Page 29 of His Secret Merger

I wasn’t even mad. I was intrigued—that was a problem.

I spotted Gabrielle’s car in the garage, and Anthony’s was conspicuously absent. Perfect.

I thumbed out a quick text.

Juliette: Come over. I need to talk. Bring Julian. Don’t bring judgment.

She replied two seconds later:

Gabrielle: Are you dying? Or just overly dramatic again?

Juliette: Not dying. Just… medically unsettled.

Gabrielle: Oh, Jesus. On my way.

Five minutes later, she walked into my guesthouse like she owned it, baby on her hip and eyebrows already raised.

Julian gave me a gummy smile and reached for my necklace. Gabrielle just tilted her head.

“Should I be worried?”

“Only if you believe in fate, irony, and karmic sperm banks,” I said, locking the door behind her.

She blinked. “You’re gonna have to run that sentence back.”

I handed her a glass of wine and took a long sip from mine. “You have to swear not to tell Anthony. Or anyone. I mean it, Gabby. I’ll know if you do. I’ll feel it in the twin portal.”

She smirked. “Cross my ovaries. Now, tell me what’s going on.”

I let the words come out in order—first the appointment, the doctor, the annoying hormone wait. The delay in testing. The doctor’s clinical voice. The legal disclaimers.

Gabrielle listened closely, her face carefully still.

“And then,” I said, voice lowering, “I logged into the donor catalog.”

She set down her wine. “You what?”

“I wasn’t going to. I was just… curious. Killing time. You know me—I emotionally spiral through research.”

“And?”

I took another sip. “I found someone. A Miami Hurricane. Fluent in French and German. Business background. Childhood photo that looked like his PR team airbrushed it. Favorite hobby?” I paused. “Yachting.”

Gabrielle’s mouth opened.

I nodded.

She whispered, “You think it’s Damian?”

“I don’t think,” I said. “Iknow.”

She blinked again, slower this time. “You’re sure?”

“I’d bet my vintage Chanel bag and a month of orgasms on it.”

She let out a strangled noise. “Why would a man like Damian donate sperm?”

“I asked myself the same thing,” I said, setting down my glass. “And then I laughed. Out loud. Because it’ssohim, reproduce without responsibility? Spread his legacy through a cryogenic filing cabinet? Honestly, it’s probably in his will.”

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