Chương 75: A Contract Before Conception

"Selina, we've driven down this avenue twice already." I leaned back in the passenger seat, lazily watching the same sunlit government buildings of Washington glide past outside the window.

"We're literally going in circles. Unless this is some elaborate counter-surveillance trick to shake a tail before we head to your lab." Selina did not answer. Instead, her right foot slammed the brake pedal to the floor. The tires barked against the asphalt, and the car came to an abrupt stop in the middle of an empty lane. The seatbelt bit hard into my chest, keeping me pinned in place. Most people would have been gasping after a jolt like that. My right eye merely twitched.

I turned toward her and studied her with a calm, assessing look.

"So we're not going to the lab today?"

"Mm-hmm." Selina let out a strained breath and lowered her head onto the steering wheel as though she had suddenly run out of energy.

"Is this about Megan?"

"Yeah." Her shoulders gave a faint tremor, and her fingers tightened around the leather steering wheel.

"Well... not exactly." She looked genuinely miserable. Defeated, confused, nothing like the confident scientist I had grown accustomed to. A perfectly natural masculine impulse stirred inside me: move closer, put an arm around her shoulders, offer some reassuring cliché that usually helped in moments like these. I shut the urge down before it could go any further. Experience had taught me that comforting someone without knowing the actual problem was like signing off on an audit without reviewing the numbers.

First the facts, then the conclusions.

"Selina, I can't read minds, and the one-word answers aren't helping," I said in the measured tone I usually reserved for steering people back toward rational thinking.

"Just lay it out for me. You know me. I'm practical. I don't panic, and I can handle whatever you need to tell me." Slowly straightening up, Selina adjusted the sunglasses that had slipped down her nose and looked me straight in the eye.

"I have reliable contacts at headquarters, Tom. They finally approved a suitable portal for trainee deployment. In three days, you'll receive an official mobilization order on your phone."

"What's the catch? One-way ticket? Deadly danger? Unknown variables? Friendly betrayal?"

"Tom, stop being ridiculous and turn off your inner conspiracy theorist," she snapped, waving the idea away.

"Command values its investment in you far too much to throw you away. It'll be a standard operation. A Loz'an cleanup."

"So the enemy's weak, thoroughly studied, no surprises expected, and nobody's planning to stab me in the back," I summarized while carefully watching her expression.

"Then let me ask again. What's the actual problem, Selina? Why are we parked in the middle of the road?"

"For someone with a brain that works as fast as yours, you can be unbelievably dense about obvious things." She sighed, taking off her sunglasses and rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"You only have three days left before mobilization, Tom. Three days. Even if we turned around right now and I gave you the Omega Plus injection, your body physically wouldn't have enough time to adapt and recover before deployment." I spent a few seconds silently processing her words, expecting some hidden catch to follow. When none came, I could not suppress a disappointed sigh. All that drama, tortured pauses, and emergency braking, only for it to come down to a scheduling conflict.

"That's it?" I shook my head, not bothering to hide the amusement in my voice.

"You built this up so much I was already mentally shopping for a tombstone, and it turns out we're talking about postponing a procedure. I'm not in a rush to push my stats or chase another level right now. I'll clear the portal, come back, and we'll do the injection afterward."

"Maybe you're not in a rush." Selina turned sharply toward the side window, hurt creeping into her voice.

"But I had plans for those days. Carefully calculated plans." I frowned, feeling the entire chain of logic unravel.

"Remind me when you became the number-one fan of my biological upgrades. A month ago, every mention of a syringe earned me a lecture about risks and a plea not to do anything reckless. Now you're upset because the procedure is getting delayed by a couple of weeks. Where's the logic in that?"

"Because I want to have your children, damn it!" she blurted, whipping around to face me. The words hit like a thunderclap from a clear sky, causing my brain to freeze for a second.

"I analyzed everything," she continued, gesturing animatedly.

"After every modification, you become... softer. More agreeable. Easier to negotiate with. I had a plan. First we'd raise your level, then you'd get the dopamine boost, and that's when I'd remind you about our agreement. But everything went wrong. First you spent an entire week dealing with your mother's health. I flew out specifically so I wouldn't miss a single opportunity. Today I was planning to explain everything in the car, but that clingy Megan tagged along and ruined the whole moment."

I listened to the flood of emotional logic, and a faint smile crept across my face. Her rigorous scientific mindset, all her degrees and credentials, had completely surrendered to pure emotion. There was something strangely adorable about her carefully crafted strategy for winning me over.

"Oh, Selina..." I interrupted gently, forcing her to slow down.

