The Billionaire's Son: Pregnant with My Ex's Baby

Chapter 12

[Ethan]

The New York skyline stretched out before me, a glittering tapestry of lights against the darkening sky. But for once, the view from my top-floor office failed to soothe me. My mind was a whirlwind of concern, anger, and frustration as I paced back and forth, the plush carpet muffling my forceful steps.

"Mr. Blackwood," Detective Michael Reyes's gravelly voice cut through my brooding thoughts. "I understand your frustration, but I assure you, we're doing everything in our power to get to the bottom of these security breaches."

I turned to face the detective, a stocky man with keen eyes that missed nothing. "Everything in your power isn't good enough, Detective," I snapped, my patience wearing thin. "This is the third incident in as many weeks. My hotels are supposed to be the epitome of luxury and safety. If word of these breaches gets out, it could ruin everything I've built."

Reyes nodded, his expression sympathetic but firm. "I get it, Mr. Blackwood. But these aren't your run-of-the-mill burglaries. Whoever's behind this is sophisticated, well-funded. They're not leaving us much to go on."

I ran a hand through my hair, a habit I'd picked up in moments of stress. "What do we know so far?"

The detective consulted his notepad. "The pattern's consistent with the previous incidents. High-end electronics stolen from guest rooms, but only in specific suites. No signs of forced entry. And again, the security cameras mysteriously malfunctioned during the exact window of the theft."

"It's an inside job," I muttered, more to myself than to Reyes. "It has to be. But who? And why?"

Before Reyes could respond, my office door burst open. Zara Chen, my ever-efficient COO, strode in, her face a mask of concern. "Ethan, we've got a problem. The press got wind of the break-ins. They're running with the story in the morning edition."

I felt the blood drain from my face. "f**k," I growled, my mind racing with the potential fallout. "How bad is it?"

Zara handed me a tablet, a draft of the article displayed on the screen. As I skimmed the contents, I felt my anger rising. "Anonymous sources? Allegations of cover-ups? This is a goddamn hatchet job!"

"We need to get ahead of this," Zara said, her tone urgent but controlled. "Issue a statement, reassure our guests and investors."

I nodded, already formulating a plan. "Set up a press conference for tomorrow morning. We'll address the concerns head-on, announce increased security measures."

As Zara left to make the arrangements, I turned back to Detective Reyes. "I want answers, Detective. Soon. Or I'll be forced to explore other avenues of investigation."

Reyes's eyes narrowed slightly at the implied threat, but he kept his voice professional. "We'll find who's behind this, Mr. Blackwood. You have my word."

After the detective left, I sank into my leather chair, the weight of the situation settling heavily on my shoulders. It wasn't just my business empire at stake here. It was the legacy I wanted to build for Oliver, the future I'd dreamed of providing for him.

Oliver. The thought of my son sent a pang through my chest. In the chaos of the past few weeks, I'd barely had time to process the monumental changes in my personal life. The son I'd only just discovered, the tentative co-parenting arrangement with Ava that felt like navigating a minefield.

Ava. Even now, weeks after our confrontation, the mere thought of her name sent a jolt through my system. Anger, hurt, and underneath it all, a dangerous current of desire that I couldn't seem to shake.

My phone buzzed, interrupting my brooding thoughts. A text from Ava lit up the screen: "News alert about break-ins at your hotels. Everything okay?"

I stared at the message, a confusing mix of emotions swirling in my chest. Was that concern in her text? Did she actually care about what was happening to me, to my business?

Before I could decide how to respond, another text came through: "Oliver's asking if you're still coming to his soccer game this weekend."

Right. The soccer game. In the midst of all this chaos, I'd almost forgotten. I typed out a quick reply: "Tell Oliver I'll be there. Wouldn't miss it for the world."

I hesitated for a moment, then added: "Thanks for checking in. I'm handling the situation."

As I hit send, I couldn't help but wonder what Ava was thinking, how she was reacting to the news. Was she worried about me? Or just concerned about how this might affect Oliver?

The thought of Ava fretting over my safety, even a little, stirred something in me that I didn't want to examine too closely.

