CHAPTER 78: MARRY HER

Adrian sat in his apartment, the soft clink of ice against glass the only sound filling the room, save for the faint hum of his laptop’s fan. The amber swirl of whiskey in his tumbler matched the way his insides felt—burning, slow, and heavy.

He should have turned it off the second the notification pinged on his phone.

Clara Marquez is LIVE.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he sat there like an idiot, staring at the woman he once thought he wanted, tears streaking down her perfectly made-up face, that soft tremble in her voice—the carefully measured pauses, the "authentic" cracks of grief. He knew Clara. Knew how good she was at making herself the victim, at twisting words into silk ribbons she could tie into a noose for someone else’s reputation.

But still... this wasn’t what gutted him.

No, what gutted him was the look in her eyes when she touched her stomach.

He didn’t need her to say it.

Didn’t need the millions of viewers gawking at their phones, leaning closer when she finally whispered it like a guilty confession.

"I’m pregnant."

His fingers gripped the edge of the couch, knuckles pale under the strain.

Pregnant.

And everyone knew exactly whose baby it was supposed to be.

His.

He hadn’t spoken to her since that fight.

But now... this?

He didn’t know if it was a power move, a desperate ploy, or something worse—a truth that was about to dismantle the last fraying threads of his carefully curated life.

And right on cue, his phone rang. The screen flashed with a name that made his stomach drop.

Father.

Adrian stared at the screen, jaw flexing, before finally answering.

"Adrian," his father barked, voice sharp and clipped, wasting no time with greetings. "What the hell is going on?"

Adrian leaned back against the couch cushions, exhaling through his nose. "Hello to you, too."

"Don’t test me, boy. You think I wasn’t going to find out? The entire bloody internet knows before I do? A Marquez? Pregnant—with my son’s child?"

Adrian didn’t respond.

"Is it true?" his father pressed. "Did you get that girl pregnant?"

The words that girl sliced sharper than they should have. Clara wasn’t some random fling. She’d been part of his life—woven into his mistakes, his bad choices, his regrets. And now...

"I don’t know," Adrian finally muttered.

His father let out a laugh, bitter and humorless. "You don’t know?"

"She just announced it publicly, Dad. I haven’t spoken to her in weeks."

There was silence on the other end, but it wasn’t quiet—it was fuming.

"This isn’t just about you playing house with the wrong girl. This is about our name

. Do you have any idea how this will reflect on the family?"

Of course he did. Everything with his father was optics. Reputation. Clean lines and polished surfaces. Image first, happiness optional.

"You’re engaged to Clara," his father continued. "You have been for months, haven’t you? Now you’re telling me you don’t know if her child is yours? Jesus, Adrian."

The word engaged tasted like ash on his tongue.

The engagement was Clara’s doing—an announcement she’d made without consulting him, to trap him before he could figure out how to untangle himself from her web. She’d played the press like a maestro with a symphony, and he had let it happen.

Cowardice had been his greatest crime.

And now, the weight of that cowardice was suffocating him.

"This is bad enough," his father muttered, more to himself than to Adrian. "You were supposed to marry well. Secure alliances. Consolidate everything with the Hastings merger."

Adrian’s mouth twisted. "Right, marry a stranger with a seven-figure dowry like it’s 1825. Sounds romantic."

"This isn’t about romance, you insufferable brat. This is about duty. Legacy. I gave you every advantage, and this is how you repay me?"

Adrian tipped the glass of whiskey to his lips, the burn feeling appropriate for the situation.

"Clara," his father continued, venom creeping into his voice, "is a public relations nightmare. Do you know what people are saying? That she’s unhinged. That you toyed with her and broke her, and now—pregnant. Pregnant, Adrian."

The sound of that word now made Adrian’s stomach twist.

Pregnant.

And whose name was tangled in it now? Ella’s.

Her name was already being dragged into it by association. Nicholas Carter. Ella. Adrian Richards. Clara.

A carousel of names in online tabloids spinning faster with every hour.

He felt sick.

"This won’t go away," his father snapped. "I don’t care if you love her, hate her, or don’t know which way is up. You will marry her. You will fix this."

The words hit Adrian like a punch.

"I’m not marrying her."

His father’s inhale was sharp, like the wheeze of an angry dragon.

"I’m not," Adrian repeated, this time louder. "I’m not fixing your reputation for you."

"This isn’t about me."

"The hell it isn’t," Adrian hissed. "You don’t give a damn about me or Clara or that baby. You just care that it looks bad for you."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The weight of decades of controlled silence stretched between them like a taut wire threatening to snap.

"Grow up," his father finally said coldly. "Before you lose everything."

Adrian ended the call without saying goodbye.

The room felt colder now. He was alone—but not really. The world outside was watching, hungry for scandal, for gossip, for another beautiful disaster to feast on.

And somehow, in the middle of it all, stood Ella.

Perfect. Untouchable. With Nicholas at her side, gazing at her like she was the center of every orbit.

And Adrian... left standing in the ruins of choices he’d made with his eyes wide open.

A father who only cared about legacy.

A woman carrying a child he wasn’t even sure was his anymore.

A life he no longer recognized.

And Ella... the one thing he had ever really wanted—lost.

Maybe he deserved the wreckage.

Maybe this was the price of cowardice.

Adrian lifted his glass again and downed the rest of the drink, the sharp heat chasing the numbness curling in his chest.

For the first time in his life, he didn’t know how to fix this.

And worse... he wasn’t sure he deserved to.