Zaria didn't move.
She sat stiffly in the plush leather chair, every nerve in her body screaming as Darius Okechukwu stared at her like a chess piece he had yet to position. The silence between them was thick with questions she was too afraid to ask, and answers he wasn't ready to give.
Outside the massive glass window, Lagos bustled as usual—cars honking, street vendors shouting, the city pulsing with life. But inside that office, everything felt still. Frozen.
Finally, Darius spoke. His voice low. Steady.
"You're sure it's mine?"
Zaria stiffened. "I haven't been with anyone else."
His eyes flickered across her face—sharp, calculating. As if he was reading more than just her words. As if he wanted to peel away the layers of her skin and see the truth underneath.
"Alright," he said simply. No dramatics. No shouting. Just cold acceptance.
Zaria blinked. "That's it?"
"What did you expect?" he asked, rounding the desk and settling into his seat like a king returning to his throne. "Tears? Denial?"
"I expected something," she said. "A reaction."
He leaned back, folding his hands over his stomach. "I've had time to master self-control. In my world, emotion is weakness. And this"—he gestured toward her stomach—"is not something I can afford to react to recklessly."
Zaria flinched at his words. Her hand instinctively moved to her belly.
It's not a 'this.' It's a child.
A life.
A part of me.
A part of you.
Darius studied her for a long moment, then said, "I'll take responsibility."
Zaria frowned. "Meaning?"
"I'll handle everything—medical bills, housing, protection, any support you need." He said it like a banker reading off a loan agreement. "You won't suffer."
She stared at him. "I'm not asking for handouts."
"You're not in a position to refuse them."
Her breath caught. He said it without malice. Just facts. That made it worse.
"You don't even know me," she said softly.
"I don't need to. You're carrying my child. That's enough."
Zaria stood suddenly, her emotions bubbling dangerously to the surface. "Do you think I planned this? That I came here to trap you?"
"No," he said immediately. "You're not that kind of woman."
His tone had changed. A thread of warmth crept in—barely noticeable, but it was there.
"I remember everything about that night," he said, rising to his feet. "You didn't ask for anything. You didn't even ask for my name. You left before I could offer it."
She stared at him, heart pounding.
Then he said the words that changed everything.
"Move in with me."
Zaria's eyes widened. "What?"
"I have a home on the Island. Private. Secure. You'll be safe there. You'll be cared for. It's the best place for you right now."
"I'm not a project," she snapped.
"No, you're the mother of my child."
"And what? You want me to play house with you?"
Darius sighed. "I'm not asking for a relationship, Miss Bello. This is not about romance. It's about responsibility."
She stared at him like he'd grown horns. "You want me to live in your house... with no strings... while I carry your baby?"
"Yes."
"And when the baby comes?"
He hesitated.
"You'll have a choice," he said at last. "Stay. Or walk away—with the full support you need to raise the child."
"And what if I want to raise the baby on my own, far away from all this?"
He met her gaze without blinking. "Then I'll fight for custody."
Zaria's jaw tightened.
This man. This powerful, arrogant billionaire. He thought he could buy the future with contracts and conditions.
But this was her body. Her baby. Her choice.
Still, she couldn't deny the truth—the bitter truth chewing at her pride.
She had no steady income. No health insurance. No apartment of her own.
She was barely surviving.
And now… she wasn't alone anymore.
"What about my job application?" she asked quietly.
"You won't need the job," he replied.
"That's not your decision."
He nodded slowly. "Fine. If you still want the job, you'll have it. But under a different title."
"What title?"
His lips curved faintly. "Mother of my heir."
Zaria's breath hitched.
He walked around the desk again and handed her a small, black card.
His direct line.
A number she should've had weeks ago.
"Think about it," he said. "I'm not forcing you. But if you say yes, I'll send a car for you tonight. One suitcase. No media. No one has to know."
Zaria took the card in trembling hands.
She walked out of the office without another word.
---
But later that night, as she stood by the window in her tiny flat, watching the rain fall on rusted rooftops, she knew her answer.
Not for him.
Not for money.
For her child.
And maybe, just maybe…
For herself.