I stood in the center of the kitchen, staring at the empty space between my hand and Alex’s.

“What decision, Alex?” I repeated, my voice shaking slightly, but holding firm.

Madison sighed loudly, rolling her eyes and leaning against the doorframe. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Alex. Just tell her. She’s dragging this out.”

Alex shot Madison a look so cold it could have frozen water. For a fraction of a second, the terrifying, ruthless Chicago billionaire I usually only read about in the business pages surfaced. Madison flinched, stepping back.

He reached into the inner pocket of his tailored suit jacket and pulled out a thick, folded document. He placed it softly on the granite counter, right next to the basket of biscuits I had baked.

Nicole stepped forward, her brow furrowing. “Alex, what is that?”

“It’s a postnuptial agreement,” Alex said. His voice was completely flat, devoid of the warmth that used to fill this kitchen.

My heart hammered against my ribs. “A postnup? Now?”

“Read it, Rebecca,” he instructed gently.

I didn’t want to touch it. It felt like poison. But my hands moved of their own accord, picking up the heavy, cream-colored paper.

I scanned the first few paragraphs. The legal jargon was dense, but the intent was horrifyingly clear.

If I signed this document, I was agreeing to forfeit all rights to Alex’s legitimate businesses—the hotels, the real estate, the shipping companies—in the event of a divorce. In exchange, I would receive a lump sum of ten million dollars and full ownership of our summer house in Michigan.

But it was the clause on the second page that made the blood drain from my face.

In the event of separation, the Mother agrees to surrender primary physical and legal custody of any minor children to the Father, maintaining only supervised visitation rights.

“You want to take my daughter?” I gasped, dropping the papers as if they burned my fingers.

Nicole snatched the document off the counter, her eyes darting across the page. “Alex, are you out of your mind? You can’t ask her to sign away her baby!”

“I’m not asking,” Alex said quietly.

Madison stepped forward, regaining her false bravado. “He’s securing his legacy. The baby needs to be raised in the proper environment, Rebecca. With a father who can provide, and a mother figure who understands the demands of his lifestyle.”

She meant herself. She honestly believed she was going to raise my child.

I looked at Alex. The betrayal was so absolute, so complete, that I couldn’t even find tears.

“You brought your sister here to witness you threaten me,” I whispered.

“I brought Nicole here because I needed a witness I trust,” Alex corrected, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that frightened me. “I need you to sign those papers, Rebecca. Tonight.”

“I will never sign away my daughter,” I said, backing away from him until my hips hit the sink. “I will fight you in every court in this state.”

“You won’t have to,” Alex said.

He took a step closer, lowering his voice so much that Madison, standing in the doorway, strained to hear.

“Rebecca, look at the signature line on the last page,” Alex commanded softly.

I didn’t want to, but his intensity forced my gaze downward. Nicole flipped to the last page and held it out for me.

At the bottom of the page, where the notary seal usually went, there was no blank line.

There was a signature already there.

It was a bold, sprawling script that I had seen on dozens of charity checks and holiday cards over the years.

Arthur Hayes.

Alex’s father.

“Your father signed this?” I asked, completely confused. “Arthur has been dead for five years.”

“Yes,” Alex said, his jaw clenching. “He has.”

Nicole stared at the signature, her face paling rapidly. “Alex… this document is dated yesterday.”

The kitchen grew deadly silent.

“My father is not dead, Nicole,” Alex revealed, the words dropping like lead weights into the room. “And he is the one demanding Rebecca signs this contract.”