Lyra stood in the elevator, her hands clutching her coat tighter around her. She hadn't expected to see Zane again so soon. Certainly not like this — not in front of reporters, not with his arm wrapped protectively around her shoulder, and definitely not with the word "baby" hanging between them like an unfinished sentence.
Zane's penthouse was exactly as she remembered — sleek, expensive, cold. Just like him.
"I didn't mean to cause a scene," she murmured, once they stepped inside.
"You didn't," he said flatly, removing his coat. "The press just loves drama. And you—well, you're in it now."
She turned to face him, her nerves sharpening. "You said we needed to talk. So talk."
Zane studied her with that unreadable expression she hated — the one that made her feel exposed. "Are you sure it's mine?"
Lyra stiffened. "I didn't sleep with anyone else, if that's what you're asking."
"I had to ask," he said, not cruelly but firmly. "Because if this is what you're saying it is… I don't run from responsibility."
Lyra's throat tightened. "Then what do you want to do, Zane? Co-parent? Write me a check? Or walk away like it never happened?"
Zane didn't flinch. "I want a DNA test. Then, if it's mine, I want full involvement. I won't be a weekend father. That child will have everything it needs — including me."
Her heart pounded. This wasn't the cold, arrogant man she'd met that night. This was someone who cared — too much.
"And what about me?" she asked, softer this time.
He looked at her. Really looked. "You don't know it yet, Lyra… but you've just changed everything."