Chapter 5: The Anomaly Report

The AI's voice still hung in the bathroom air like a glitch that wouldn't quit. Unauthorized biological anomaly. Medical override protocol. The words kept looping in my head, each one ratcheting up the panic until my throat felt tight.

I stood frozen under the harsh lights, one hand pressed to my stomach like that could hush the truth. Sullivan filled the doorway, shirtless and still rumpled from the rug, his hazel eyes narrowed in that way that usually meant he was three steps ahead of everyone else in the room.

He didn't speak right away. Just watched me. The kind of stare that made my knees weak for all the wrong reasons now that the post-sex glow had burned off.

"Review the report," he said at last, voice clipped and low. The AI chimed obediently. A holographic display flickered above the marble vanity, lines of data scrolling past—heart rate spikes, hormone shifts, gestational markers.

My pulse thudded in my temples. The baby had given me a solid kick yesterday while I pretended to hunt for more flour in the kitchen. Sullivan's baby. Our baby. And now the damn house was about to spill everything.

He scanned the floating text with that predatory stillness. I saw the exact second the numbers clicked into place for him. His breath caught. The muscle in his jaw ticked once, then twice.

"Pregnant," he said. The word landed flat between us. His gaze stayed locked on the display. "Four months. The timeline... it lines up with that night."

I backed up until the sink edge bit into my spine. My silver locket suddenly felt heavy against my chest, the hidden ultrasound photo inside like a smoking gun. My other hand drifted up to cover the small curve of my belly out of habit. Pointless now.

"Sullivan, just—"

"You knew." He finally looked at me. Those eyes held too many things at once—shock, something raw that might have been awe, and the cold calculation that always came with it. His hand twitched at his side like he wanted to touch me but thought better of it.

I swallowed hard. "It's not like I planned to hide it forever."

He gave a short laugh that had zero warmth in it. Nothing like the sounds he'd made against my skin an hour ago. "Four months, Rosalind. You've been here under the same roof, letting me think—"

"Letting you think what?" The words came out sharper than I meant. Sarcasm was my oldest shield and it slid into place automatically. "That I was just conveniently nauseous every morning? That my clothes suddenly didn't fit because I discovered midnight banana bread?"

Sullivan stepped closer. The ankle monitors didn't beep. The AI kept its digital mouth shut for once, though I knew it was still logging every word. His bare chest rose and fell faster now, and I hated how aware I was of his heat, of the way his scent still clung to my own skin.

"My child," he said quietly. The word sounded like it cost him something. "You were going to keep my child from me."

The accusation stung. I crossed my arms tighter, mostly to stop myself from reaching for him. "Last time I checked, you left a note calling us a mistake and vanished. I wasn't exactly itching to chase you down with prenatal appointment invites."

He ran a hand through his dark hair, leaving it more unkempt than usual. That small tell—the one he only allowed when his control was slipping—made my chest ache in ways I didn't want to examine.

"I ran because I wanted forever and it terrified me," he admitted. His voice dropped an octave, the way it did when things got real. "You think I don't see how you look at me? Like I'm both the fix and the problem. But this..." His eyes dropped to my stomach again. "This changes the equation completely."

I felt my face heat. Relief and fresh fear tangled up so tight I couldn't tell which was winning. No more tiptoeing around the bump when I thought he wasn't looking. No more stress-baking at 2 a.m. while whispering promises to the tiny person who had no idea their parents were a disaster.

But Sullivan as a father? The control-obsessed man who slept four hours a night and sketched impossible code at 3 a.m. in that black notebook of his? My stomach rolled again, and this time it had nothing to do with morning sickness.

"I was scared," I said. The admission tasted like rust. "You push everyone away the second they get too close. I didn't want this baby growing up feeling like an inconvenience. Like I did."

He flinched at that. Actually flinched. For a man who never let anyone see him rattled, it was startling. His hand lifted again, hovering inches from my belly before he curled his fingers into a fist and let it drop.

"I'm not him," he said. The words came out rough. "My father. The one who left. I'm not going to—"

The distant thump of helicopter rotors cut through the storm outside. We both went still. The estate's sensors were supposed to be useless in this weather, but the sound was unmistakable—coming in low toward the helipad like it had special clearance.

Sullivan's expression shuttered instantly. The vulnerable man from thirty seconds ago disappeared behind the iron mask he wore for boardrooms and crises. He rolled his shoulders once, like he was stepping into a fight he could actually win.

"Marcus," he muttered, but something in the timing felt off. Our head of security usually gave warnings.

I followed him downstairs on legs that felt borrowed. The great room still smelled like woodsmoke and the banana bread I'd forgotten in the oven. Our night was scattered everywhere—the rug, my discarded sweater, his black notebook open to frantic sketches that looked a lot like tiny feet mixed with code.

The helicopter settled with a final roar. Through the massive windows I watched a woman step out, all sharp lines in a tailored pantsuit that didn't give a damn about the snow. Dark hair in a tight bun, tablet clutched like a warrant.

Sullivan's fingers brushed my lower back as we moved to meet her. Not quite breaking the court-ordered distance, but close enough that I felt the tremor running through him. I didn't pull away.

