Page 107 of Secret Baby for my Off-Limits Fiancé

Even though I have no fucking clue if it will be.

“Do you want coffee?” Layla’s voice is so quiet that I almost don’t hear her.

I look up at her, surprised that she even spoke.

Her fingers are gripping the empty cup in her lap, her knuckles pale from the pressure. She won’t look at me.

I hesitate.

Do I want coffee? Not really. But I do want to keep her talking.

“Sure.” My voice is rough, edged with exhaustion.

She nods, standing up slowly. Her movements are mechanical, like she’s running on autopilot. Like she’s too afraid to feel anything.

I watch as she walks toward the cafeteria, disappearing down the hallway.

And suddenly, I can breathe again.

The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor is the only sound in the room.

Vincent is asleep, his tiny chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. His face is pale, far too pale, and his little fingers curl weakly around the stuffed elephant he refuses to sleep without.

I sit beside him, reaching out, brushing the soft curls from his forehead, my fingers ghosting over his warm skin.

His fever has gone down, but it’s not enough. Not when his body is fighting against itself.

Not when we still don’t have a match.

A lump rises in my throat as I tighten my grip on the side of the bed, as if holding on to it will somehow stop everything from slipping through my fingers.

I lean down, pressing a kiss to Vincent’s forehead.

He stirs slightly but doesn’t wake.

“Daddy’s here, baby,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “I’m right here.”

I can’t cry. I can’t break. Not when he needs me to be strong.

But I feel the tears falling anyway.

Layla comes back fifteen minutes later, carrying two cups of coffee.

She places mine on the table next to me without a word before sitting back in her chair beside Vincent.

“Thanks,” I murmur.

She doesn’t respond. Just nods slightly, blowing at the steam rising from her cup.

I study her.

The way her hands tremble slightly. The way she won’t meet my gaze.

She’s scared.

Not just for Vincent. But of me.

Scared of what I think of her. Scared of what I feel for her.

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