The Mafia Boss’s Fiancée Cut the Pregnant Maid’s Hair in Front of Forty Guests and Learned Too Late Who the Baby’s Father Really Was

The examination took thirty agonizing minutes. Daniel refused to leave the room, standing by the tall floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out at the rain-lashed waters of Narragansett Bay while Dr. Sterling monitored the baby’s heartbeat and checked Hannah’s vital signs.

“The contractions are braxton-hicks, brought on by extreme stress and physical exhaustion,” Dr. Sterling finally said, washing his hands in the adjacent bathroom. He walked back into the bedroom, looking over his spectacles at Daniel. “But her blood pressure is dangerously high, and she is showing signs of severe nutritional deficiency. Daniel, she is a pregnant woman, not a draft horse. She cannot be on her feet for twelve hours a day scrubbing floors.”

“She won’t scrub another floor in this house,” Daniel said, his voice firm.

“She needs complete bed rest for the next four weeks,” the doctor continued, packing his stethoscope. “High-protein diet, hydration, and absolute quiet. No stress. If she goes into premature labor now, we are looking at a highly risky delivery.”

“She will have everything she needs,” Daniel said. He walked over to the side of the bed, looking down at Hannah, who had fallen into a light, exhausted sleep. The IV line the doctor had inserted in her arm dripped a steady stream of fluids and vitamins into her system.

Once the doctor departed, guided out by Martin, Daniel sat in the heavy leather armchair beside the bed. He watched the steady rise and fall of her chest, his mind traveling back to the night eight months ago—the night that had changed everything.

It had been a cold February night, just a week before Caleb Monroe disappeared.

Hannah had come to his private office in the city, desperate and beautiful, seeking an audience with the man who ruled the docks. She had believed her brother Caleb was in danger and thought Daniel was the only one who could save him. Daniel, suspicious of Caleb’s sudden interest in the Carver accounts, had initially refused to help.

But as the night wore on and the snow fell thick outside his office windows, their mutual suspicion had dissolved into a raw, desperate intensity. In the quiet sanctum of his private study, away from the eyes of his lieutenants and the threats of the Whitlocks, they had sought comfort in each other’s arms—a single, passionate night of fire and secrets.

The next morning, Hannah had fled, consumed by guilt and fear. Two weeks later, she married Aaron Brooks, her brother’s best friend, in a hasty ceremony.

Daniel had believed she had married Aaron out of love. He had tried to put her out of his mind, focusing on the encroaching threat of the Whitlock syndicate. But when Aaron died in that mysterious "accident" at the docks, and Hannah appeared at his mansion seeking a job as a maid, Daniel had realized something was deeply wrong. He had kept her close, letting her work under his roof to keep her safe, while his men searched for the truth behind Caleb’s disappearance.

He had never asked her about the baby. He had assumed, with a bitter ache in his chest, that the child belonged to Aaron.

Until tonight.

Tonight, when he had held her in his arms, when he had seen the timeline of her pregnancy clearly, the truth had struck him like a thunderbolt.

The baby she was carrying was not Aaron’s.

It was his.

A soft knock on the door broke his reverie. Martin stood in the doorway, his expression grim.

“Mr. Carver, Arthur Whitlock is downstairs in the library. He brought three of his personal security detail. He’s refusing to leave until he speaks with you.”

Daniel stood up, his face hardening into a mask of pure steel. He adjusted his cuffs, his gray eyes flashing with a lethal light.

“Stay here with her, Martin,” Daniel said. “Make sure she doesn’t wake up alone.”