Chapter 1 - The Weight of a VowDr. Ellis clicked a key on his keyboard, freezing the image on the screen. The grainy gray-and-white silhouette of the baby remained suspended in a ghostly light.
“Everything looks textbook, Mr. Moretti. Heart rate is at 155 beats per minute. Strong, steady. The placenta is anterior, which is completely normal, but it means Chloe might feel the movements a little later than usual.”
Leo did not look at the doctor. His eyes remained fixed on the small, pulsing flicker on the screen.
“And the mother’s health?” Leo’s voice was low, carrying that habitual command that made even seasoned medical professionals straighten their posture.
“She’s slightly under her pre-pregnancy weight due to the first-trimester nausea, but her iron levels are stabilizing,” Dr. Ellis replied, tapping his pen against his clipboard. “I want her resting. No stress. High protein diet. No more walking around in the freezing rain on empty stomachs, Chloe.”
Chloe pulled her sweater tighter around herself, her cheeks warming. “I went for a Danish, not a march.”
“You went outside unprotected in October weather,” Leo corrected smoothly, his gaze finally shifting from the monitor to her face. There was no anger in his eyes, only an unyielding, territorial focus that made Chloe’s breath hitch. “Get dressed. The car is waiting.”
As Dr. Ellis stepped out to give them privacy, Chloe slid off the examination table. Her feet hit the cold paper roll. Before she could reach for her shoes, Leo knelt.
He didn’t ask. He simply lifted her left foot, sliding her swollen foot into the plush leather sneaker with practiced gentleness. His fingers brushed her ankle, warm and firm.
“You don’t have to do that,” Chloe murmured, looking down at the dark crown of his head.
“My child is inside you,” Leo said, standing up to tower over her once more. “Which means every detail regarding your well-being is now my direct jurisdiction.”
“I’m not one of your corporate assets, Leo.”
“Assets can be replaced,” he replied, his dark eyes locking onto hers with terrifying intensity. “You can’t.”
They drove back to Manhattan in silence, but the heavy aura in the back of the SUV had shifted. The memory of Bradley Hayes’ casual cruelty—“You got fat”—still lingered in the corners of Chloe’s mind like a bad smell. For years, Bradley had whittled her down, convincing her that her worth was measured in dress sizes, pristine productivity, and how well she fit into his high-society aesthetic.
When the car pulled up to the security gates of Chloe’s temporary residence—a secure, high-rise safehouse Leo had installed her in after the arrangement began—Leo spoke without looking at her.
“Bradley Hayes. Senior partner at Sterling & Vance Financial.”
Chloe froze, her hand hovering over the door handle. “How do you know who he is?”
“People who talk to my employees need to be vetted,” Leo said casually, pulling a sleek black phone from his pocket. “He’s overleveraged. Three bad investments in commercial real estate this year. His firm is bleeding capital, and he’s currently trying to secure a partnership buyout by buttering up senior executives.”
Chloe stared at him, horrified and fascinated in equal measure. “Leo, no. Leave him alone. He’s just an obnoxious, insecure ex. He isn't worth your time.”
“He insulted the mother of my child,” Leo said quietly. His thumb swiped across his screen. “That makes him a liability.”
“If you touch him, I swear to God I will find a way to disappear with this baby so fast your security detail won’t even see the dust,” Chloe snapped, turning on him with sudden, blazing fury.
Leo paused. He looked at her, really looked at her—at the fire in her brown eyes, the flush in her cheeks, and the fierce, protective slant of her jaw. A slow, dangerous smile touched the corner of his mouth.
“You think you can hide from me, Chloe?”
“Try me.”
“I like you better when you’re angry,” he murmured, leaning closer until the scent of cedar and rain enveloped her entirely. “It suits you much better than letting some suit-wearing parasite make you feel small. Go inside. Rest. We have a dinner tomorrow night.”
May you like
“What dinner?”
“My mother’s anniversary gala,” Leo said smoothly. “And you are going to be my date. I suggest you wear something that makes it very, very clear what you are carrying.”
