THREE BILLION DOLLAR BABIES

Chapter 9: The Decision

Dominic didn't make me wait the full twenty-four hours.

At 7 AM the next morning, my phone rang. I was still at Yuki's, hadn't slept more than two hours, and seriously considered not answering.

But I did.

"Riley." His voice was rough, like he hadn't slept either. "We need to talk. In person."

"It's seven in the morning."

"I know. Can you meet me?"

"Where?"

"My office. I'll send a car."

"I can take the subway—"

"Please. Just... let me send a car."

There was something in his voice. Not the cold command I was used to. Something else. Something that sounded almost like pleading.

"Fine. Give me an hour."

"Thank you."

He hung up before I could respond.

Yuki emerged from her bedroom, hair wild. "Was that him?"

"He wants to meet. At his office."

"Want me to come?"

"No. I need to do this alone." I stood, stretched, felt the familiar nausea rising. "Can I borrow something to wear? I've been in these clothes for two days."

"Take anything. And Riley?" Yuki grabbed my hand. "Whatever he says, remember—you have options. You're not powerless here."

I nodded, but I didn't feel powerful. I felt exhausted and scared and completely out of my depth.

The black SUV arrived exactly one hour later. The same driver who'd taken me home after the procedure, silent and professional. We drove through morning traffic to Midtown, pulling up in front of a gleaming skyscraper with "STEELE ENTERPRISES" emblazoned across the entrance.

I'd never been to Dominic's actual office. It was intimidating—all glass and steel, security guards, people in expensive suits moving with purpose. I felt completely out of place in Yuki's borrowed dress and my old cardigan.

"Dr. Morgan?" A woman in her forties approached, warm smile, kind eyes. "I'm Elena Rodriguez, Mr. Steele's executive assistant. He's expecting you. Please, follow me."

We took a private elevator to the forty-second floor. The doors opened onto a reception area that probably cost more than my annual salary. Floor-to-ceiling windows, modern art, that particular hush that came with serious money.

"Can I get you anything? Water? Tea?" Elena asked.

"I'm fine. Thank you."

"He's in his office. Through those doors." She hesitated. "For what it's worth, I've never seen him this rattled. Whatever you two are dealing with, it's affecting him deeply."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I just nodded.

Elena knocked once, then opened the door. "Dr. Morgan is here."

"Thank you, Elena."

I stepped inside and the door closed behind me with a soft click.

Dominic's office was massive. Corner views of Manhattan, a desk that could probably seat twelve people for dinner, leather furniture that screamed wealth and power. But what struck me most was Dominic himself.

He stood at the windows, hands in his pockets, still wearing yesterday's suit. He looked wrecked—hair disheveled, tie missing, exhaustion in every line of his body.

"You look terrible," I said.

He turned. "I didn't sleep."

"Neither did I."

We stared at each other across the expanse of his office. Two people who'd accidentally created three lives together, trying to figure out what the hell happened next.

"I've been thinking," Dominic said finally. "All night. About what you said. About these being my actual children, not symbolic replacements."

"And?"

"And you're right. They're real. Three actual human beings who will exist whether I'm ready or not." He moved toward his desk, pulled out a folder. "I had my lawyers review the contract. You were correct—it's void. The circumstances are completely different from what we agreed to."

"I know."

"Which means legally, we're both parents. Equal rights. Equal claims." He set the folder down. "I could fight you for custody. I have unlimited resources, the best lawyers, the ability to prove I can provide a better life materially."

My chest tightened. "But?"

"But that's not what I want."

I released a breath I didn't know I was holding. "What do you want?"

Dominic looked at me, really looked at me, for the first time since this whole nightmare began. "I want to know if you're planning to keep them."

"I..." I pressed my hand to my stomach. "I wasn't planning to be a mother. I'm broke, I just lost my job, I live in a studio apartment. I'm completely unequipped for one baby, let alone three."

"That's not an answer."

"I know." I met his eyes. "But when you suggested termination yesterday, my immediate response was no. Absolutely not. These babies are healthy and growing and they deserve a chance. So yes. I'm keeping them. All three."

Something flickered across Dominic's face. Relief, maybe.

"Even though it'll be hard?" he asked. "Even though you'll be doing it alone?"

"Who says I'll be alone?"

"You think I'm going to help?" His voice was bitter. "I don't know how to be a father. I'll probably screw them up like my father screwed me up."

"Then learn. Figure it out. Be better than he was."

"It's not that simple."

"Nothing about this is simple!" My voice rose. "But those babies exist. They're coming. And you have a choice—be their father or walk away. But you don't get to hover in this middle ground where you're involved but not committed."

Dominic's jaw clenched. "You're asking me to make a decision I'm not ready for."

