Chapter 1

Marcelina~

Dom Vitali was going to be the man to give me my baby.

The thought landed in my head fully formed and terrifying, like a diagnosis you do not want but already understand. It did not come with emotions like lust or desire. It came with certainty, and that scared me more than guilt ever could.

I glanced at the tablet in my hand, even though I’ve already memorized every line of his report. This appointment was a follow-up, and unfortunately, it was the last. 

The foundation was laid during the first meeting weeks ago, involving baseline scans, cognitive testing, and reaction time assessments amongst many others. Today was supposed to be another routine.

But it wasn't.

"Let's continue," I said, tapping my tablet to wake the screen. "Have the headaches increased since our last session?"

"Same,"

"Frequency?"

"Does it matter?"

There we go again.

I forced my face into something neutral and looked up at him. "Yes,"

"Then no,"

I made a note anyway. He always did that. Like this was just a waste of time and not his sixth neurological evaluation in three weeks.

By the third evaluation, I already knew Dom Vitali's body better than I knew most people in my life. I knew his resting heart rate, the rhythm of his heartbeat under stress, the way his pupil reacted a fraction of a second slower after intense exertion.  

I knew the scans and the reports. The numbers said he was fine, but his body insisted otherwise. And still, he sat across from me like a locked door. 

Adjusting my tablet, I continued. "Any dizziness?"

"No,"

"Blackouts?" 

Silence.

I lifted my eyes. He was looking at me with that same unreadable stare. Dark, assessing, like he wasn't listening to my words but weighing my intent. I suddenly wondered what he would do if he discovered what I was planning.

"No," he said at last.

The answer came easily, but the look did not. It made my stomach tighten even more. 

Shifting in my chair, I suddenly felt hot under his gaze. The air conditioning hummed softly above us, but heat crawled under my skin anyway.

"Nightmares?" 

Another pause. 

Just long enough to feel deliberate.

"Define nightmare." 

I ignored the way my pulse jumped. "Recurring dreams that disrupt sleep." 

"I sleep fine."

I noted it down even though I didn’t believe him. "Disorientation?"

"No,"

"Memory gaps?"

He didn't answer immediately. 

Instead, he leaned back in his seat and pinned me where I sat with those dark gray eyes of his. With his arms crossed over his chest and his jaw tight, he looked bored and irritated. 

"You ask that every time."

"And I'll keep asking,"

"Why?"

"Because it's my job, Mr. Vitali," I replied, keeping a neutral face. "And today happens to be the last day of your evaluation,"

The accident was the reason he sat across from me in a Brioni suit that probably cost more than my annual rent and salary combined. It was the only reason a man like him was required to answer my questions. And I knew he hated every second of it.

On paper, he was untouchable. He was a billionaire, founder of Vitali Group, and owner of the most exclusive clubs in Milan, New York, Ibiza, and Dubai. He was also big on real estate, private investments, and owned a motorsport racing team.

And that—that is where the accident occurred.

According to the reports, his sports car had collided with a concrete barrier at high speed. That kind of impact should've killed him or at least left permanent damage. Instead, Dom Vitali walked out of the wreckage with nothing but internal bruising and a loss of consciousness that lasted exactly four minutes.

Four minutes that no one could explain.

His private physicians had cleared him, but they wanted an external neurological and psychological evaluation before signing off on his return to full activity.

That was where I came in. 

And that was where all the wrong ideas about obtaining my baby from him started forming in my brain. I knew it was wrong. But my reasons were right. 

Dom Vitali was genetically clean.

And I needed that more than I needed forgiveness for what I was about to do.

"You're staring," 

I forced my eyes away from him and smiled even though my pulse betrayed me. "Just looking at a man who should've died a month ago,"

He leaned further into his seat and laced his fingers together over his stomach. The movement pulled the suit tight across his chest and I hated that my eyes followed it. I hated that my body noticed things my brain refused to acknowledge.

"Tell me about it, Doc,"

Heat curled low in my stomach and I shifted in my chair, hyper-aware of what his attention was doing to me. 

"From the reports, your car flipped twice before hitting the concrete. It's a miracle you're still alive, which brings us back to my last question." 

"I don't usually forget things," He replied, "If that's what you're asking,"

"People don't usually notice when they do,"

"I would,"

The confidence in his voice made my stomach tighten. If I eventually succeeded with my plan, he wouldn't forget. But that shouldn't matter, should it? It wasn't like he remembered all the women he slept with.

