Chapter Three – Proof and Pressure
977 Words
Aisha gripped the railing outside the Cole Enterprises building, the cool evening air doing little to steady her racing heart. She had faced him. She had spoken the truth. But instead of relief, all she felt was a heavier weight pressing down on her chest.
Prove it.
His words haunted her like a curse. Prove the child was his. As if the life growing inside her was just another contract, another deal to be signed and sealed under his conditions.
She swallowed hard, blinking away the sting in her eyes. He didn’t believe her. Of course, he didn’t. Damian Cole wasn’t the kind of man who trusted anyone, least of all a woman who had once let his kiss unravel her.
Her phone buzzed in her purse. She pulled it out, and her landlord’s message stared back at her:
Final notice. Eviction in three days.
Her throat tightened. She wanted to scream, but all that escaped was a shaky breath. Rent overdue. Hospital bills are looming. Her mother’s medication. And now, the father of her unborn child is treating her like a gold-digger.
She couldn’t afford to collapse. Not now. Not when so much depended on her.
Back upstairs, Damian Cole stood by the window of his office, the city lights glittering beneath him like stars. He should have dismissed her claim and moved on—women had tried this before. They saw wealth and power and thought a child could chain him to them.
But Aisha Daniels was… different.
He remembered the balcony that night. The fire in her eyes, the way she kissed him back, as though she hated herself for it. The way she had left without asking for anything.
Why resurface now? And why did something in her trembling voice gnaw at him?
Damian’s jaw flexed. If she thought she could play him, she would learn fast how ruthless he could be. But if she told the truth… his entire world would shift. He wasn’t the kind of man who ignored responsibility, no matter how much he despised entanglements.
Two days later, Aisha sat at her tiny kitchen table, staring at a pile of unopened bills. She was running out of options. Her stomach turned—not from morning sickness this time, but from dread.
Her phone rang. Unknown number. She almost didn’t answer, but something urged her to.
“Miss Daniels,” the smooth, clipped voice on the other end made her blood run cold. Damian.
She froze, clutching the phone tighter. “How did you get this number?”
“I get whatever I need,” he said flatly. Be at St. James Hospital tomorrow at nine. We’re doing the test.”
Her heart dropped. “Already?”
“I don’t waste time. You’ll comply, or I’ll assume you have something to hide.”
His tone left no room for argument. The line went dead before she could reply.
Aisha sank back into her chair, pressing a hand into her stomach. Tomorrow. It was happening tomorrow.
The sterile smell of the hospital burned her nose as she sat in the waiting room, knees bouncing. She wasn’t alone for long. Damian arrived, every inch the commanding figure in his tailored suit. People glanced up, whispering, but he ignored them, his attention locked on her.
“Ready?” he asked, though it didn’t sound like a question.
She swallowed hard. “Yes.”
The test was quick, clinical, invasive in its own way. A swab, paperwork, signatures. The nurses were polite, but Aisha could feel Damian’s gaze on her the entire time, like he was dissecting her soul.
When it was done, the nurse told them the results would take a week.
Aisha exhaled shakily, gathering her things. But before she could escape, Damian’s voice stopped her.
“You’ll move into one of my apartments until the results are confirmed.”
She spun around, eyes wide. “What? No. That’s not necessary—”
His expression hardened. “You’re carrying a child that might be mine. You think I’ll let you wander around the city, working two jobs, fainting from exhaustion, and risking a miscarriage? No.”
Her throat tightened. “You don’t get to control me.”
He stepped closer, his towering frame casting her in shadow. “If the child is mine, then yes, I do. Until the results prove otherwise, consider this non-negotiable.”
Anger flared hot in her chest. “You don’t even believe me, yet you want to cage me like some possession?”
His lips curved, not in amusement but in warning. “I don’t believe you. But I don’t take chances either.”
That evening, Aisha stood in the luxury apartment Damian had ordered her into. The penthouse was bigger than her entire building, the view breathtaking, the silence suffocating.
She should have felt relief—no rent to worry about, no leaking ceilings, no constant fear of eviction. But instead, it felt like a golden cage.
Her hand brushed her stomach again. “What have I gotten us into?” she whispered.
Behind her, the sound of the door opening made her freeze. She turned, and there he was, leaning against the doorway, watching her with that unreadable gaze.
“This is temporary,” he said, as though reading her thoughts. “Don’t get comfortable.”
Aisha lifted her chin, masking her fear with defiance. “Trust me, Mr. Cole. I couldn’t get comfortable here if I tried.”
For a moment, his lips twitched, almost a smile—but then it was gone, replaced by cold steel.
“Good,” he murmured. “Because if you’re lying, Daniels, I’ll make sure you regret ever stepping into my world.”
Her pulse thundered, but she refused to look away. She couldn’t.
Not when her future—and her baby’s—depended on surviving Damian Cole.
- Writer
