Chapter 17
Stuart
I answer the door, thinking maybe it’s a late delivery.
The porch light illuminates a man who immediately sets off every alarm bell in my head.
Mid-thirties, overly whitened teeth that gleam predatorily, expensive but tasteless clothes—the kind that scream money without class.
A Rolex that's too large, too gold, too desperate to be noticed.
His cologne hits me before he speaks, something aggressive and overbearing.
Something about the way he’s standing, the way he looks past me into the house, makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
"May I help you?" My tone is deliberately unwelcoming, the same voice I use to dismiss pharmaceutical salespeople who interrupt my rounds.
"I'm here to see Claire." He says it like I should know who he is, like his presence should be expected, welcomed even. His eyes are muddy brown, calculating and cold despite the artificial smile.
"And you are?"
"Chad. Claire's boyfriend." He pauses, that shark smile widening to reveal those unnaturally white teeth. "Ex-boyfriend, technically, but that's why I'm here. To fix things."
The name hits like a slap. Chad. The manipulative bastard who destroyed Claire's confidence with a thousand small cruelties, isolated her from friends with subtle jealousies and manufactured conflicts, controlled her finances until she had nothing of her own.
The reason she arrived at Lottie's with nothing but two suitcases and a bruised self-worth.
"Claire doesn't want to see you." I start to close the door, but he wedges his foot against it, the expensive Italian leather of his shoe scuffing against our doorframe, leaving a black mark on the white paint.
"I think she should make that decision herself. Especially considering her condition."
"Her condition?" My voice drops to an icy-cold temperature, the kind that makes residents move away from me as quickly as possible.
"She's pregnant. I saw the announcement on Facebook through mutual friends." His eyes glitter with malicious satisfaction. "Funny thing is, the timing works out perfectly. The baby could be mine."
The rage that floods through me is volcanic, primitive in a way that my controlled mind rarely experiences. My hands clench into fists, all of my self-control forgotten in the face of primal fury. This fucking parasite thinks he can claim our child? He must be fucking kidding.
"The baby isn't yours." Each word comes out sharp enough to cut glass.
"Are you sure about that? Claire and I were together right up until she left.
Very together, if you know what I mean." His smirk makes me want to introduce his face to my fist repeatedly, to watch those teeth scatter across our porch.
"For all you know, she was already pregnant when she started spreading her legs for whoever you are. "
I'm moving before my brain catches up, my hand shooting out to grab his collar and yank him forward. The fabric is expensive but thin, and it tears under my grip. I can smell his breath—mint trying to mask whiskey.
"You lying piece of—"
"Stuart!" Jonathan's voice cuts through my rage. He and Dane appear behind me, probably summoned by the raised voices echoing through the house.
"What's going on?" Dane asks, though his expression suggests he's already pieced it together from the anger radiating through me.
"This is Chad," I spit the name like poison, my grip not loosening on his shirt.
Jonathan's expression transforms immediately, going from concerned to dangerous in a heartbeat. His usual golden retriever energy darkens into something protective and fierce.
"You need to leave," Jonathan says, stepping beside me. His considerable bulk fills the doorway, muscles visible even through his henley. "Now."
Chad straightens his collar when I finally release him, unbothered by the violence, almost seeming to enjoy it. "I'm not going anywhere until I talk to Claire. She's carrying what might be my child—"
"The hell she is," I snarl, fighting the urge to grab him again, to do actual damage this time.
"Can you prove otherwise? Have you done a paternity test?" His smile is triumphant, like he's played a winning card. "Because if not, I have just as much claim as any of you. Legally speaking."
The sound of footsteps behind us makes everyone freeze.
Claire appears in the hallway. She's wearing one of my Harvard Med sweatshirts over her leggings, and something about seeing her in my clothes while facing her abuser makes my protective instincts roar even louder. Her face drains of color as she sees Chad’s face.
"Hello, baby," Chad says, his tone switching to false sweetness that makes my skin crawl. "I've been so worried about you."
"How did you find me?" Her voice is steady, but I see the tremor in her hands, the way her other hand grips the doorframe for support.
