Chapter 14
One year later.
I was standing in the bathroom, staring at two pink lines on a test strip, my hands trembling.
"DOMINIC!"
He came sprinting from his home office like the apartment was on fire, nearly tripping over his own shoes.
"What? What happened? Are you hurt?"
I held up the test. Said nothing.
His eyes locked onto those two lines. His mouth fell open.
Then his knees buckled.
Dominic Ashford — billionaire CEO, feared negotiator, the man who commanded boardrooms and bent markets to his will — sat down hard on the bathroom floor, tears streaming freely down his face.
"We're..." he whispered. "You're..."
"Pregnant." I knelt beside him, laughing through my own tears. "About six weeks."
He pulled me into his arms so carefully, like I was made of glass, his whole body shaking.
"I thought I was happy before," he choked out. "I thought I knew what happiness felt like. I was wrong. This — YOU — this is everything."
I held his face in my hands, wiping his tears with my thumbs.
"You're going to be an incredible father."
He laughed wetly. "I'm going to be a DISASTER. I'm going to be the most overprotective, overbearing—"
"Probably," I agreed. "But our baby will know, every single second, that they're loved."
"SO loved," he whispered fiercely. "More than anything in this world, except their mother."
He kissed me then — deep, certain, full of promise.
...
The announcement made headlines, naturally.
**"ASHFORD EMPIRE'S FIRST HEIR: BILLIONAIRE CEO CANCELS ALL MEETINGS FOR 'PERSONAL CELEBRATION'"**
What the media didn't report was that Dominic's "personal celebration" involved buying out an entire baby store, hiring the country's top three obstetricians simultaneously, and calling every single person he knew to announce the news.
His assistant called me, exhausted: "Mrs. Ashford, he's been on the phone for four hours. He called the PRESIDENT. Please make him stop."
I laughed so hard my stomach hurt.
Grandma Rose sent an enormous bouquet with a card: *"Finally, a great-grandchild worthy of my legacy. Tell that Ashford boy if he doesn't treat you like a queen during this pregnancy, I WILL come out of retirement. — Rose"*
Even my father called, gruff and emotional: "Told you. Hair gel. Never trust it."
That evening, Dominic and I sat on our balcony, watching the city lights flicker like earthbound stars. His hand rested gently on my still-flat stomach, reverent and wondering.
"Aria?"
"Hm?"
"Thank you for calling me that night." His voice was husky with emotion. "A year and a half ago. When you were angry and hurt and desperate. Thank you for choosing me."
I leaned into him, his warmth surrounding me like armor.
"You made it easy to choose you," I said. "You always made it easy."
He pressed his lips to my temple. "I'll spend the rest of my life making sure you never regret it."
I thought about the journey that brought us here.
The betrayal that had felt like an ending. The phone call made in fury. The quiet, patient man who'd been waiting with open arms and an open heart.
Sometimes the worst moment of your life is just the universe redirecting you toward where you were always supposed to be.
I tilted my face up and kissed my husband under the stars.
"No regrets," I whispered. "Not a single one."
He smiled — that full, luminous smile reserved only for me — and pulled me closer.
And for the first time in my life, I didn't wonder if happiness had an expiration date.
Because this — his heartbeat under my palm, the future growing inside me, the unshakeable certainty of being chosen — this was permanent.
This was forever.
This was home.
I was standing in the bathroom, staring at two pink lines on a test strip, my hands trembling.
"DOMINIC!"
He came sprinting from his home office like the apartment was on fire, nearly tripping over his own shoes.
"What? What happened? Are you hurt?"
I held up the test. Said nothing.
His eyes locked onto those two lines. His mouth fell open.
Then his knees buckled.
Dominic Ashford — billionaire CEO, feared negotiator, the man who commanded boardrooms and bent markets to his will — sat down hard on the bathroom floor, tears streaming freely down his face.
"We're..." he whispered. "You're..."
"Pregnant." I knelt beside him, laughing through my own tears. "About six weeks."
He pulled me into his arms so carefully, like I was made of glass, his whole body shaking.
"I thought I was happy before," he choked out. "I thought I knew what happiness felt like. I was wrong. This — YOU — this is everything."
I held his face in my hands, wiping his tears with my thumbs.
"You're going to be an incredible father."
He laughed wetly. "I'm going to be a DISASTER. I'm going to be the most overprotective, overbearing—"
"Probably," I agreed. "But our baby will know, every single second, that they're loved."
"SO loved," he whispered fiercely. "More than anything in this world, except their mother."
He kissed me then — deep, certain, full of promise.
...
The announcement made headlines, naturally.
**"ASHFORD EMPIRE'S FIRST HEIR: BILLIONAIRE CEO CANCELS ALL MEETINGS FOR 'PERSONAL CELEBRATION'"**
What the media didn't report was that Dominic's "personal celebration" involved buying out an entire baby store, hiring the country's top three obstetricians simultaneously, and calling every single person he knew to announce the news.
His assistant called me, exhausted: "Mrs. Ashford, he's been on the phone for four hours. He called the PRESIDENT. Please make him stop."
I laughed so hard my stomach hurt.
Grandma Rose sent an enormous bouquet with a card: *"Finally, a great-grandchild worthy of my legacy. Tell that Ashford boy if he doesn't treat you like a queen during this pregnancy, I WILL come out of retirement. — Rose"*
Even my father called, gruff and emotional: "Told you. Hair gel. Never trust it."
That evening, Dominic and I sat on our balcony, watching the city lights flicker like earthbound stars. His hand rested gently on my still-flat stomach, reverent and wondering.
"Aria?"
"Hm?"
"Thank you for calling me that night." His voice was husky with emotion. "A year and a half ago. When you were angry and hurt and desperate. Thank you for choosing me."
I leaned into him, his warmth surrounding me like armor.
"You made it easy to choose you," I said. "You always made it easy."
He pressed his lips to my temple. "I'll spend the rest of my life making sure you never regret it."
I thought about the journey that brought us here.
The betrayal that had felt like an ending. The phone call made in fury. The quiet, patient man who'd been waiting with open arms and an open heart.
Sometimes the worst moment of your life is just the universe redirecting you toward where you were always supposed to be.
I tilted my face up and kissed my husband under the stars.
"No regrets," I whispered. "Not a single one."
He smiled — that full, luminous smile reserved only for me — and pulled me closer.
And for the first time in my life, I didn't wonder if happiness had an expiration date.
Because this — his heartbeat under my palm, the future growing inside me, the unshakeable certainty of being chosen — this was permanent.
This was forever.
This was home.