Armani’s POV
I pace near the private jet, my shoes grinding against the tarmac as the evening breeze sends a cool shiver through me. My stomach is in knots, a tight coil of anticipation and frustration. Rena should be here by now. The past ten days have been a whirlwind—medical consultations, legal meetings, and the exhausting process of tying up every loose end in Seattle. And now, here we are, standing on the precipice of something neither of us can fully predict.
The fertility clinic had been... an experience. Not in the way I’d expected. I knew Rena would have to endure an endless stream of tests, but I hadn’t anticipated I’d be put through examinations as well. The request for a sample of my genetic material had felt vaguely insulting, a cold, clinical reminder that this arrangement
