“I already fainted once,” she said. “I’m good.”
“That’s the spirit,” the nurse replied.
She took Natalie’s vitals and asked a series of questions that made Carter’s ears burn—apparently pregnancy involved a lot of very personal details.
“Dr. Chen will be in shortly,” the nurse said at last. “Dad, there’s water in the corner if you need it.”
When she left, silence descended.
Carter sat.
Natalie lay back on the table.
They both stared at the ceiling.
“I’m sorry,” Carter said finally. “For everything. The investigation. The doubt. The way I handled all of it.”
“I know,” Natalie said softly. “I got your seventeen apology texts. And the flowers. All six arrangements.”
“You sent them back,” he murmured.
“I was angry,” she said. “Still am. A little.”
She turned her head to look at him.
“But I understand why you did it,” she added. “Doesn’t mean I like it. But I understand.”
“I should have trusted you,” he said.
“Yes,” she agreed calmly. “You should have.”
There was no anger in her voice—just honesty.
“You’d been lied to,” she added. “I get why trust is hard.”
Carter stood and moved closer to the exam table—close enough to touch, but not touching.
“That night,” he said quietly. “What I said about it being… everything. I meant it. You weren’t just some woman at a gala. You were…”
He exhaled.
“You were everything,” he finished.
Natalie’s eyes shimmered.
“Then why couldn’t you believe me?” she asked.
“Because I’m an idiot with trust issues,” he said honestly. “Because I have a company to protect and siblings who depend on me and a lifelong habit of pretending nothing can hurt me. Because that night scared me. What I felt for you scared me. And when you disappeared—”
“You mean when your father died,” she corrected gently.
“Yes,” he said. “But I didn’t know how to find you. I woke up and you were gone. And I thought… I thought maybe it had meant less to you.”
“It didn’t,” she said.
Before either of them could say more, the exam room door opened.
“Hello,” a cheerful woman in her fifties said. “You must be the expectant parents. I’m Dr. Chen. Let’s see this baby, shall we?”
She squeezed gel onto Natalie’s stomach and pressed the ultrasound wand against her skin.
The screen flickered to life, showing abstract shapes that meant nothing to Carter.
Then Dr. Chen adjusted the angle.
There.
A tiny form. So small. With a head, a curled body, little limb buds.
“There’s your baby,” Dr. Chen said warmly. “Measuring right on track for ten weeks. And there’s the heartbeat.”
A sound filled the room—rapid, rhythmic, beautiful. Like galloping horses. Like rain on pavement. Like every song he’d ever loved rolled into one.
Carter couldn’t breathe.
“That’s…” His voice broke. “That’s our baby.”
“That’s our baby,” Natalie whispered, tears sliding down her temples.
He reached for her hand without thinking and she squeezed back.
Something locked tight in his chest for years finally cracked open.
“Everything looks healthy,” Dr. Chen said, taking measurements and explaining things Carter barely processed. “I’ll print some pictures for you. Dad, you can let go of Mom’s hand now if you want.”
“I really don’t,” he said honestly.
Natalie laughed through her tears.
“Then don’t,” she murmured.
So he didn’t.
He held her hand through the rest of the exam, through Dr. Chen’s instructions about vitamins and future appointments and what to watch for.
He only let go when Natalie needed to schedule her next visit.
Outside in the cool afternoon air, they stood by his car in awkward silence.
“So,” Natalie said finally. “That was… something.”
Carter looked down at the ultrasound photo in his hand—the grainy black‑and‑white image that somehow contained an entire future.
“Can I take you to dinner?” he asked. “Just dinner. Nothing else. I promise.”
She studied him.
“You promise?” she asked.
“Scout’s honor,” he said.
“Were you even a Scout?” she asked.
“No,” he admitted. “But I promise anyway.”
She almost smiled.
“One dinner,” she said. “But I pick the place. And if you investigate the restaurant beforehand, I’m leaving.”
“Deal,” he said.
As they rode to the tiny Thai place she directed him to—the kind with plastic chairs and fluorescent lighting that served the best pad Thai Carter had ever tasted—he had a quiet realization.
He was falling for her again.
Still.
Always.
And this time, he wasn’t going to let fear make him lose her.
PART THREE – FAMILY, SECRETS, AND SCANDAL
The Thai restaurant was packed, noisy, and about as far from Carter’s usual haunts as possible while still being in New York City.
He loved it.
Or maybe he just loved watching Natalie demolish a plate of pad Thai with the kind of enthusiasm that made him smile like an idiot.
