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Griffin’s jaw opens, but no words come. He’s trying to hold onto the version of me he always protected. But that girl’s gone.

Liam moves beside me, not touching, justthere.Present. A quiet kind of support I never thought I’d crave.

I meet his eyes. “I was scared you’d run.”

“I did,” he says. “But I came back.” he says, grabbing the sides of my face. “Whatever happens, I’m in this with you.”

And right there, the knot in my chest eases just enough to let me breathe.

I don’t know what comes next. But I know who I am.

And I’m not letting anyone else write this chapter but me.

“Hey, Liam’s voice’s rough. There’s something else. Something I should have told you before.”

My stomach drops. “What?”

Chapter thirty-two

Liam

Thisisn’thowyoufind out you’re going to be a dad.

Your girl’s brother is in your face, shoving crumpled paperwork at your chest like it’s a fucking death threat, and you’re too stunned to do anything but stare.

I don’t even register what Griffin’s shouting. My brain’s buffering. My eyes are locked on Katarina, standing between us like she’s trying to keep the whole damn world from splitting in half.

But then I look down.

Pregnant.

The word’s so loud it might as well be screaming.

My chest tightens, the oxygen gone from the air. My lungs clamp up like I’ve been checked at center ice. Blood pounds in my ears, drowning out everything except the roar of my own pulse.

Pregnant.

I search her face for the punchline. The laugh. The explanation. Something. But there’s none of it. Just wide eyes and trembling fingers. Her skin’s gone pale, almost translucent in the Florida heat.

“Liam, I didn’t mean for you to find out this way,” she says, stepping toward me.

My voice comes out sharp. Broken. Like it’s been dragged over gravel. “Find out what?”

She swallows hard enough that I can see her throat work.

“I’m pregnant.”

I point to my chest, questioning if it’s mine.

Everything inside me stills.

Not fake. Not pretend. Not PR.

Real.

The ground shifts under my feet like I’m standing on a ship in rough water. My vision tunnels, the edges going dark. I’ve taken hits that left me tasting copper and seeing stars, but this? This rewrites every circuit in my brain. The air tastes metallic, like I’ve been breathing through a mouthful of pennies.

I’m going to be a father. Me. The guy who can barely keep his own shit together on a good day. The guy whose own father was a ghost, and whose mother cycled through men like they were disposable before she died. I blame the bottle.