Page 98 of Knot Your Baby

“That’s absurd,” O’Hearn scoffs. “Why would anyone—”

“Because someone wanted to create confusion about paternity. Someone is trying to discredit Ms. Rose and you’re being used,” Miller interrupts. “The omega you think you impregnated was at Club Midnight that night, not at the clinic.”

Club Midnight.My cheeks burn at the memory. At my desperation.

“Club Midnight?” O’Hearn sounds bewildered. “What does that sex club have to do with this?”

“That’s where conception actually occurred,” Zane explains. “Natural conception. Between Thorne here and his mate.”

Mate.

“That’s very convenient and I don’t believe a word of this,” O’Hearn says flatly. “Show me this omega. Let me hear it from her.”

“No,” Zane and Thorne growl in unison.

I should hold back, but knowing I can end this now, I push the door open and step into the office. Four pairs of eyes swivel toward me—Thorne’s anxious, Miller’s stunned, Zane’s cautious, and the stranger’s confused.

Patrick O’Hearn is younger than I expected, maybe mid-thirties, with sandy hair and a clean-cut appearance that speaks of money and education. He stares at me without a hint of recognition.

“Do you recognize me?” I ask, my voice steadier than I feel.

He shakes his head slowly. “Should I?”

“I’m Freya Rose,” I say, watching as he searches his memory and comes up empty.

“Ms. Rose,” he acknowledges with polite confusion. “I’m afraid I don’t recall meeting you.” He sniffs the air to take in my perfume. “But you do smell delightful.”

I don’t acknowledge the perfume response.

“Because we’ve never met.” I step further into the room, drawing on courage I didn’t know I still possessed. “I was booked at the clinic, but I gave my slot to another omega named Ebony Edwards. She needed it more than I did.”

His brow furrows. “Ebony Edwards? Did she have my baby?”

“No.” I reach into my pocket for my phone, pulling up the confirmation email from the clinic and showing it to him. “Here’s my email exchange telling Ebony what she had to do.”

O’Hearn studies it, frowning. “But I received correspondence telling me I had a baby by you, not Ebony Edwards.”

“Someone lied to you,” Thorne says, coming to stand beside me. His proximity strengthens my resolve.

“As for where I was that night.” I pull up another screen on my phone and turn it to show him my Club Midnight membership entry log. “I was here. With him.” I nod toward Thorne.

“And we now have confirmation from the club’s security system,” Miller adds. “And from genetic testing. The child is unquestionably the offspring of these two people.”

O’Hearn sinks into a chair, the implications hitting him. “Someone deliberately set this up. Made me believe...” His face darkens with anger. “Do you know who?”

“I can’t tell you,” Thorne says. “I don’t want any violence.”

“I’m not going to kill anyone over this, Mr. Stone,” he says. “I’d just like to know why the person believes it.”

“Because you still don’t believe me?” Thorne replies as he slides a photograph across the desk. “Have you spoken to this woman?”

O’Hearn picks up the picture of Maya, studying it, but doesn’t respond.

“Was this her?” Thorne asks.

“I don’t know. I only spoke by telephone to someone claiming to be from the clinic.” He looks at the picture again and then looks up. “Who is she?”

“My assistant,” Thorne replies with a sigh. Her betrayal reflected in his tone.

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