A baby for my Billionaire Alpha Stepdaddy

Ofelia’s POV

“What do you mean there is no money?” I asked, my voice shaking as I stared at the banker across the desk. My hands gripped the edge of the counter so tight my knuckles turned white. The man in the crisp suit didn’t even blink. He just slid a paper toward me. “I’m sorry, Miss Bennett. The account has been cleared out completely. Both parties signed the authorization forms two days ago. Here’s the copy.” I grabbed the letter and scanned it. My name was there. Ethan’s name was there. The signatures looked real. But I couldn’t remember signing anything. My head felt fuzzy, like I was watching someone else’s nightmare. “There must be some mistake,” I whispered. “That’s our savings. All of it. We’ve been putting money in there for three years. For rent, for our future—” “I’m afraid there’s no mistake,” he said gently, but his eyes were already moving to the next customer. “The funds were transferred out yesterday morning.” I tried calling Ethan right there in the bank lobby. The phone rang once, then went straight to voicemail. I called again. Same thing. My heart started hammering against my ribs. Ethan always picked up. Always. I left the bank on shaky legs. The afternoon sun felt too bright, too normal for the way my world was cracking open. Ethan and I had been together for three years. We shared everything—the tiny two-bedroom apartment in the city, the joint account we called our “future fund,” the plans to get a better place once we saved enough. I’d gone to the bank today just to pull out money for this month’s rent, which was due tonight. Now there was nothing. This has to be a mistake, I kept telling myself as I hurried home. Maybe someone hacked the account. Maybe Ethan’s in trouble. Our apartment building looked the same as always—faded beige paint, the broken elevator that nobody fixed. I took the stairs two at a time, my cheap work heels clicking loudly. When I pushed open the door, the first thing that hit me was the emptiness. Half the living room was gone. The TV was missing. Ethan’s gaming chair. His PlayStation. The framed pictures of us from the shelf—only the ones with him had been taken down. The closet in our bedroom stood open, his clothes cleared out. His side of the bed was stripped. Even the stupid coffee mug he loved, the one that said “World’s Okayest Boyfriend,” was gone. My knees almost gave out. Robbers? My mind raced. What if someone broke in and took everything that belonged to him? What if they hurt him? I pulled out my phone again, fingers trembling as I dialed 911. But before I could hit call, I looked closer. No broken windows. No forced lock. Nothing else was touched. My jewelry box still sat on the dresser. My clothes hung neatly. The cheap furniture we bought together was all there—except the pieces Ethan had picked out. It was only his things missing. Ethan was gone. I sank onto the edge of the bed, staring at the empty closet. My chest felt tight, like someone was squeezing my lungs. Where are you? I whispered to the quiet room. We had fights, sure. He’d been distant lately, always on his phone, coming home late from “work.” But I ignored the red flags. I told myself it was stress. I told myself we were building something real. A soft ding broke the silence. A text message. I opened it with numb fingers. Don’t look for me. Don’t call me. I found someone else. The words blurred as tears filled my eyes. I read it again and again, like maybe the letters would rearrange themselves into something that made sense. Three years. Three years of late-night talks, of me covering his rent when he was between jobs, of dreaming about a house with a yard someday. And he left like this? Like I was nothing? I dropped the phone and curled into a ball on the bed. The sobs came hard and ugly, the kind that shook my whole body. I cried until my throat hurt and my eyes burned. Anger boiled up between the tears—anger at him, but mostly at myself. How did I not see it? The way he started dressing better. The new cologne. The times he’d cancel our plans last minute. I’d made excuses every single time. He’s just tired. He’s working hard for us. Stupid. So stupid. The sun moved across the room and slowly disappeared. I stayed on the bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment of the last few months. All our savings—gone. The rent money—gone. How was I supposed to pay the landlord tonight? How was I supposed to eat next week? My job at the bookstore barely covered my half of the bills before. Now there was nothing. My old life was finished. Everything I thought was solid had crumbled in one afternoon. No boyfriend. No money. No home soon, probably. Just me, alone in a half-empty apartment that smelled like the ghost of the man I thought I loved. I cried until there were no tears left. Just a hollow ache in my chest. The kind of emptiness that made me wonder if I would ever feel okay again. Night fell. The city sounds drifted up from the street—cars honking, people laughing like the world hadn’t ended. I lay there in the dark, hugging my knees. The clock on my phone said 11:47 p.m. I should try to sleep. Tomorrow I’d have to figure out how to survive this. Just before midnight, my phone rang. The screen lit up with an unknown number. I almost didn’t answer. But something in my gut told me to pick up. I pressed the green button and held it to my ear. “Hello?” A cold, professional voice spoke on the other end. “Miss Bennett?” “Yes?” My voice was hoarse from crying. “This is Mr. Hargrove from First Capital Loans. Your loan payment is overdue. We have attempted to contact you multiple times. If you do not pay the full balance within seven days, we will begin legal action, including wage garnishment and potential asset seizure.” I sat up slowly, the room spinning. “What loan? I don’t have any loan with you.” There was a short pause. “The documents are on file, signed by you and Mr. Ethan Caldwell. The amount due is $18,400. Seven days, Miss Bennett. We suggest you make arrangements immediately.” The line went dead. I stared at the phone in my hand, the screen glowing in the dark room. $18,400. Signed by me and Ethan. Another thing I didn’t remember. Another knife in my back. The walls felt like they were closing in. My breathing came fast and shallow. Everything I had was gone—my money, my man, my safety net. And now this. I buried my face in the pillow as fresh tears started. But deep down, under the panic and the heartbreak, something else stirred. A tiny, angry spark. Curse you Ethan!!! Curse you!!!!

Ofelia’s POV

It has been three days and that was all it took for my life to turn into a complete nightmare. I hadn’t eaten anything solid since the day Ethan left. Sleep came in short, broken pieces filled with dreams of empty closets and ringing phones. Every time my phone buzzed, it was another debt collector. Turns out Ethan didn’t just empty our joint account. He took out loans in my name—big ones. Credit cards I never knew about. Personal loans I never signed for. Or at least, I didn’t remember signing. My head still spun every time I thought about it. “Miss Bennett, this is the third notice…”
“Legal action will be taken…”
“We’re coming for your wages…” I stopped answering after the second day. I just lay on the couch in the half-empty apartment, staring at the ceiling, wondering how I was going to survive. The landlord had already slipped a warning note under the door. Rent was overdue. Again. A loud knock made me jump. “Ofelia! Open this door right now or I’m using my