Shaking the thought off my mind, I crossed my legs. But then, his eyes followed the movement, slowly tracing every inch of my long legs until they climbed back to my face. 

Our eyes met. 

My hazel ones and his dark gray ones.

He was beautiful in a dangerous way and sinfully hot. The kind of man women impulsively dropped their panties for. And I hated that I noticed. Because attraction was a variable I did not allow. 

Not now, not ever.

Clearing my throat, I forced my attention back to the professional line between us.

Everything about him checks out.

Physically exceptional, neurologically steady, no degenerative markers, no genetic red flags—a man without a condition I feared. And yet... Something was missing.

"There's still no family medical history on record," I said as if it didn't matter. But it did to me.

"I told you," his gaze met mine, and his expression closed instantly, like it always does whenever I bring up the subject. "I don't have one,"

Everyone has one.

"Parents?" I continued like he hadn't spoken. "Siblings? Relatives?"

His jaw flexed. "Drop it."

I sighed and looked up at him, "I need complete information,"

"You already have what you need,"

Under his intense gaze, I suddenly felt hot all over again. I could feel my blouse sticking to my back and my fingers going damp around the tablet. Reaching up, I unbuttoned the top of my blouse in an attempt to get enough air. And once again, his eyes followed the movement, making it a lot worse.

The heat that spread through me was immediate and unwanted. 

Forcing my hand back down, I straightened and pretended not to notice the way his eyes lingered for a second too long. The thought that he was fully aware of my body did something it shouldn't have to me.

"You're uncomfortable," he noted.

"I'm fine," I replied too quickly.

I knew it was a bad idea to hold this last session in his office. But the part of me, curious to know what a faction of this man's world felt like, had immediately agreed.

"I've seen better liars, Dr. Owens," He said, pushing his chair back and rising to his feet. "And you're not one of them,"

My heart started beating heavily. I had the sudden, rational fear that if he kept looking at me like that, he would know. That he would see straight through the calm surface I worked so hard to maintain. And he would see what I wanted.

What I needed.

A child.

One that would be mine alone.

"It's like I said before, Mr. Vitali," I said, steering the conversation back to safer grounds. "The accident happened due to loss of consciousness while you were racing. Overall, your condition hasn't changed. The symptoms are consistent with post-traumatic neurological injury and nothing suggests progression."

"Hmm," He hummed, walking over to the liquor cabinet. He poured himself a glass of gin and swirled it once before taking a sip. 

"And since there's no record about your past or family medical records..."

"I can return to full activity," He said, cutting me off.

That's not what I wanted to say. But I knew it was his way of shutting me down. He didn't like being asked about his past or his family. And he had made it clear over the last three weeks.

"Yes," I replied. "With monitoring." 

The ice in his glass clinked softly as he swirled it once. "Figures,"

I should end the appointment here. I should pack my stuff and leave.

Instead, my gaze dropped briefly, unintentionally, to the way his trousers fit him. The way the fabric hugged his thighs was perfect, as if it had been made just for him. 

I don't usually notice things like that.

I was always too busy, too focused, and too married to my work to care about anything else. Adding to that, I didn't date or socialize. My life existed between labs, clinics, and conference halls. 

And I was slowly running out of time.

"You're cleared," I said, forcing my eyes away and ignoring the heat that crawled up my neck, "My work is done here,"

I did not know why my chest tightened the moment the words left my mouth. I only knew it hurt more than I expected. This was not just the end of the session. It was the end of any chance I had.

Because once I walked out that door, I would lose the one thing I needed from him. And there would be no way to ask for it.

"Is it?" He asked, and my heart skipped a beat.

His eyes met mine over the rim of his glass, but I looked away almost immediately. "Yes, Mr. Vitali. It was a pleasure,"

I wanted to cry. 

The tears were already burning behind my eyes as I grabbed my bag and walked towards the door. Just as my hand was about to touch the handle, his deep voice broke the silence.

"You ever gonna tell me what you're really looking for, Doc?"

My pulse stuttered.

This was my chance. 

I could easily turn around, smile, and bat my lashes or whatever it was women did when they wanted something from a man like him. But that was the problem. I had no idea how to do any of that. I was terrible at pretending, terrible at seduction, and terrible at anything else that wasn't my job. 

So I ruined it, if it even was a chance. 

"When I find it," I replied evenly. "you'll be the first to know."

With that, I pushed the door open and walked out before he could say another word.

Fuck me.