"Tell me something. Why did you decide you needed to catch me in an especially good mood before talking to me about children? Do you really think I'm that much of a coldhearted bastard?"

"You went an entire month after our first conversation without bringing it up once!" she shot back, folding her arms across her chest.

"Any normal woman would've assumed you were quietly letting the whole thing die."

"Letting it die so thoroughly that I hired a family-law attorney last Tuesday to draft a legally airtight agreement covering custody rights and mutual obligations," I replied calmly. Selina froze. Her arms slowly dropped, and her eyes widened. She ripped off her sunglasses as though they were somehow preventing her from hearing properly and stared at me, searching for any sign that I was joking.

"You're... you're serious? You're not messing with me?"

"Do I look like someone who jokes about legal terminology?" I asked, giving her the most serious look I could manage.

"Tomorrow morning we can arrange a formal meeting between our attorneys on neutral ground. If you're satisfied with the terms of the agreement, we'll sign the paperwork and move directly to the conception process without any unnecessary delays."

"Tom..." Selina seemed to deflate. Her hand slid across the center console and unexpectedly settled over mine. Her palm was warm and slightly damp with nerves.

"You really... you honestly don't mind if I'm the mother of your children?" This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it"If I'd had even the slightest doubt about you, Selina, I wouldn't have spent money consulting an attorney in the first place," I replied, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze. According to every rule of a Hollywood romance, this was the moment when we were supposed to share a passionate kiss while trapped motorists laid on their horns behind us.

But this was real life, and I had never been particularly sentimental. Besides, we really should not have been blocking traffic any longer. I carefully withdrew my hand and opened the passenger door.

"See you tomorrow."

The next morning, at exactly 8: 45, I stood on a Washington sidewalk beneath an overcast sky, studying a glass-and-concrete high-rise. It was a respectable business center in the city's commercial district, where Selina had rented a small conference room for a couple of hours so we could discuss our affairs without unwanted ears nearby. Beside me stood Gordon, lazily shifting his weight from one foot to the other. My attorney.

He wore a perfectly pressed gray suit that still struggled to hide his extra weight, and in his right hand he carried a battered leather briefcase packed with the legal equivalent of delayed-action land mines. Gordon was in his late fifties. Gray heavily dusted his temples, and deep wrinkles lined his face, but when it came to family law, marriage contracts, and protecting fathers' rights, nobody in the District of Columbia could match him. A genuine pit bull trapped inside the body of an exhausted office worker.

"Doesn't it bother you that the other side chose the meeting location, Mr. Ross?" Gordon asked as we stepped into the cool lobby and headed toward the elevators. His voice carried the familiar rasp of a lifelong smoker. I pressed the call button. Somewhere above us, an elevator chimed softly and started its descent.

"Not at all, Gordon. What matters is what's written in the documents, not the coffee they serve in the conference room."

"Fair enough." The old man gave a faint grin, clearly approving of my pragmatism.

"You can sign paperwork on the hood of a police cruiser or on the bar top of some rundown dive. Doesn't make a difference. The only thing that matters is which courtroom ends up reading those papers when somebody decides they want to change the rules." The conference room turned out to be exactly what I expected: a bland corporate box with sealed windows, a heavy table, and a collection of rolling office chairs. It was not empty. Two seats near the window were already occupied.

Selina sat there looking noticeably tense, and beside her was a thin woman with silver-streaked hair pulled into a flawless bun, dressed in a sharply tailored coffee-colored suit.

"Ms. Watson," the woman introduced herself with a brief nod, giving us a measured look.

"I represent my client, Ms. Langstrom."

"Mr. Gordon," my attorney replied in the same tone, setting his briefcase on the table with a muted thump.

"I represent Mr. Ross." Once the formalities were out of the way, we took seats across from one another.

"Our objective today is to draft and execute a custody agreement concerning an unborn child between two individuals who are not legally married," Watson began in a smooth, practiced voice, directing her attention almost entirely at me.

"District of Columbia law recognizes such arrangements through established legal precedent. To save time, I'd suggest we move directly to the primary provisions..."

"... which any competent family-law attorney could tear apart before the first hearing is over," Gordon interrupted lazily without even looking at her. He calmly opened his briefcase.

"All your client has to do after giving birth is claim conception happened in some motel after a few drinks and that she signed this agreement under emotional pressure. The whole thing falls apart. The court throws out the document, Ms. Langstrom walks away with full parental rights, and my client gets stuck with child support until the kid turns eighteen. That's not an arrangement we're interested in." Watson did not so much as blink. Apparently, she had expected the objection.

