“I KNOW IT’S MY BABY”

The whispers started subtly, mere tremors beneath the polished veneer of Los Angeles society. But by the time Luna announced her pregnancy at the Brentwood Charity Gala, the tremors had become an earthquake. For Remy Coleman, the respected financier who had built his empire on discretion, the resulting scandal threatened to swallow his world whole.

He was sitting in his minimalist corner office—the one with the panoramic view of the Pacific—but he couldn’t see the ocean. All he could see was the reflection of his own frantic face in the glass. His hands, usually steady enough to sign off on multi-million dollar deals, were shaking as he reread the gossip blog headline: Coleman Associate Luna Vance Confirms Pregnancy; Speculation Rife on Father’s Identity.

The identity wasn’t a mystery to Remy. It was a ticking time bomb.

It had been one careless, alcohol-fueled night a month and a half ago. A high-pressure merger, a celebratory party in Malibu, and a moment of devastating weakness with Luna, a brilliant but emotionally volatile associate he had strictly forbidden himself from crossing paths with outside the office. Now, that lapse in judgment was tangible, irreversible, and potentially fatal to his life.

“Remy, darling, are you quite finished staring at that screen?”

The voice was cool, precise, and utterly lethal. His wife, Dee Coleman, stood in the doorway. She didn’t enter the room; she simply filled it with her presence—a tailored column of ice and Chanel. Dee didn’t shout; her voice only dropped an octave when she was truly furious, making it sound more like a death sentence than a complaint.

“The press is asking if we’ll be making a statement regarding Luna’s… condition,” Dee continued, crossing her arms. “I told them we don’t comment on the personal lives of junior staff. But they are insistent on asking if there’s any familiarity between you two.”

Remy felt the sweat prickle his hairline. Dee didn’t know about the one-night stand, but she was a master of reading the thermal currents beneath the room. She was fishing, and Remy was the only catch.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Dee,” he managed, his voice sounding thin. “She’s just an employee. It’s workplace gossip.”

“Gossip that implicates the heir to the Coleman legacy,” Dee countered, moving to the window to admire the view Remy couldn’t see. “Will needs stability. He needs the trust fund released on schedule, and he needs your image intact if he’s going to succeed you on the Foundation board.”

Will was Remy’s younger half-brother, a brilliant 22-year-old artist with fragile health and a legal future tied entirely to Remy’s financial and social stability. If the paternity scandal broke and implicated Remy, Will’s multi-million dollar trust—contingent on the Coleman family’s “moral integrity”—would be frozen indefinitely. Will’s entire future was now hanging by the thread of Remy’s secret.

“I won’t let Will down,” Remy vowed, the fear hardening into resolve. He had to know the truth from Luna, and he had to manage the damage immediately.

.

.

.

The Confrontation: “A Problem I Know How To Fix”

Remy found Luna later that evening at her airy loft in the Arts District. She was alone, surrounded by blueprints and maternity magazines. Her usually sharp, businesslike demeanor was softened by a loose silk dress, making her look younger, more fragile. But the moment she saw the cold fury in Remy’s eyes, the associate resurfaced.

“Remy, you can’t be here,” she whispered, glancing nervously at her windows.

He ignored her, slamming the door shut. “Don’t tell me what I can’t do. I need the truth, Luna. Right now.”

Luna crossed her arms over her abdomen, her chin lifting defiantly. “The truth is I’m pregnant. That’s all anyone needs to know.”

“No,” Remy hissed, striding toward her. “The truth is we had one night. A mistake. And if this baby is mine, you have jeopardized everything I’ve spent fifty-seven years building. Will’s future is tied to my reputation. You know that!”

“Will’s trust is the least of your concerns,” Luna snapped back, her eyes flashing. “The baby is the concern. And yes, it happened right after that night. The dates line up. I don’t know who else it could be, Remy.”

Remy felt a wave of dizzying panic. “You don’t know? Were there others?”

“Does it matter?” Luna’s voice cracked with sudden pain. “You think I want this complication? My life was perfectly ordered until then! But it happened. And I’m not getting rid of it, no matter what you or Dee—”

“Don’t you dare bring Dee into this!” Remy roared, running a hand through his hair. “If she even suspects, she’ll destroy us both. She’ll gut my finances, she’ll bury you legally, and Will—Will will lose everything.”

He stopped, collecting himself. He switched from fury to cold, calculated business. “I want a DNA test,” he stated, his voice flat. “Immediately. Today. We will arrange a private facility. We will use a pseudonym. When the baby is born, we will do a paternity test. If it’s mine, we settle this, and I pay you enough to disappear and raise the child in complete luxury and silence. But I need certainty.”

Luna looked at him, tears welling in her green eyes. “You think you can just pay me off? You think that’s how I live?”

“I think you made a mistake,” Remy retorted, the words sharp with his own desperation. “And I think I am the only person who knows how to fix this problem for both of us before it costs us everything. We either face Dee together with the truth, or we manage this with discretion. Which do you choose?”

Luna stared at him, hatred and fear warring in her expression. The choice was clear: silence and security, or the public, devastating scrutiny of Dee Coleman and the entire financial world.

“Fine,” Luna whispered, pulling out her phone. “I’ll book the genetic counselor. But if it’s yours, you don’t just pay me off. You have to acknowledge the child. Not publicly, but to me. You have to know your own child exists.”

“Agreed,” Remy said, not flinching. “Now, let’s get the certainty we need.”

The Wait and the Whispers

The next two months were an agony of silence and paranoia. Remy and Luna went to the private clinic, establishing the paternity test protocol for the expected birth. They told the doctor the baby’s future inheritance hinged on the test, ensuring maximum speed and secrecy.

