The Fold He Left Behind

Chapter 6: The Orchid’s Root

The humidity in Singapore wasn't just weather; it was a handshake. Warm, damp, and impossible to ignore. Beth stood on the balcony of her suite, wearing nothing but one of the hotel’s plush white robes. The silk tie rested loosely against her belly, the fabric parting slightly to expose the smooth, expanding curve of her stomach to the morning sun. It felt decadent. Wrong, in the best possible way.

Below, the city moved with a synchronized chaos. But up here, it was just her and the heat. She sipped her coffee—black, no sugar—and felt the caffeine hit her system with a pleasant jolt. Her body was changing faster now. The nausea had mostly passed, replaced by a hollow, gnawing hunger that seemed to live in her bones. She was eating for two, yes, but it felt like she was feeding a predator. A beautiful, ruthless one.

Today, Fold & Co. would officially exist beyond a stamped piece of paper. Today, she would meet the man who would give her the keys to the city’s underbelly.

A knock at the door. Not the main entrance, but the private service entrance she’d requested. Beth tightened the robe, her bare feet silent on the cool marble as she crossed the room. She peeked through the spyhole. A man stood there—late forties, sharp eyes, a suit that cost more than most cars. Marco Vellini. Italian.

Connected. And, most importantly, someone who owed Francis a favor Francis didn't even know he’d given.

She opened the door. Marco’s gaze swept over her, a practiced, professional assessment that nevertheless lingered a fraction too long on the gap of her robe, the flush high on her cheeks from the heat. He didn’t bother hiding his appreciation. Good. She wanted him looking. She just didn’t want him to touch.

"Ms. Fold," Marco said, his accent a smooth, rich baritone. "You look... well-rested." His eyes said she looked like a woman who had been thoroughly enjoyed, despite the fact she’d spent the night alone.

"I sleep well when I’m in control of my own air conditioning," Beth replied, her voice cool. She stepped aside, allowing him in. "Coffee?"

"Please." He moved into the suite with the easy confidence of a man who owned every room he entered. He settled onto the cream-colored sofa, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. "You have a lovely view. A lovely... everything." His gaze flicked to the balcony, to the robe, to the way the silk clung to the dampness at the base of her throat.

Beth poured two cups, her movements deliberate. She handed him one, then leaned against the desk, one hip c****d, the robe falling open just enough to reveal the smooth, pale column of her thigh. She saw his pupils dilate. Men like Marco were predictable. They saw a beautiful, pregnant woman alone in a luxury suite, and they thought 'vulnerable.' They thought 'available.' They didn't see the scalpel hidden beneath the silk.

"You’ve reviewed the prospectus?" she asked, bypassing pleasantries.

"I have." Marco took a slow sip of coffee, his eyes never leaving hers. "Ambitious. Targeting the renewable energy sector in a region drowning in fossil fuel money. You’re either a genius, Ms. Fold, or you have a death wish."

"Perhaps both," Beth said, a small, cold smile playing on her lips. She shifted her weight, and the movement caused the robe to gape further. She saw the exact moment Marco noticed the slight, firm swell of her abdomen. His eyebrows lifted, just a millimeter. Surprise. Interest. A new variable in his calculations.

"A child," he murmured. It wasn't a question.

"A complication," Beth corrected, her tone flat. "Once I’ve accounted for." She pushed away from the desk, walking toward him with a slow, deliberate sway. She stopped a foot away, close enough that he could smell the citrus of her shampoo, the salt on her skin. She looked down at him, letting him see the hardness in her eyes, the absolute lack of invitation. "I’m not here to be a novelty, Marco. I’m here to eat. And I hear you know where the choicest cuts are buried."

Marco leaned back, a slow smile spreading across his face. He got it now. The pregnancy wasn't a weakness. It was a shield. A declaration that she was already claimed—by life itself—and thus, untouchable by casual predators. It made her more dangerous, not less. "The Savages have a lot of interests in this region," he said, his tone shifting from suggestive to serious. "Your interest in their rivals... it raises questions."

"Let it raise questions," Beth said. She reached out, trailing a single fingernail down the lapel of his expensive suit. The gesture was intimate, but her eyes were icy. "I’m not interested in Francis Savage’s leftovers. I’m interested in what he’s too blind to see. Like the port development in Tuas. The one he laughed off six months ago because the environmental impact reports were 'too messy.'"

Marco’s smile faded. He sat up straighter. "You know about Tuas?"

"I know it’s sitting on a bedrock of rare earth minerals that will make the North Sea oil fields look like a kiddie pool," Beth whispered, leaning in until her lips were a breath from his ear. She let the warmth of her breath ghost over his skin, a reward for his attention. "I know the current leaseholders are about to default on a loan they don’t even know is callable. And I know you have the connections to make that call happen three weeks from now."

She pulled back, leaving him with the phantom sensation of her nearness. She walked back to the desk, putting a safe distance between them. The power dynamic had shifted. She was no longer the woman in the robe. She was the woman with the blueprint.

Marco was silent for a long moment, processing. He drained his coffee, his mind clearly racing. "You’re playing a very dangerous game, Ms. Fold. Using Savage’s own strategies against him..."

"He didn't invent the strategies, Marco. I did." Beth’s voice was a whip-crack. "He just took the credit." She looked at him, letting him see the truth of it. The betrayal. The fire. "I’m not asking for your help out charity. I’m offering you a front-row seat to the demolition of an empire. And a percentage of the spoils."

Marco studied her. His gaze softened, not with lust, but with a grudging respect. He saw it now. The brilliance. The ruthlessness. The sheer, unmitigated gall of a woman who would walk into the lion’s den while carrying its cub. "You’re a cold one," he said finally, a note of admiration in his voice. "Like a f*****g orchid. Beautiful, but you’d have to be careful where you put your roots."

"Orchids thrive in heat, Marco," Beth said, her hand drifting to rest on her belly. She felt a faint, fluttery sensation—the first stirrings of life. A confirmation. "And I’ve found mine."

He stood, smoothing his tie. "I’ll make the call. Three weeks. But Ms. Fold..." He paused at the door, looking back at her. "Be careful. Men like Savage don't lose gracefully. And when he finds out who’s gutting his legacy, he won't just want his money back. He’ll want his pride. And you’re holding both."

Beth met his gaze, unblinking. "He can try. But he’ll find I’ve changed the locks."

After he left, the suite felt colder. Beth walked back to the balcony, letting the heat wrap around her again. She looked down at her hands. They were steady. Inside, the flutter came again, stronger this time. A tiny, insistent kick against her palm.

She smiled. The game had begun.