“What?” she asked, catching him staring.
“Nothing,” he said. “It’s just… really nice seeing you enjoy a meal.”
“First one all week that hasn’t made me want to cry,” she said cheerfully. “Pregnancy cravings are weird. Yesterday I wanted pickles and ice cream—together. It was confusing on a spiritual level.”
Carter laughed. Actually laughed.
“Did you actually eat pickles with ice cream?” he asked.
“Vanilla ice cream with dill pickle chips,” she said solemnly. “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. Although based on your face right now, you’re definitely knocking it.”
“I’m just… processing,” he said.
“Process faster,” she ordered. “Your spring rolls are getting cold.”
They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes.
The restaurant buzzed around them—families talking, music playing, the sizzle of woks from the kitchen.
It was so normal. So ordinary.
It felt perfect.
“Can I ask you something?” Natalie said suddenly.
“Anything,” he said.
“Your siblings—” she began. “You mentioned them before. How old are they?”
He set down his chopsticks.
“Benjamin’s nineteen,” he said. “He’s a sophomore at Columbia. Wants to be an architect. Jasmine’s sixteen. Junior in high school. Currently convinced she’s going to be a marine biologist despite being terrified of fish.”
Natalie smiled.
“She’s afraid of fish but wants to study them?” she asked.
“She watched a documentary about coral reefs and decided it was her calling,” he said. “The fish thing is a work in progress.”
His expression softened.
“They’re good kids,” he added. “They lost their mom young. Car accident. Dad raised them mostly alone until…”
“Until he died,” Natalie said gently.
“Yeah,” he said. “Heart attack. Sudden. We got to the hospital in time to say goodbye, but barely. After that, everything changed. I went from just being the CEO to being guardian overnight.”
“That must have been terrifying,” she said.
“Still is, most days,” he admitted. “I have no idea what I’m doing. Ben’s easy—just make sure he doesn’t blow his entire meal plan on pizza. Jasmine’s harder. She’s angry. She lost both parents before she could drive. She takes it out on me more than anyone.”
“She’s lucky to have you,” Natalie said.
“She doesn’t think so,” he replied. “Called me an emotionally constipated control freak last week.”
“Was she wrong?” Natalie asked.
Her question pulled a laugh out of him.
“Absolutely not,” he said. “She was completely right, which is why it stung.”
“I like her already,” Natalie said.
“She’d probably like you, too,” he said. “Once she got past being suspicious of any woman in my life.”
“Suspicious,” Natalie repeated.
“After Vanessa, after the press, they’ve seen how some people act around us,” he said. “They’re protective. Maybe a little too much.”
He reached across the table, hesitated, then took her hand anyway.
“They’ll be cautious,” he said. “But once they meet you, really meet you, they’ll see what I see.”
“Which is?” she asked softly.
“Someone genuine,” he said. “Someone honest. Someone strong enough to stand outside my building all day just to tell me the truth, even though I gave you every reason not to bother.”
Natalie looked down at their joined hands.
“You really need to stop saying things like that,” she said. “It makes it hard to stay mad at you.”
“You can stay a little mad,” he said. “I deserve it. But maybe also give me a chance to prove I’m not completely terrible.”
“One chance,” she said. “Mess it up and I’m done.”
“One chance,” he echoed. “I can work with that.”
Dinner turned into a habit.
Checkups turned into a schedule.
They talked about everything—the baby, her work, his never‑ending meetings, Gran’s insistence on teaching the baby Portuguese.
He started leaving meetings early for appointments in Brooklyn, baffling his board.
She started texting him sonogram photos and complaints about nausea.
He started reading books about pregnancy.
He also started worrying about the inevitable collision between Natalie and his family.
He didn’t have to wait long.
When the first tabloid article hit, Natalie woke up to seventeen missed calls and a text from Charlotte that said simply: “I’m so sorry.”
Her stomach dropped.
That was never a good sign.
She opened a news app and wished she hadn’t.
Translator Claims Pregnancy with Billionaire CEO.
The headline screamed at her in bold letters, accompanied by a grainy photo of her leaving Sullivan Tower.
Another article followed.
Gold Digger or Genuine? The Woman Who Says She’s Carrying Sullivan’s Baby.
And another.
After Past Scandal, Has Carter Sullivan Been Fooled Again?
The articles were brutal.
They dissected her modest background, her mother’s history, her finances. They compared her to Vanessa, implied she was after money, questioned the timing of her “convenient” pregnancy.
One particularly vicious piece quoted “anonymous sources” who claimed she’d trapped Carter on purpose.