"Your proposal, Mr. Gordon?" she asked smoothly.

"No natural conception. No romantic encounters. Everything goes through a licensed fertility clinic. Both parents sign the clinic's official paperwork acknowledging that the procedure is a voluntary, joint, and fully documented decision. That permanently eliminates any future claim that Mr. Ross 'didn't intend this' or 'was opposed to it.' The agreement is executed and placed in escrow immediately.

Once the children are born, we petition the court to formally recognize the existing agreement based on the documented intent of both parents and the clinic's records. That closes every obvious path for future challenges. Those are our terms. If they're unacceptable, there's no point continuing this meeting." Silence settled over the room for several minutes, broken only by the muted hum of the ventilation system. Selina and Watson leaned toward each other and exchanged a series of quiet whispers.

Judging by how quickly they reached an understanding, they had already considered this possibility.

"We can accept those terms, but we have one condition of our own," Watson said, straightening in her chair and looking directly at me.

"The agreement is reviewed and initialed today, and the visit to the fertility clinic for sample collection and the procedure itself also takes place today."

"I don't have a problem with that." I calmly unscrewed a bottle of water.

"Assuming we don't run into scheduling issues."

"You don't need to worry about that. I've already booked and paid for everything," Selina said, her voice unexpectedly soft.

"I know you too well, Tom. It would've been ridiculous to expect you'd agree to some spontaneous backseat hookup. You need a sterile facility, documented procedures, and legal protection."

"I'm not sure why you're saying that like it's a flaw," I replied with complete composure.

"Those protections benefit both of us." The attorneys immediately turned their attention to their laptops and began filling out a standard joint-parenting agreement template, their fingers moving briskly across the keyboards.

"All right, identifying information has been entered for both parties," Watson said roughly ten minutes later as she reviewed the document on her screen.

"Now we move to the key issue: the custody structure. Joint or sole? As a reminder, joint custody means the child spends equal time with each parent, for example one week with the mother and one week with the father, while major decisions ranging from education to healthcare require mutual agreement. Sole custody means the child primarily resides with one parent while the other receives scheduled visitation and overnight rights, with the primary custodian retaining final authority over major decisions."

"Sole custody," Selina and I said simultaneously. For a moment, we simply stared at each other.

"Oh, thank God, Tom." Selina exhaled heavily and pressed a hand to her chest in relief.

"Honestly, I kept waiting for you to throw me a curveball. I thought you'd dig in your heels and fight for joint custody. I'm glad common sense won out and you understand a baby will be happier and more secure living with me."

"Actually, when I said sole custody, I was talking about myself," I said evenly.

"What?!" Selina exploded. Every trace of relief vanished from her face, and her fingers clamped onto the edge of the table.

"Tom, this whole thing was my idea from the very beginning!"

"That's exactly what concerns me." I leaned back in my chair, remaining perfectly calm.

"Given your obsession with science, I wouldn't be surprised if you decided to raise my son as a long-term research project while tracking his development every couple of hours. As his father, I can't justify taking that kind of risk. The child will live with me, and you'll have scheduled visitation."

"Absolutely not!" she snapped, practically seething.

"Selina, let's be realistic. In this arrangement, I hold the stronger negotiating position." I leaned forward and met her gaze.

"First, if we can't reach an agreement, I can walk out of this room and find another woman who's willing to have my children under my terms."

"What, you're gonna call Megan the second you leave?" she shot back through clenched teeth, jealousy obvious in her voice.

"Second," I continued, ignoring the jab completely, "my current capabilities allow me to offer you more than one child. If you agree to my custody terms, I can give you twins. Maybe even a boy and a girl. They'll inherit my genetics, but they'll look exactly like you. Think about it rationally. Ideal children, and you won't have to worry about school pickups every day." A heavy silence settled over the room.

The only sound was the steady tap of Selina's manicured nails against the polished tabletop as she weighed the offer. At that moment, both attorneys demonstrated the highest level of professional discipline. They might as well have turned into statues. Neither raised an eyebrow or asked a single question about "perfect genetics" or guaranteed twins. True professionals. As long as the clock kept running and the billable hours accumulated, other people's peculiarities were none of their concern.

"Twins," Selina finally said after a long pause, stopping the tapping.

"A boy and a girl. And we choose the names together."

"Deal. They'll spend every weekend with you starting Friday evening," I said. The attorneys immediately took the cue and resumed typing, updating the agreement. The remaining provisions were settled without difficulty. The largest and most contentious issue had been resolved right at the start. Half an hour later, the signatures were in place. All that remained was a trip to the clinic.