Back home, while I was lying on the couch and staring at the positive test results, I narrowed it down to three suspects based on the timeline.
This felt like taking a blind gamble.
Running off with the baby was not even an option. Although I had some savings, it was not nearly enough to raise a child.
I unblocked all three men’s numbers, and when I saw their last names, I suddenly felt a wave of assurance wash over me. Well, at least the baby’s formula money would be covered.
One was a Griffin, another a Bailey, and the last a Larsen. From my extensive experience of reading similar novels, I knew these names were practically standard for domineering CEOs. If each of them was not worth at least billions, their names would be wasted on them.
I thought about it for a moment. Who should I confront first? At a critical moment like this, my indecisiveness kicked in.
After agonizing for a while, I still could not decide who to approach first.
Back then, I had broken up with each of them the day after we slept together, moving on to a new fling the next day. If I showed up now, I might actually get myself killed.
I rubbed my belly and thought that at least I had an ace up my sleeve—this baby.
As my fingers hovered over the keyboard, I decided to message all three and see who would respond first. To my surprise, Reuben Griffin replied in seconds.
I knew that this guy would be the most responsive! He had been the most impressive in bed too. He was surprisingly skilled for someone who seemed new to the game.
[You’ve still got the nerve to contact me?]
I could feel his anger radiating through the screen, and for a moment, I faltered.
Then, I thought of the child growing inside me that would cost me all my money to raise following its birth and immediately snapped a photo of the positive pregnancy test to send to him.
[I’m pregnant. It might be yours.]
Seconds later, my phone buzzed with an incoming call. After hesitating for a moment, I picked up.
His furious voice practically exploded through the phone. “Eliza Jordan, explain yourself! What do you mean it might be mine?”
Hearing the anger in his tone, I did not dare say a word.
“Eliza, talk!”
I nervously fiddled with my fingers and mumbled, “Did you forget that after we split, I found someone else the very next day?”
He let out a cold laugh, grinding his teeth as he spoke, “So, what you’re saying is, you want me to take responsibility for a child that might not be mine?”
Annoyed, I muttered a soft rebuttal, “There’s a 33% chance it’s yours. Can you not be so dramatic?”
That set him off completely. He shouted, “What do you mean 33%? Don’t tell me there was another guy in those two days? Eliza, you’ve really outdone yourself. Were the two of us not enough for you?”
How was I supposed to respond to that?
Broad shoulders, a narrow waist, toned thighs, a perfectly round butt, and eight-pack abs—who could resist that?
Not me, that was for sure. So, I played dumb.