Meanwhile, Dee’s suspicions intensified. She noticed Remy’s frantic late-night calls and his sudden detachment. One evening, Dee watched Will across the dining room table. Will, oblivious to the storm above him, was discussing his plans to open a gallery for underprivileged artists—a dream contingent on his trust fund release in six months.

“Remy,” Dee said, placing her knife down, the sound sharp in the quiet room. “I spoke to my accountant today. He mentioned Luna Vance had been looking into maternity leave options.”

Remy felt his heart pound in his throat. “So? People get pregnant, Dee.”

“Yes,” Dee purred. “But my accountant, being meticulous, pulled up her social media feed. She’s due in late January. Correct?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Remy lied, his voice flat.

“That means the conception occurred in late April,” Dee stated, her gaze drilling into him. “Right around the time you were ‘celebrating’ the Navtech merger in Malibu. I’m sure it’s nothing, darling. But Will’s future is important to me. I need to know my legacy is protected.”

Remy knew he was losing the battle of perception. Dee didn’t need evidence; she needed certainty, and her questions were tearing him apart.

The Revelation

Luna gave birth to a healthy baby girl in late January. The paternity test was performed immediately and rushed through the private laboratory under the highest security.

Remy and Luna agreed to meet in a neutral location—a vacant office suite Remy owned near Santa Monica—for the reveal. The atmosphere was thick with residual snow from a rare Los Angeles storm, mirroring the icy dread in the room.

Luna held the baby, swaddled and quiet, but her eyes were fixed on the sealed manila envelope on the conference table. Remy sat across from her, his hands clasped so tightly his knuckles were white.

“The time is up, Luna,” Remy whispered. He reached for the envelope, his entire world compressed into the two-page document inside.

He broke the seal, unfolded the papers, and forced his eyes to focus on the final line:

Paternity Index: 0.000 Probability of Exclusion: 100%

Remy stared at the paper. It took a long, agonizing moment for the clinical certainty to translate into human comprehension. He was not the father.

A wave of dizzying relief, so immense it was physical, nearly knocked him out of his chair. He was safe. Will was safe. Dee was safe. His reputation was intact.

He handed the paper across the table. Luna read it, and her face—which Remy had expected to show either relief or calculating disappointment—instead showed genuine, profound confusion, followed by a flicker of terror.

“It can’t be,” she whispered, clutching the baby closer. “That’s impossible.”

“The DNA doesn’t lie, Luna,” Remy said, his voice now steady, emotionless. “The baby is not mine. The problem is no longer my problem.”

“But—” Luna began, looking desperately at the child in her arms.

“Who else, Luna?” Remy pressed, the relief making him ruthless. “Who else was there that night?”

Luna’s eyes, fixed in distant horror, landed on a memory Remy didn’t share. She buried her face in the baby’s blanket, not answering.

Remy stood up, pulling out his checkbook. He wrote a check for a generous, but final, severance, enough to ensure Luna’s financial independence for years, honoring the promise he’d made before he knew the truth.

“This is the last time we speak about this,” Remy stated, placing the check and the documents on the table. “I wish you well. But the Coleman legacy remains intact.”

He walked out, leaving Luna alone with the DNA results and the crying baby. He got into his car, the adrenaline draining away, replaced by the profound, exhausted clarity of a man who had narrowly escaped a firing squad.

The Second Truth

Remy returned home, greeted by the cool, assessing gaze of Dee. He told her nothing, but his demeanor—relaxed, steady, and relieved—answered her unspoken questions. The immediate crisis was over.

Two days later, however, Dee confronted him again. Not with accusations, but with an odd, troubled expression.

“Remy,” she began, sitting in his office. “I want you to look at this.”

She slid a photo across the desk. It wasn’t of Luna or the baby. It was an old snapshot of Will’s mother, taken twenty-three years ago, standing next to a young, pre-billionaire Remy and a third man—Marcus Sterling, a former associate and rival Remy had thought was long gone from their lives.

“Will’s mother dated Marcus before she met your father,” Dee explained, pointing to Marcus in the photo. “They broke up right before she married your father, but… I remembered Luna’s eyes. They are the exact shade of pale green that Marcus always claimed was a family trait.”

Remy stared at the photo, the pieces of the puzzle clicking into a terrifying new pattern. The pregnancy dates aligned perfectly with the time Marcus Sterling had been in Los Angeles for a brief, high-stakes negotiation with Luna’s previous firm.

“Marcus was in L.A. last April,” Remy whispered, the dread returning. “He and Luna… a mistake, just like mine.”

“It’s worse than a mistake,” Dee said, her voice dropping to that lethal octave. “Marcus Sterling’s family trust—the largest in the Midwest—is also contingent on ‘moral integrity.’ Marcus, being divorced and known for his liaisons, had to sign legal documents ensuring his heirs were born within wedlock. If Luna’s baby is his, and she raises it outside of a ‘traditional’ family structure, Marcus’s claim to his own fortune—and by extension, the entire Sterling financial structure—is suddenly vulnerable.”

Remy understood instantly. Luna’s baby wasn’t just his potential problem; it was a devastating weapon aimed at his greatest rival. Marcus Sterling was the real father, and Luna, unknowingly, held the keys to his financial kingdom.

“We need to get Will’s trust secured immediately,” Remy said, his mind shifting from defense to offense. “The scandal is over, but the war has just begun.”

The truth was finally exposed, shattering the old secrets and revealing a brand new, infinitely more dangerous game. Remy had escaped one trap only to find himself standing at the edge of a new battlefield, the prize being not just his own survival, but the total destruction of his old enemy.