Page 112 of Sexting the Billionaire

What happens next passes in disjointed fragments. Camden rushing out, Taylor appearing with wide, frightened eyes. The phone call, Roman's voice sharp with alarm. His arrival moments later, face drawn with fear as he takes in the sight of me—pale, trembling, the stain on my dress unmistakable.

"I'm taking you to the hospital," he says, no room for argument in his tone. "Now."

"The Grant meeting," I protest weakly. "It's in an hour. You can't miss it."

"Watch me." He's already gathering my things, his arm supporting my waist with gentle strength. "Zara's rescheduling. This is all that matters right now."

The ride to the hospital passes in tense silence, Roman's hand gripping mine so tightly it almost hurts. I can feel his fear matching my own—the terror that this tiny life we've only just discovered is already slipping away. I've never seen him like this, not even during the most stressful business crisis. His legendary control has abandoned him entirely, raw emotion visible in every line of his face.

"It could be normal," I say, trying to convince myself as much as him. "The doctor mentioned spotting can happen."

"We're not taking chances," he says, his voice rough. "Not with you. Not with our baby."

Our baby. Two simple words that have transformed everything in our lives, reordering priorities, reshaping futures. I lean against his shoulder, drawing strength from his solid presence, and try not to think about how quickly something can be lost before it's fully realized.

At the hospital, Roman's name ensures immediate attention. Within minutes, I'm in an exam room, a concerned doctor explaining the ultrasound procedure while Roman paces beside the bed, his composure cracking with each passing moment.

"Please," he says to the doctor, and I'm stunned to hear actual pleading in his voice. "Just tell us if the baby is okay."

The doctor's face remains professionally neutral as she applies the gel and positions the wand. The room fills with static, and then—the most beautiful sound I've ever heard. A rapid, rhythmic whooshing that makes the doctor smile for the first time.

"That's a strong heartbeat," she says, turning the screen so we can see. "One hundred and sixty-two beats per minute, exactly where we want it to be."

"But the bleeding," I say, hardly daring to believe the evidence before my eyes—the tiny flickering light on the screen, the thundering proof of life filling the room.

"Some spotting is normal in early pregnancy," she explains. "I don't see any signs of concern on the ultrasound. The placenta is developing normally, and the embryo measures right on schedule for seven weeks."

"So everything's okay?" Roman asks, his voice hoarse with emotion.

"Everything looks perfect," she confirms. "But I do want you to take it easy for the next few days, Ms. Monroe. Reduce stress, rest more, stay hydrated."

"I'll make sure of it," Roman says, and in his voice is the unmistakable return of the CEO—the man who makes things happen, who bends circumstances to his will.

I should find it irritating, this automatic assumption of control over my well-being. Instead, it fills me with a strange comfort. Right now, I don't want to be strong alone. I want to lean, just a little, on someone who's willing to carry part of the weight.

Back at my apartment, Roman is in full caretaker mode—arranging pillows, bringing water, checking his watch every time I so much as shift position on the couch. It would be amusing if it weren't so endearing.

"You don't have to hover," I tell him as he rearranges the throw blanket over me for the third time. "The doctor said everything's fine."

"She said to rest and reduce stress," he counters, perching on the edge of the couch. "I'm simply ensuring compliance with medical directives."

"Is that what you're calling it?" I can't help but smile at his seriousness. "Not overprotective boyfriend behavior?"

"Overprotective father behavior," he corrects, his hand finding mine. "I'm afraid you're going to have to get used to it."

The simple declaration, said so casually, brings unexpected tears to my eyes. Father. He's embracing this role with the same dedicated intensity he brings to everything. But there's a tenderness in it I've never seen before, a softness that contradicts everything the world knows about Roman Kade.

A knock at the door interrupts before I can respond. Roman tenses immediately, protective instincts flaring. "Are you expecting someone?"

"No, but it's probably Mia. She has a key but still knocks." I start to rise, but Roman gently pushes me back against the pillows.

"I'll get it," he says, moving toward the door with wary efficiency.

I hear Mia's voice in the entryway, bright with her usual energy. "I brought soup! Taylor said you weren't feeling well, so I... oh. You're here."

Her surprise at finding Roman answering my door is evident even from the other room. Despite everything that's happened, we haven't had time to tell Mia about the pregnancy. Roman ushers her into the living room, where she stops short at the sight of me bundled on the couch.

"What's going on?" she asks, her gaze darting between us. "Are you really sick? Why is Roman playing nurse?”

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