"You have seven months to get ready. But I need to know now if I'm planning for one parent or two."

Silence stretched between us, heavy and tense.

Finally, Dominic spoke. "I was supposed to marry Victoria. Build a life with her. Have children with her. That was the plan."

"I know."

"And then she died, and the plan died with her. I spent three years frozen because moving forward felt like betrayal."

"I understand—"

"I'm not finished." He stepped closer. "The surrogacy was supposed to be safe. Controlled. I'd get the family I lost without the risk of actually feeling anything. Victoria's genetic children, raised by me, no emotional complications."

"But that's not what happened."

"No. Instead I have three biological children with a woman I've treated terribly. A woman I blamed for three years. A woman I called an incubator." His voice cracked. "I was cruel to you."

"Yes. You were."

"I'm sorry."

The apology hung in the air between us. I'd never expected to hear it.

"Why were you cruel?" I asked. "The truth."

Dominic looked away. "Because you were easier to hate than the universe. Victoria's death was random, meaningless. No one's fault. Accepting that meant accepting I was powerless. But blaming you? That gave me control. Someone to be angry at. A target."

"That's not fair."

"I know. None of it was fair. You didn't deserve my anger." He turned back to me. "But I gave it to you anyway because I'm a coward who can't process grief like a normal person."

I'd expected many things from Dominic Steele. Brutal honesty wasn't one of them.

"What changed?" I asked softly.

"Yesterday. When you said these are our children. Not Victoria's. Ours." He sat on the edge of his desk. "I realized I've been holding onto a ghost for three years. Using Victoria's memory as an excuse to not live. Not feel. Not move forward."

"She wouldn't want that."

"No. She wouldn't." He smiled sadly. "Victoria would have kicked my ass for how I've treated you. She was kind. Genuinely kind to everyone. If she knew I blamed you for an unavoidable accident, she'd be furious."

Tears pricked my eyes. I didn't want to cry in front of him, but hearing him talk about Victoria with love instead of rage was breaking something open in my chest.

"I'm sorry I couldn't save her," I whispered.

"I know. I read the medical board report. All of it. Multiple times. You did everything right. She had a one-in-a-million reaction that no one could have predicted." Dominic's voice was thick. "I'm sorry I made you carry that guilt."

We stood there in his expensive office, two broken people who'd accidentally created life together, and for the first time, I saw him as human. Not a villain. Not a cold billionaire. Just a man who'd lost everything and didn't know how to find his way back.

"So what now?" I asked.

Dominic took a deep breath. "Now I make a choice. Be a father or walk away." He looked at my stomach, where three tiny lives were growing. "I'm terrified. I don't know what I'm doing. I'll probably make a thousand mistakes."

"But?"

"But they're my children. Biologically, legally, and apparently by cosmic accident." His eyes met mine. "I want to be their father. If you'll let me."

Relief flooded through me so intensely I had to sit down. Dominic was immediately there, guiding me to the leather couch, looking concerned.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm pregnant with triplets and emotionally overwhelmed. I'm the opposite of okay." I laughed shakily. "But I'm glad I won't be doing this alone."

"You won't be. I promise." Dominic sat beside me, careful distance between us. "But we need to figure out logistics. Living arrangements, medical care, financial support—"

"I'm not moving into your penthouse."

"Riley—"

"I mean it. I need my independence. I can't be under your control."

"What if I offered partnership instead of control?"

I looked at him skeptically. "What does that mean?"

"It means we co-parent. Equally. You keep your autonomy, I support you financially and practically, and we figure out how to raise three babies together without killing each other."

"That's a tall order."

"I'm aware." He almost smiled. "But we're having triplets together. Nothing about this will be easy."

He had a point.

"Okay," I said finally. "Partnership. Co-parenting. We figure this out together."

"Together," Dominic agreed.

We sat in silence for a moment, the weight of what we'd just committed to settling over us.

"I should go," I said. "I need to call the lawyer Marcus recommended. Figure out the legal side."

"Sarah Reynolds. She's excellent. Marcus chose well."

"You're okay with me having my own lawyer?"

"Riley, you should have your own lawyer. Your own representation. Your own everything." Dominic stood when I did. "I'm not trying to control you. I'm trying to be... better."

At the door, I turned back. "Dominic? Thank you. For being honest. For choosing to be their father. It means—it means everything."

Something soft crossed his face. "Thank you for giving me the chance. I don't deserve it."

"Maybe not. But they deserve to have a father who wants them."

I left before the tears could fall.

In the elevator, I pressed my hand to my stomach and whispered, "Your dad is trying. It's messy and complicated, but he's trying. That's something."

It was more than something. It was hope.