"Wasn't hard. Your aunt's address is public record.
When I heard about your pregnancy, I knew I had to come.
To check on you. Make sure you're okay. Heard rumors you were living next door with a couple of men.
" He tries to push past us, but Jonathan blocks him with his considerable bulk.
"Claire, we need to talk. About the baby, about us—"
"There is no us." Claire moves forward, though I notice she stays behind our protective wall. "There hasn't been an us since I found you in our bed with your secretary. On our anniversary."
"That was a mistake. I was stressed, you were always working—"
"I was working because you insisted we needed more money while you spent everything I earned on your car, your clothes, your other women."
"Let's not do this in front of your... what are these guys exactly?
Your landlords? Your sugar daddies? Your roommates?
" His eyes scan our home's interior again, and I can see him calculating, storing details for later use.
"Nice setup you've got here. Three men, one big house.
Very convenient for someone who couldn't even afford her own apartment. "
"Watch your mouth," Dane warns quietly, but there's steel in his voice that I rarely hear.
Chad ignores him, focusing on Claire with the intensity of a predator who's spotted weakness. "Come on, baby. You don't belong here playing house with these old perverts. You belong with me. Especially if you're carrying my child."
"The baby isn't yours," Claire says firmly.
"You can't know that without a test. And when people find out about your little arrangement here—pregnant by one of three men you're fucking—how do you think that'll affect your precious practice?
Your reputation?" He pulls out his phone, waving it like a weapon.
"One post, Claire. One post and everyone knows what you've become.
How the respected Dr. Pierce spreads her legs for three men at once. "
The threat hangs in the air. This is what he does apparently—manipulating her by intimidating her, control through fear. I can see Claire starting to shrink, and something in me snaps.
"Are you threatening her?" I ask, my voice deceptively calm, the same tone I use before delivering terminal diagnoses.
Inside, I'm calculating exactly how much damage I can inflict without losing my medical license.
The carotid artery is right there, so exposed.
One precise strike to the vagus nerve...
"I'm offering her a chance to come home where she belongs. Otherwise, well, people talk. Social media spreads things quickly. A respected chiropractor living in a polyamorous arrangement, pregnant by God knows who? That story writes itself. Her new practice would be destroyed within a week."
"You bastard," Jonathan growls, taking a step forward that makes Chad step back quickly.
But then Claire does something that stops us all.
She pushes past us, moving with sudden determination.
She stands directly in front of Chad, no longer hiding behind us.
The transformation is remarkable—spine straight, shoulders back, chin lifted.
This is the Claire who challenged me intellectually that first night, who refused to be intimidated by my arrogance, who stood her ground when I tried to dismiss her profession.
"Let me make something crystal fucking clear," she says, her voice steady now, each word precisely aimed.
"I am never coming back to you. Ever. You destroyed my confidence with your constant criticism.
You stole my money and convinced me I was too stupid to manage finances.
You isolated me from everyone who cared about me, made them all seem like threats to us.
You made me believe I was worthless without you, that no one else would want someone as difficult as me. "
"Claire—"
"I'm not finished." Her hand rests on her stomach, drawing strength from the life growing inside her.
"This baby isn't yours. We hadn't had sex in months before I left because you were too busy with your secretary, your ex-girlfriend, and that bartender from downtown.
Remember her? The one you said was 'just a friend'? "
Chad's face reddens, ugly blotches spreading across his cheeks. "You can't prove—"
"I have screenshots of your texts to all of them. Dated, time-stamped, including the ones where you laugh about your 'frigid girlfriend'. The ones where you call me pathetic, clingy, embarrassing."
I didn't know about this. From Jonathan and Dane's expressions, neither did they. The thought of this man making Claire feel unwanted, untouchable, makes me want to choke this bastard out. I want to perform surgery on him without anesthesia, to show him what real pain feels like.
"Those texts don't mean—"
"I also have records showing I got tested after I left you. Full panel for STDs because I didn't know what you might have exposed me to. Thankfully clean, despite your extracurricular activities. Those tests included a pregnancy test. Negative. Dated three days after I left you."