[Ava]

The soft glow of the television filled the living room, casting dancing shadows on the walls. I sat curled up on the couch, my eyes glued to the screen as the news anchor detailed the string of break-ins at Ethan's hotels.

"Mommy?" Oliver's sleepy voice came from the hallway. "Why are you still up?"

I quickly muted the TV, forcing a smile as I turned to face my son. "Just watching a boring grown-up show, sweetheart. What are you doing out of bed?"

Oliver padded over to the couch, his favorite stuffed elephant clutched tightly to his chest. "I had a bad dream. Can I sit with you for a little bit?"

My heart melted at his request. "Of course, baby. Come here."

As Oliver snuggled into my side, I couldn't help but breathe in his sweet, sleepy scent. These were the moments I lived for, the quiet intimacy of motherhood that I'd cherished for the past five years.

But now, as I held my son close, I couldn't shake the nagging worry about Ethan. The news report had been vague on details, but it was clear that whatever was happening at his hotels was serious.

"Mommy?" Oliver's voice broke through my thoughts. "Is Daddy okay?"

I looked down at him, surprised. "What do you mean, sweetie?"

Oliver pointed at the TV, where footage of one of Ethan's hotels was still playing silently. "I saw Daddy's building on the news. Is he in trouble?"

I swallowed hard, trying to find the right words to explain without causing unnecessary worry. "Your daddy's hotels are having some problems, but I'm sure he's taking care of it. He's very good at fixing things."

Oliver nodded solemnly. "He is. He fixed my toy car last week when the wheel fell off."

The casual mention of Ethan's involvement in Oliver's life sent a pang through my chest. It was still strange, this new reality where Ethan was a constant presence, no longer just a painful memory or a what-if.

"That was nice of him," I said softly, running my fingers through Oliver's unruly curls. "Your daddy cares about you very much."

"I know," Oliver said, his voice already growing heavy with sleep. "He said he's going to teach me how to play golf next weekend. Can I go, Mommy? Please?"

I hesitated for a moment, old instincts warring with the new arrangement we'd been trying to navigate. But the hopeful look in Oliver's eyes – Ethan's eyes – made the decision for me.

"Of course you can go, sweetheart. If that's what you want."

Oliver's face lit up with a sleepy smile. "Thanks, Mommy. You're the best."

As Oliver drifted off to sleep in my arms, I found myself reaching for my phone. Before I could talk myself out of it, I sent a text to Ethan: "News alert about break-ins at your hotels. Everything okay?"

I stared at the sent message, my heart racing. Was I overstepping? Would he think I was prying into his business?

Before I could spiral further, I sent another text: "Oliver's asking if you're still coming to his soccer game this weekend."

There. That was safer territory.

Ethan's reply came almost immediately: "Tell Oliver I'll be there. Wouldn't miss it for the world."

A moment later, another message popped up: "Thanks for checking in. I'm handling the situation."

I read and reread the messages, trying to decipher any hidden meaning in his words. Was that gratitude in his tone? Or was I just projecting, reading too much into a simple text exchange?

As I carried a sleeping Oliver back to his bed, I couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had settled in my stomach. Whatever was happening with Ethan's hotels, it was clearly serious. And despite everything that had happened between us, despite the anger and hurt that still simmered beneath the surface, I found myself genuinely worried about him.

Tucking Oliver in, I pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. "Sweet dreams, my love," I whispered.

Back in the living room, I unmuted the TV, watching as more details about the break-ins emerged. The reporter mentioned potential inside jobs, sophisticated hacking techniques, and the possibility of corporate espionage.

Without thinking, I picked up my phone again, my thumb hovering over Ethan's name in my contacts. Should I call him? Offer support? Or would that be crossing a line we'd silently agreed to maintain?

In the end, I set the phone down without making the call. But as I headed to bed, my mind still swirling with thoughts of Ethan and the troubles he was facing, I couldn't deny the truth any longer.

Despite everything, despite the years of separation and the hurt we'd caused each other, a part of me still cared deeply for Ethan Blackwood. And that realization was more terrifying than any external threat we might face.