Natalie’s hands shook as she scrolled.
Her phone wouldn’t stop buzzing—unknown numbers, emails from clients cancelling contracts, social media notifications she was too afraid to open.
“Gran,” she called, her voice breaking. “Gran!”
Her grandmother appeared in the doorway, took one look at her face, and immediately pulled her into a hug.
“What happened?” Gran demanded.
“Someone leaked it,” Natalie whispered. “Everything. The pregnancy, Carter… all of it. My career is over.”
By noon, she’d lost four clients.
By evening, she’d lost eight more.
The translation world was small. Reputation mattered.
No one wanted to be associated with a tabloid scandal.
Her phone rang.
“Did you see?” she asked without preamble when she answered.
“I saw,” Carter said. “I’m so sorry. I have lawyers working on it. We’ll find out who leaked it. We’ll—”
“It doesn’t matter who leaked it,” she said, pacing her tiny bedroom. “The damage is done. You can’t make people unread those articles.”
“I’ll fix this,” he insisted. “I promise.”
“How?” she demanded. “You can’t control what people think. You can’t put my name back in some box and pretend this didn’t happen.”
There was a knock at her front door.
“Someone’s here,” she said. “I have to go.”
She hung up before he could answer.
The “someone” at the door was Charlotte.
She looked like she’d been crying.
That should have been Natalie’s first clue.
“I’m so sorry,” Charlotte said immediately, stepping inside. “I never thought it would blow up like this. I thought—”
“Wait,” Natalie said, her blood running cold. “You thought what?”
She stared.
“Charlotte,” she whispered. “What did you do?”
Charlotte’s face crumpled.
“I told someone,” she said. “Just one person. I thought they’d keep it quiet. I didn’t think they’d go to the press.”
“You told someone,” Natalie repeated. “About my pregnancy. About Carter.”
“Not like that,” Charlotte protested. “I just… I needed to talk to somebody. I was scared for you.”
“Why?” Natalie demanded. “Why would you do that?”
Charlotte’s expression shifted—guilt morphing into something harder.
“Because you don’t belong with him,” she said. “You know you don’t. He’s Carter Sullivan. He needs someone from his world. Someone who understands the pressure, the expectations—”
“Someone like you,” Natalie said slowly.
The realization hit like a freight train.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “You’re in love with him.”
“Don’t make it sound awful,” Charlotte snapped. “I’ve known Carter since we were kids. We grew up together. Our families vacation together in the Hamptons. We make sense. And then you show up at one gala and suddenly he can’t see anyone else.”
Her eyes flashed.
“Do you know how that feels?” she demanded. “To watch the man you’ve loved for years fall for someone who doesn’t even belong in his world?”
“So you destroyed my reputation,” Natalie said quietly. “You tanked my career. All because you were jealous.”
“I’m not jealous,” Charlotte insisted. “I’m realistic. You’re a translator from Brooklyn who lives with her grandmother. He’s a billionaire CEO. What kind of life do you think you’ll have together? You’ll always be the girl who got pregnant. That baby will always be the ‘mistake’ that forced his hand. Is that what you want for your child?”
Each word was a knife.
Precise.
Devastating.
Because a small, frightened part of Natalie wondered if there was truth in it.
“Get out,” Natalie said, her voice eerily calm.
“Nat, I’m trying to help—”
“You’re trying to help yourself,” Natalie said. “You betrayed me. You destroyed my livelihood. For what? Carter doesn’t love you, Charlotte. He never has. And after this, he never will.”
Charlotte went pale.
“You don’t know that,” she whispered.
“I know he values loyalty,” Natalie said. “And you just proved you don’t have any. We’re done. Don’t call. Don’t text. Don’t come back.”
“Natalie—”
“I said,” she repeated, “get out.”
Charlotte left.
Natalie closed the door with shaking hands.
Then she slid down to the floor and finally let herself fall apart.
Carter found out about Charlotte’s involvement through his investigator’s report at midnight.
He called Natalie immediately.
Voicemail.
He made a decision the old version of himself would have avoided.
He got in his car and went to Brooklyn.
Gran answered the door in a bathrobe, took one look at his face, and stepped aside.
“She’s in her room,” she said. “Go easy. It’s been a day.”
Natalie was curled on her bed, laptop open, surrounded by tissues.
She looked up when he entered, devastation written all over her face.
“Charlotte,” he said quietly.
“You know,” she replied.
“I know,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’m so sorry. If I’d had any idea—”
“It’s not your fault,” she said. “She’s been in love with you for years, apparently. I just never saw it.”
