Chapter 11

❤️Sophie❤️

I stare at him like I heard him wrong. Did he just threaten me? I’m the one in need of a baby daddy, I should be the one doing the ordering here. Not some crazy billionaire who makes everyone around him breathless.

This man has to be kidding me. I step back and face him, folding my arms stubbornly. “No.”

His brow rises suspiciously, “No?”

I nod, “Yes. You don’t get to order me around. I’m a pregnant woman, you should learn to treat us nicely. And secondly, this is insane. You are not who I ordered. Definitely not you. I'm sure the guy is your younger brother, are you covering for him because he’s shy?”

He watches me without saying a thing.

I carefully wipe the wine off my face, I’m not about to give him the satisfaction of thinking I'm an annoying college student. “Please help me to call my baby daddy, tell him I don’t mind if he’s shy. I would rather deal with a shy twenty-three-year-old man than a thirty-three-year-old billionaire who owns half the city.”

“ I’m shadow_23. You talk too much.”

I throw my hands up exasperatedly, “So now it’s my fault? We wouldn’t be having this conversation in the first place if you had not kidnapped my baby daddy and appeared as him.”

The corner of his mouth twitches again.

“Okay, so now you are amused. After making me look crazy?”

He puts both hands inside his pockets now, staring at me with that unimpressed expression that makes me want to pull out his hair.

“What do you want?”

I almost hug him in relief. Almost. “Thanks. I want my twenty-three baby daddy.”

“Well, there is no twenty-three baby daddy, I’m thirty three and I’m willing to marry you.”

“That’s ten years' difference.”

“It is.”

“So why are you here?”

“You asked for a husband.”

“ I asked for a young husband. Not you.”

“Are you implying that I’m old?”

“ I didn’t say that. I meant,” I bite the inside of my cheek, “ you are older. Much older than me. I specifically wrote 23-25.”

“You did.”

“And you are thirty-three.”

“So?”

“You are disqualified.”

For the first time, he chuckles, although it comes out cold and short, “No. I choose not to be.”

I glare at him, excuse me? Who rejects disqualification? I fold my arms, “You can’t simply decide the rule doesn’t apply to you.”

“ I already did.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“ I am. I will do more than a twenty-three-year-old can do for you.”

“And what exactly is that?”

“If you marry me, you won’t need to work or suffer for anything for the rest of your life.”

Exasperated, I pat my stomach a little, “My child, I’m trying. I really am, I try to give you a young daddy, but your mother accidentally found the CEO version of a fake daddy.”

Silence falls in the place, and it’s suffocating. Adrian finally goes over to a sofa and sits with his legs crossed. He relaxes into the chair like he owns the entire place. Actually, he does.

“Sit.”

I blink, “Was that a request?”

“No.”

“It sounded rude.”

“It was an instruction.”

“ I don’t take instructions well.”

“ I noticed, I’ve known you for a few minutes and you already offended me four times. People usually know when to stop talking around me. You apparently missed that lesson.”

What sort of arrogance is this? This man must think highly of himself.

“I'm not sitting.”

He checks his time, like I'm already wasting it. “Why?”

“Because if I sit, this becomes a meeting.”

“It is a meeting.”

“Nope. It’s a misunderstanding.”

He extends one hand, “Show me the advertisement.”

I hand him the phone, then hesitate just before I give it to him, “Why?”

“Because I would like to read what convinced me to come here.”

Releasing a breath, I slowly give the phone to him. He takes it. Silence fills the room as his eyes move across the screen.

He studies every word. Every condition. Twenty-three to twenty-five. Two-year marriage. Two million dollars. Strict confidentiality.

He hands the phone back, “Interesting.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes.”

“ I poured my desperation into that advertisement and the only thing you could say is interesting.”

“ I was being honest.”

I don’t know if I should be offended or grateful. He studies me again, long enough to make me uncomfortable, then he asks, “How many hours do you have left?”

The question catches me off guard, “What?”

“Before your father throws you out.”

Every humor drains from my face. How…..how does he know that?

I swallow, “Twenty-four hours.”

His expression doesn’t change, “So you are desperate.”

The word cuts through me like a blade. And I hate it. Desperation.

“I'm not desperate.”

“You offered two million dollars to marry a stranger so you are.”

I open my mouth to argue, and close it back, damn it. I hate that he’s right. I really am desperate.

He leans back slightly, his voice calm enough to make my stomach tighten, “One last question.”

I nod quietly, “What?”

“Do you care who your husband is?”

“Of course I—“

“Wrong answer, because if you truly cared,” he pauses long enough for the silence to become unbearable. “ you never would have posted that advertisement in the first place.”

My heart drops.

“You are not looking for a husband Sophie, you are looking for someone to save you.”