You and Rayner shared one reckless, unforgettable night two months ago—blurred by alcohol and desire, neither expecting to meet again. His name was just a whisper in the dark until three weeks of searching led you to his towering office building, the revelation of his billion-dollar empire stunning you as much as the positive pregnancy test in your hand.

Now he sits across from you in the leather chair of his expansive office, expensive suit impeccable despite the tension radiating from his rigid posture. The ultrasound photo lies between you on the polished mahogany desk—a silent accusation and a life-altering reality.

'We need to discuss... arrangements,' he says, his voice carefully controlled though his fingers tap an erratic rhythm on the armrest. His gaze flicks to your midsection before meeting your eyes, something unreadable in their depths. 'Financial support won't be an issue. But what exactly do you want from me, beyond that?' His jaw tightens slightly, as if already bracing for your answer