She laughed bitterly.
“Some best friend I am,” she added.
“You couldn’t have known,” he said.
“Couldn’t I?” she asked. “She was always a little… intense when we talked about relationships. I thought she was just being protective. Turns out she was jealous.”
She closed her laptop.
“I lost twelve clients today,” she said. “Twelve. That’s more than half my regular work. I don’t know how I’m going to pay rent, let alone prepare for a baby.”
“Let me help,” he said immediately.
“No,” she said.
“Natalie—”
“I said no,” she repeated, her voice firm. “I won’t be the woman who needs to be rescued, who takes money from the father of her baby because she can’t support herself. That’s exactly what everyone says I am. I won’t prove them right.”
“No one—”
“Everyone thinks it,” she said. “The articles, the comments, the messages I’ve been getting—they all say the same thing. That I’m a gold digger who got pregnant on purpose to trap you. If I take your money now, I’m just confirming their worst assumptions.”
He wanted to argue. Wanted to tell her he’d take care of everything. That money didn’t matter.
But he could see the stubborn set of her jaw, the fierce independence in her eyes.
He loved that about her.
He wasn’t going to trample it.
“Then let me fix the media,” he said instead. “I’ll hold a press conference. I’ll set the record straight. I’ll explain that Charlotte leaked false information.”
“So you look like you’re defending your ‘baby mama’?” she asked tiredly. “That’ll go well.”
“I don’t care how it looks,” he said.
“Well, I do,” she replied. “I care that your mother already thinks I’m after your money. That your siblings are wary. That everyone in your world expects me to mess up.”
“My siblings aren’t wary anymore,” he said. “Ben texts me constantly asking how you are. Jasmine wants to know if the baby is a girl so she can teach her about ocean life.”
Natalie blinked.
“Really?” she asked.
“Really,” he said. “They like you. They respect you. You stood up to my mother. You refused money. They know who you are.”
His phone rang.
Marcus.
“What?” Carter answered.
“Sir, you need to see the news,” Marcus said. “Right now.”
Carter pulled out his phone and opened the article.
His blood ran cold.
Victoria Sullivan Offers Translator $500,000 to Disappear.
“Oh no,” Natalie breathed, reading over his shoulder. “She didn’t.”
The article described an alleged meeting where his mother had offered Natalie money to leave and never contact him again.
“You know that didn’t happen,” he said immediately.
“No,” Natalie agreed. “She threatened me with a prenup once, but that’s different.”
His phone buzzed again.
His mother.
“Mother,” he said.
“I never offered her money,” Victoria said without preamble. “Someone’s spreading lies. First Charlotte leaks the pregnancy, now this. Carter, someone is trying to hurt all of us.”
The next morning, Victoria Sullivan showed up at Natalie’s apartment without warning.
Gran let her in, then crossed her arms and did not leave the room.
“Miss Spencer,” Victoria said, immaculate as ever in a designer suit. “We need to talk about the article claiming I offered you money.”
“I told the press you never said that,” Natalie said tiredly. “They printed it anyway.”
“I didn’t come to discuss false stories,” Victoria said. She set her expensive purse on the table. “I came to make an actual offer.”
Natalie’s heart sank.
“Mrs. Sullivan—”
“Five hundred thousand dollars,” Victoria said crisply. “To leave. Quietly. To give Carter space to focus on his family and his business without… distractions.”
The word “distractions” hit like a slap.
Natalie looked at the envelope, then at Victoria, then at Gran—who looked ready to throw the envelope out the window.
“No,” Natalie said.
“Be reasonable,” Victoria replied. “That’s more money than you’ll make in ten years translating contracts. You could move anywhere in the United States. Start fresh. Raise your child comfortably.”
“Without a father,” Natalie said.
“If it is his child,” Victoria retorted. “We don’t have proof yet.”
“Then wait for the DNA test,” Natalie said. “But I’m not taking your money.”
“Why not?” Victoria demanded. “Pride?”
“Because you want me to tell my child their father didn’t want them,” Natalie said, standing. “That I took money to disappear. What kind of mother would that make me?”
“A practical one,” Victoria said. “Pride doesn’t pay rent.”
“I grew up without parents,” Natalie said. “My mother died. My father was never around. Do you know what that does to a kid? You spend your life wondering if you’re worth loving. Wondering what’s wrong with you that made them leave. I won’t do that to my baby. Not for any amount of money.”
Victoria’s expression flickered—something almost like respect—then smoothed back into coolness.