"AI, identify visitor," he commanded.

"Special Agent Elena Voss, Federal AI Ethics Division," the system answered smoothly. "Court-mandated access granted. New evidence uploaded to case file."

My heart gave an ugly lurch. New evidence. The words echoed the AI's earlier medical alert, and both felt like doors slamming shut.

The agent didn't wait for permission. She strode inside as the doors hissed open, shaking snow from her shoulders with crisp efficiency. Her gaze cataloged everything—the rumpled rug, our half-dressed states, the obvious signs we'd been doing a lot more than arguing.

"Mr. Kingsley. Ms. Whitmore." Her tone was cool but there was an edge underneath it. "I see house arrest agrees with you both."

Sullivan went rigid beside me. "This is irregular, Agent. The storm—"

"The storm is precisely why I'm here," she cut in. She tapped her tablet and holographic documents bloomed in the air between us. Lines of code. Timestamps. My old login highlighted in red. "Forensic analysis shows the leak originated from inside KingsTech. Specifically, from your terminal, Ms. Whitmore."

The floor seemed to tilt. I hugged my arms around myself, instinctively shielding the small life inside me from this newest mess. "I quit months before the breach."

Agent Voss's smile was thin. "Convenient. Right after your personal involvement with the CEO ended. Heartbreak makes people do reckless things. Especially when there's a child involved."

The room went quiet enough to hear the storm howling outside. She'd said it so casually. Sullivan's head snapped toward me, but this time there was no shock in his face. Just a deepening of the conflict already there.

His hand settled on my waist, pulling me a fraction closer. The touch felt like both protection and possession. I didn't know which scared me more.

"How the hell do you know about the pregnancy?" he asked, voice dangerously quiet.

"The estate's backup logs are part of federal oversight," she said with a shrug. "Your little biological anomaly tripped every sensor. Congratulations, though it does complicate the investigation. Potential motive. Conflict of interest."

Marcus appeared from the side entrance then, snow dusting his tactical jacket. He took in the scene with his usual military flatness, but positioned himself slightly between Voss and me. The move surprised me almost as much as the fact that he didn't immediately call me a threat.

"Agent," he grunted. "This visit wasn't cleared through standard channels."

Voss's eyes narrowed at him. "Stand down, Mr. Hale. The evidence is clear. Ms. Whitmore had access, opportunity, and now a very personal stake."

I felt Sullivan's fingers flex against my hip. His body was a live wire next to mine—every muscle tight with the war I could see playing across his face. Part of him wanted to shield me. The bigger part, the one shaped by abandonment and empire-building, was already running risk assessments.

"Rosalind didn't leak anything," he said. The words lacked their usual absolute certainty, but they were still a defense. His hazel eyes met mine, searching. The awe from upstairs was still there, fractured but real. Underneath it I saw the terror of losing control completely.

I pulled away slightly. His doubt, even the small amount of it, cut deeper than anything Voss could say. "You don't know that for sure. That's the problem, isn't it? You never really let yourself know me."

The baby kicked then, a strong flutter that made me press my palm to the spot without thinking. Sullivan's gaze tracked the movement. For a second the mask slipped again and I saw raw wonder flash across his features.

Voss watched us like we were a particularly interesting experiment. "The pregnancy does add complexity. A paternity test may be required. If the child is yours, Mr. Kingsley, it creates quite the mess for your defense."

Marcus shifted again, his posture easing a fraction in my direction. "Boss, I've reviewed the logs. This has setup written all over it."

His defense should have felt like a lifeline. Instead it only made the whole scene feel more surreal.

Sullivan took the data drive Voss offered him. His face had gone carefully blank now, the billionaire CEO mode fully engaged. The man who'd admitted he wanted forever upstairs was locked away again.

"We'll review this," he told her. "In private. Marcus will escort you back to the helicopter before the next band of the storm hits."

She lingered a beat longer, her eyes flicking to my midsection with something that might have been pity. "Secrets have a way of poisoning everything, Ms. Whitmore. Especially the ones about to become very public."

The rotors spun up again minutes later. I watched from the window as the helicopter lifted into the swirling snow, taking Agent Voss and her accusations with it. The damage stayed behind, thick as the blizzard.

Sullivan didn't speak until the sound faded completely. Then he turned to me, eyes stormy with everything he was trying to cage. He crossed the room in those long strides that always made my pulse jump, stopping close enough that I felt his warmth but not quite touching.

One hand braced on the glass beside my head. The other hovered near my stomach, still not making contact. His voice came out low and rough.

"You really thought I'd be like him? That I'd leave you both?"

The question cracked open every raw place inside me. I met his gaze, my eyes stinging. The baby kicked again, like it was trying to remind us both what was at stake.

Before I could answer, his phone chimed with an override signal. Marcus's voice came through, urgent.

"Boss. The feds just issued a warrant for her arrest. They're using the anomaly report as proof of intent to conceal evidence."

My knees gave out. I slid down the cold glass, the full weight of every mistake crashing over me while Sullivan stood there looking like his entire world had just rewritten itself.