Unbroken bond

Chapter 5; Operation: Expose the ex

*RYAN'S POV*

I did not sleep.

Ariana did not sleep.

The email from Bella sat in my inbox like a bomb. Subject: *MEDICAL REPORT - CONFIDENTIAL.*

Ariana stared at it from across the bed. In MY shirt. Which is her shirt now, apparently.

"Open it," she said.

"Don't open it," she said two seconds later.

"Open it, but if it's real, I'm going to be mad," she said.

"Baby, you are giving me whiplash," I said.

She threw a pillow at me. "This is all your fault, you cheesy billionaire!"

"My fault? My fault for being hot and getting trapped by my crazy ex? That's not my fault, that's my curse!"

She tried not to laugh. Failed.

Finally, I opened it.

One PDF. Very official looking. Hospital letterhead. Big words: *PATIENT: BELLA THOMPSON. PROCEDURE: TERMINATION. COMPLICATION: UTERINE DAMAGE. PROGNOSIS: PERMANENT INFERTILITY.*

Ariana gasped. "Ryan..."

I frowned. Zoomed in. Zoomed in again.

"Baby..."

"What?"

"This font... is Comic Sans."

"What?"

I turned my laptop. The footer of this very official, very confidential medical report was in Comic Sans. Like a birthday party invitation.

Ariana blinked. "No hospital in the world uses Comic Sans for infertility reports."

"Exactly! My billionaire eye for detail! I pay designers millions, I KNOW fonts!"

She grabbed the laptop. "And look! The date! It says 2022, but the logo says the clinic was established in 2024!"

Bella didn't just lie. She made a fake report in Canva. At midnight. While emotional.

"This is it," Ariana whispered. "She's lying."

"I need to be sure," I said. "We need to go to the clinic. The real one. The one near campus where she said she went."

Ariana jumped up. "Now? It's 8 AM!"

"Yes now! Team Cheesy Billionaire and His Very Hot Detective Girlfriend, let's go!"

My driver was so confused when we both stormed into the car in pajamas and sunglasses like we were in a spy movie.

The college clinic was exactly as I remembered. Small, white, smells like antiseptic and regret.

The receptionist looked up. "Can I help you?"

I used my CEO voice. The one I use to close deals. "Hi, I need to check a patient record. Bella Thompson. 2022. She claims she had a procedure here."

The receptionist typed. Frowned. Typed again.

"There's no Bella Thompson in our system. Ever."

Ariana and I looked at each other.

"Maybe under a different name?" Ariana asked.

"We checked all 2022 records for terminations with complications leading to infertility. We had zero. We refer those cases to the city hospital. We don't even do that procedure here."

Mic drop.

I felt three years of guilt evaporate in one second.

"So she never—"

"She never came here," the receptionist said kindly. "I'm sorry. But if someone told you they had a procedure here in 2022 that made them infertile, they are lying."

On the way out, Ariana was quiet, then suddenly burst out laughing in the middle of the parking lot.

"RYAN! You paid for a fake abortion for three years! With Comic Sans!"

"I am a billionaire and I got scammed by Canva! This is humiliating! I have an MBA!"

"Oh my god, your mother is going to LAUGH!"

And she did. Brittany laughed for five full minutes when I called her.

Eddie laughed for ten and said, "Son, I'm proud of you for many things, but your taste in exes is not one of them."

That night, I invited Bella to my office one last time. One final meeting.

She came in, confident, sad eyes ready.

"Did you check the email, Ryan? Do you finally understand my pain?"

I slid a printed copy of her fake report across the desk. I had circled the Comic Sans in red.

"Bella, next time you fake a medical report, don't use a font meant for a lemonade stand."

Her face went white.

"And the clinic says you were never there. Ever."

"I... I..."

"Bella, we're done. No more money. No more calls. No more guilt. I was 18 and scared, but you were 18 and a liar. We're even. Now please leave my office before my girlfriend comes back and redesigns you out of existence."

And right on cue —

The elevator dings.

Ariana walks in with two coffees and says loudly, "Babe, I bought you a coffee! And one for your ex-liar! Oh, Bella, you are here! How... Comic Sans of you!"

Bella ran. Again. Second time this week. She's getting cardio.

When the door closed, Ariana put the coffees down and climbed onto my lap. Her favorite chair.

"So, Mr. Billionaire who got scammed by Comic Sans," she whispered, giggling against my lips, "What are you going to do with all that guilt money you saved now?"

I grinned, wrapping my arms around her, back to my full cheesy power.

"I'm going to spend it on you. The whole billion. All of it. Starting with that penthouse makeover you wanted. And then a ring. A big one."

Her eyes went wide. "A ring?"

"Too soon?" I panicked. "Okay, a small ring! A keychain! A promise keychain!"

She kissed me to shut me up.

And for the first time in three years, I felt free. No guilt. No Bella. Just me, my girl, and a very ugly fake medical report that I am definitely framing as a lesson.

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