When Contracts Turn to Forbidden Kisses Chapter 72

Ethan

I was organizing the files when James's name flashed across my phone screen. With a sigh, I picked up, wedging the device between my ear and shoulder as I continued sorting through the files.

"To what do I owe this unexpected call in the middle of a workday?" I asked.

"Let's chat about your illegitimate child," James replied, his voice carrying that particular blend of amusement and concern that always preceded trouble.

My fingers froze mid-air. "What illegitimate child?"

"Apparently, you've been busy," James said. "Come to Blue Note. Noah's here too."

The line went dead before I could respond.

Twenty minutes later, my driver pulled up outside Blue Note. The jazz bar was nearly empty this early in the day, with only a few staff preparing for the evening crowd. James and Noah sat at a corner table, heads bent in conversation that stopped abruptly when they spotted me.

"Alright," I said, sliding into the booth across from them, my face carefully blank. "What's this about?"

James exchanged a look with Noah. "Guess who said she's pregnant with your child."

My mind went to the only woman it could be. 'Amelia?' I asked, my voice tight.

Noah's eyes widened comically. "Holy shit, you actually slept with Amelia?"

I didn't flinch. "Within the legal boundaries of marriage. Got a problem with that?"

Noah raised his hands in surrender, but I could see the judgment in his eyes. I'd known these men for years, but they still saw me as the cold, calculating businessman I pretended to be. Only James knew my real purpose in New York.

"Not Amelia," James clarified. "Ashley. She's claiming you're the father."

The absurdity of the claim almost made me laugh. "That's impossible."

"When's the last time you saw her?" Noah asked.

"Just a few days ago, in the meeting room. And nothing happened." I stood up, already done with this conversation. "Give me a minute. I'm ending this farce."

"Do you want us to come with you?" James offered.

"No." I was already pulling out my phone. "This won't take long."

I stepped away from their table and dialed Ashley's number. She picked up on the third ring.

"Ethan! I knew you'd call." Her voice dripped with manufactured sweetness.

"Cut the bullshit, Ashley. We both know that child isn't mine." I kept my anger carefully controlled, turning my back to the table where Noah and James were watching with interest.

"I don't know what you mean. Of course it's—"

"The last time we were alone together was just a few days ago, and nothing happened." I kept my voice low but firm. "So unless human biology has changed overnight, you're lying."

I heard her sigh on the other end of the line, her facade cracking. "Fine. It's not yours. But I need people to think it is."

"And why would I agree to that?"

"The father is... a significant figure in Manhattan's upper society. Married. With a lot to lose."

"That's not my problem."

"Please, Ethan." For the first time, I heard genuine desperation in her voice. "I just need you to not deny it publicly. Just for a while. Until I figure things out."

I stared at the wall, remembering the young woman I'd once known before ambition consumed her. "This child isn't mine," I repeated coldly. "And it's not my responsibility to cover for your poor decisions."

"But—"

"And it's Mr. Black to you." I tightened my grip on the phone. "Remember what you just admitted, Ashley. Because if you continue with this lie, I won't hesitate to make this recording public."

All the confidence drained from her voice. "You wouldn't."

"Try me." I ended the call, leaving the threat hanging in the digital space between us.

I returned to the table where Noah and James were waiting expectantly.

"That was quick," Noah said. "Did you sort it out?"

"She admitted the child isn't mine." I took a sip of the water James had ordered for me.

"Are you going to tell Amelia about this? She might hear rumors."

I stopped abruptly. Concern sliced through me before I could suppress it. "She knows about this?"

"No, not yet," Noah said. "But news travels fast in our circles."

I took my seat again, deliberately composing my features back into their usual indifference. "It's a non-issue. There's nothing to explain."

---

Back at my office, I waited for Michael to arrive with the latest findings on Elizabeth Thompson's death. When he finally entered, his expression told me he'd found something significant.

"You were right, sir," Michael said, placing a folder on my desk. "Emily Thompson is not Robert Thompson's biological daughter."

I nodded, unsurprised. It fit my theory: if Elizabeth hadn't been involved in money laundering, then Emily's mother might have connections to Viktor Group.

"What about the restaurant connection?"

Michael handed me another document. "Elizabeth Thompson did know that chef at Black Rose Restaurant, but the chef claims it was many years ago. He was... vague about their relationship."

I studied the report. "He's hiding something."

"Likely, sir. But when pressed, he claimed his memory was unclear about events from so long ago."

Something about the timeline nagged at me. "When did this chef arrive in New York?"

Michael consulted his notes. "According to immigration records, he arrived roughly two years after Amelia was born."

I leaned back, processing this information. If the chef knew Elizabeth but arrived after Amelia's birth, their connection might not be directly relevant to her death. But it could still be important.

"Send all of this to Amelia," I decided abruptly.

Michael looked surprised. "Are you sure, sir?"

"Yes. She deserves to know about her mother." I hesitated. "Where is she staying now?"

"At the riverside apartment owned by Julian Bennett. She's living there with Olivia Bennett."

The tension in my shoulders eased slightly at learning she wasn't living with Julian himself. "After you deliver these files, tell her I'm transferring the Upper East Side penthouse to her name."

Michael's expression remained professional, but I caught the flicker of surprise in his eyes. "Understood, sir."