“My son deserves better than this,” she said sharply. “Better than you.”
“Then let him decide that,” Natalie replied. “You don’t get to decide for him.”
Victoria left in a swish of tailored fabric.
Natalie collapsed onto the couch.
Gran sat beside her and pulled her close.
“That woman,” Gran muttered. “Needs to learn some manners.”
“She’s scared,” Natalie said quietly. “She already lost her husband. She’s terrified of losing her son.”
“That doesn’t give her the right to treat you like that,” Gran said.
“No,” Natalie agreed. “But it makes her human.”
Her phone rang.
Carter.
“My mother just left, didn’t she?” he said.
“How’d you know?” she asked.
“Because she just called me furious that you refused her money,” he said. “Natalie, I’m so sorry. I had no idea—”
“It’s fine,” she said.
“It’s not fine,” he insisted. “She had no right to—”
“Carter, stop,” she said, exhaustion bleeding through her voice. “Your mom is protective. I get it. But I’m tired. I’m tired of defending myself. Tired of proving I’m not after your money when all I wanted was to tell you about our baby.”
“I know,” he said.
“Maybe she’s right,” Natalie said quietly. “Maybe I don’t belong in your world.”
“Don’t say that,” he protested.
“Why not?” she asked. “It’s true. I’m a translator from Brooklyn. You’re a billionaire. Your mother offers me money to disappear. The press calls me a gold digger. My best friend betrayed me out of jealousy. What kind of life is that for a kid?”
“A life with parents who love them,” he said. “That’s what matters.”
“Is it?” she whispered. “Because right now it feels like loving you is the worst decision I ever made.”
Silence.
“You… love me?” he asked.
The words were out before she could stop them.
“I have to go,” she said, panicking. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Natalie, wait—”
She hung up.
She dropped the phone like it burned and tried very hard not to think about the truth she’d just accidentally confessed.
The DNA results came back three days later.
Carter was at her apartment within an hour, envelope in hand, Benjamin and Jasmine trailing behind him.
“What are they doing here?” Natalie asked, eyeing the teenagers.
“We want to be here,” Benjamin said. “When you open it.”
“As a family,” Jasmine added. “If that’s okay.”
Despite everything, Natalie’s chest warmed.
“It’s okay,” she said.
They gathered in the tiny living room—Gran in her armchair, the kids on the couch, Natalie and Carter side by side.
Carter held the envelope like it contained a bomb.
“Whatever it says,” he began, “I want you to know—”
“Just open it,” Natalie said. “Please.”
He did.
He read the paper.
Read it again.
Then looked up at her, eyes shining.
“Positive,” he said hoarsely. “Ninety‑nine point nine percent probability.”
He swallowed.
“She’s mine,” he whispered.
Relief crashed over Natalie.
She’d known, of course.
But having proof, having something no article or rumor could touch, felt like vindication.
“Congratulations,” she said softly. “You’re going to be a father.”
“We’re going to be parents,” he corrected.
He looked over at his siblings.
“You’re going to be an uncle and an aunt.”
Benjamin whooped.
Jasmine grinned.
Then they were all hugging—this strange, mismatched little group in a Brooklyn living room.
Afterward, Carter pulled out his phone and brought up a document.
“I need to show you something,” he said.
He handed it to her.
“This is the complete investigation report,” he said. “I want you to read it. All of it.”
“Carter…” she protested.
“I need you to see what I saw,” he insisted. “What made me realize how wrong I’d been.”
She read.
It wasn’t just facts. It was her life in bullet points and bank statements and interviews with people who knew her.
Clients describing her as “professional and kind” and “the translator I trust most.” Neighbors talking about how she cared for her grandmother. Old teachers calling her “fiercely determined.” Even social media posts—her and Charlotte at thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Sleepovers. Study sessions. College graduation.
At the end, there was a note in Carter’s voice.
“Subject displays consistent pattern of honesty, integrity, and independence. No evidence of deceptive intent. Conclusion: Natalie Spencer is exactly who she appears to be—a good person doing her best in difficult circumstances.”
“You wrote this,” she said, looking up.
“I wrote the conclusion,” he said. “After reading everything. After realizing I’d been an idiot to doubt you for even a second.”
He knelt in front of her.
“Natalie,” he said. “I’m sorry. For the investigation. For my mother. For every moment you felt like you had to prove yourself. You never should have had to prove anything. I should have believed you.”
“You were protecting yourself,” she said.
“I was protecting myself from being hurt again,” he said. “From being vulnerable.”
He took her hands.
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