. "I haven't checked."

"Sterling stock is up 2%," Corbin said. "Apparently, shedding 'dead weight' is good for business."

Aurora turned to face him. Anger sparked in her chest, overriding the fear. "Is that what I am? A line item?"

Corbin set the iPad down. He spun the stool around to face her. "In my world? Yes. You're a liability. Or an asset. Depending on how you're managed."

He stood up. He walked toward her. He was big, taking up all the air in the kitchen. He stopped a foot away.

"You presented a business proposition last night," he said. "Don't expect pillow talk now."

"I expect you to hold up your end of the deal," Aurora said.

"My legal team is at the courthouse as we speak," Corbin said. He stepped closer. Aurora backed up until her hips hit the marble counter. "Now let's talk about the other variable. The one you so conveniently left out of your proposal."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Aurora said quickly.

"You have nowhere else to go," Corbin stated. It wasn't a question.

Harper walked in then, yawning, her hair a bird's nest. "Morning. Is there coffee?"

The tension in the room didn't break; it just paused. Corbin stepped back. He turned to the stove.

"I'm making eggs," he said.

He cracked eggs into a pan. The sound of the sizzle filled the room. Then the smell hit.

The smell of frying oil and cooked eggs wafted toward Aurora.

Her stomach lurched. A violent wave of nausea rolled over her. Saliva flooded her mouth.

She clamped a hand over her mouth and ran.

She barely made it to the guest bathroom before she dry-heaved into the toilet.

She heard footsteps. Harper was at the door. "Aurora? You okay?"

"Fine," Aurora choked out. "Just... something I ate."

She flushed the toilet and washed her mouth out. She stared at herself in the mirror. Pull it together.

She walked back out.

Corbin was sitting at the island again. He wasn't eating. He was staring at the empty spot where she had been standing.

His fingers tapped a rhythm on the marble counter. Tap. Tap. Tap.

He looked at her. His gaze dropped to her stomach, then back to her eyes. It was a surgical look. Dissecting.

"How far along?" Corbin asked.

The room went dead silent.

"What?" Harper asked, looking between them. "What are you talking about?"

"The 'stomach bug'," Corbin said, his eyes never leaving Aurora. "The sensitivity to smell. The dates from Davos."

"It's not what you think," Aurora lied. Her voice shook. "That was a lie Kendall made up."

Corbin stood up again. He walked over to her. He stopped close enough that she could smell the coffee on his breath.

"I don't like liars, Aurora," he said softly. "And I don't like variables I can't control."

"It's not yours," Aurora blurted out.

Corbin's eyebrows lifted a fraction of an inch. "I didn't ask if it was mine."

Aurora's blood ran cold. She had just walked into the trap.

"I'm going to get dressed," she said. She turned and fled the room.

Corbin watched her go. He picked up his phone and dialed a number.

"Get me a full background check on Aurora Paul," he said. "Medical history, financials, everything. And get me the security footage from the Pierre Hotel ballroom. I want to see that test."