Positive.

The word glared back at her from the plastic stick. Not once, not twice, but three times.

"What's the result, dear?" Her grandmother’s voice drifted through the bathroom door, thin and trembling with anxiety.

Rain couldn't move. At eighteen, her "perfect life plan" hadn't included this. There was no boyfriend, no stable relationship—just one blurred, feverish night with a stranger she couldn't forget.

"Rain! For God’s sake, open the door," Sam, her best friend, shouted from the hallway.

Rain took a shaky breath, her fingers hovering over the silver knob. How could she face them? Her grandparents, who had given her everything. Sam, who believed in her.

"Rain, honey." This time it was her grandfather, Walton. His voice was a steady anchor, but Rain felt herself sinking.

You can do this, she whispered to her reflection. You have to.

She twisted the lock. When she stepped out, the silence in the room was heavy, broken only by the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock and the catch in her throat.

"I'm pregnant," she whispered.

The world didn't end. Instead, Noami pulled her into a frail, lavender-scented embrace. "Oh, dear child."

"It’s okay, Rain," Walton added, his white mustache twitching with suppressed emotion.

"It’s not!" Rain’s voice cracked, the reality finally shattering her composure. She sank to the floor, burying her face in her hands. That night had been raw, gentle in a way she hadn't expected from a stranger, but it had been a mistake fueled by cheap gin and a moment of rebellion.

Sam knelt beside her, gently prying her hands away. He looked at her—red-nosed, eyes swimming in tears, hair a chaotic nest—and his expression softened.

"I’m eighteen, Sam," she sobbed into his chest. "I’ve ruined everything. My job, my parents’ memory... who’s going to want me now?"

"Ssh," Sam murmured, holding her until the exhaustion of the panic took over. He eventually lifted her bridal-style, tucking her into bed as the shadows of the afternoon lengthened.

Downstairs, the trio sat in a grim circle.

"I shouldn't have left her alone at the club," Sam muttered, his jaw tight.

"A bit late for regrets, Samuel," Noami clipped.

"We could... talk about options," Walton suggested tentatively. "Abortion is—"

"That is Rain’s choice," Noami interrupted. "No one else’s."

The debate was cut short by the creak of the stairs. Rain stood there, looking smaller than her five-foot-two frame, her eyes clear for the first time that day.

"I’m keeping the baby," she said.

A flicker of relief, then joy, lit Noami’s face. "I’m going to be a great-grandmother."

"But," Walton cautioned, "we need to know who the father is."

Rain’s mouth went bone-dry. She remembered him. You didn't forget a man who looked like an Adonis but carried the reputation of a shark. "Damien Black," she whispered.

The room went icy. Everyone knew the name. The "Beast" of the corporate world.

"You have to tell him," Sam said.

The Black Enterprise building was a ninety-story monolith of glass and ego. Rain felt absurd in her floral sundress, her palms slick with sweat as she stood before the receptionist.

"I need to see Mr. Black. It’s... urgent."

The receptionist didn't look up from her monitor. "Do you have an appointment?"

"No, but—"

"Next month is the earliest vacancy."

"Please," Rain’s voice rose, attracting stares from the polished professionals in the lobby. "It’s five minutes. Tell him it’s Rain. Rain Carter."

A phone call and a security camera scan later, Rain was in the elevator. Her stomach did a slow roll as the floors ticked up. When she reached the top floor, she knocked on the heavy mahogany door.

"Come in." The voice was a low, melodic growl.

Rain entered. Damien Black didn't look up from his paperwork. He looked even more imposing than she remembered—sharp suit, shoulders that seemed too broad for the chair, and a coldness that radiated off him like a physical chill.

"You have five minutes," he snapped.

"I’m pregnant," she blurted out.

The pen stopped. Damien looked up slowly, his dark eyes tracing her features with a clinical, detached interest.

"And your name is?"

"Rain. Rain Carter." She flinched. He didn't even remember her name.

Damien leaned back, sighing as he ran a hand through his ink-black hair. "So, you believe you’re carrying my child."

"I know I am."

He stood up, walking toward her with a predatory grace. He stopped inches away, looming over her. "You know, I let you up because you didn't look like the usual social climbers who haunt my lobby. But I was wrong. I remember every woman I’ve slept with, Miss Carter. I don't remember you."

"I am not lying!" Rain’s fear was suddenly eclipsed by a hot flash of anger.

"Listen to me," Damien said, his voice dropping to a dangerous level. "I don't have time for this scam. Leave. Take care of your little bastard on your own."

"How dare you!" Rain yelled. "You can call me a liar, but do not call this baby a bastard."

Damien’s expression shifted. It wasn't anger—it was something darker. He stepped into her space, his hand snapping out to grip her arm. Not enough to bruise, but enough to pin her in place.

"Repeat that," he hissed. "What did you call me?"

"A sick man! A bastard!" Rain shouted, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Bastard. The word hit Damien like a physical blow. Suddenly, he wasn't in a penthouse office. He was twelve years old, kneeling in a dark basement, the smell of damp concrete filling his lungs. He could feel the sting of the belt and hear his mother’s voice: You deserve this. You’re nothing but a bastard.

His vision blurred. The girl in front of him wasn't just a girl; she was a trigger for every ounce of self-loathing he had buried under billions of dollars.

He let go of her arm so abruptly she stumbled. His face went completely blank—the "Beast" retreating behind a wall of ice.

"Get out," he said. The words weren't yelled. They were whispered, cold and final, like a tomb door closing.

"Damien—"

"Get. Out." He turned his back on her, his hands trembling slightly where she couldn't see them. "If you ever come back here, I will have security throw you out of the building. You are nothing to me."

Rain stared at his broad back, the silence in the room more deafening than any slap could have been. She didn't cry. Not here. She gathered her dignity, turned on her heel, and walked out.

In the elevator, she placed a hand over her stomach.

"Don't worry, little one," she whispered to the empty car. "We don't need a beast. We’ll do this together."