Chapter 8
James Moretti’s entire body locked up at the student’s words.
“Lost the baby?” The words tasted like broken glass in his mouth.
The blue-haired undergrad glared, her grip tightening on her textbooks. “Some bastard got her pregnant and vanished. Didn’t even show up when she collapsed.” Each syllable landed like a gunshot in the quiet quad.
Sophia had been carrying his child.
His mind flashed to the hospital – Sophia’s pale face in the elevator, the crumpled paper in her fist. And him? Escorting Vicky to her prenatal appointment like a fucking gentleman.
“Where is she now?” The words scraped his throat raw.
The student’s lips thinned. “Gone. Left for Switzerland last week.”
Switzerland.
The application forms he’d mocked. The snow he’d claimed she’d hate. Every dismissive comment now a knife twisting in his
gut.
Midnight found James in his penthouse office, shredding through red tape with a series of violent phone calls. By 3 AM, he had the institute director on a private jet headed to his headquarters.
“One million euros for your research program,” James snarled, slamming a check onto his desk. “Tell me where she is.”
