“Elila,” he whispered, his grip tightening on the plastic. “Is this what I think it is?”

“It’s mine,” I said, my voice barely audible over the hum of the centrifuge.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“I ran three tests,” I said. “They all say the same thing.”

He rubbed his temple with his free hand, looking at the high-tech equipment surrounding us.

“This changes things,” he said, his voice tight. “We need to figure out how to handle this. The board cannot find out about us.”

“I’m not asking you for anything, Andrew,” I said, my chest aching. “I didn’t plan this.”

“That doesn’t matter,” he said, stepping closer again. “If this is my child, I will not ignore it.”

Before I could answer, the electronic lock on the lab door beeped loudly.

The red light flashed green, and the heavy door swung open.

A tall woman stepped into the sterile room.

She wore a tailored white wool coat and carried a designer leather bag.

Her blonde hair was pulled back into a perfect, tight bun that showed her sharp cheekbones.

It was Victoria Sterling, the woman whose portrait still sat on the tables of the executive suite.

She looked at me, her eyes cold and sharp as glass.

“Don’t believe a word she says, Andrew,” Victoria said, her voice dripping with disdain.

She walked forward, her high heels tapping a steady, menacing rhythm on the tiles.

“She is lying to you.”

Andrew turned to face her, his posture stiffening immediately.

“Victoria,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “You shouldn’t be in this wing.”

“I go where I please in this building, Andrew,” she said, stopping next to the lab bench.

She glanced at the test in his hand, then looked at me with a slow, cruel smile.

“Did she tell you it’s yours?” Victoria asked, her voice light but sharp. “How convenient for an intern whose contract ends next month.”