One Love, Two Worlds

Katherine

I take a deep breath in front of the cracked mirror in the bathroom of my tiny studio in Queens, trying to calm the storm inside my chest. It’s early, the sun still hesitant behind the buildings, casting only a grayish light through the window’s crack. The place is humble, the kind most people prefer to forget exists, but it’s all I can afford right now with the irregular tips from my job as a waitress. I place a hand over my belly, still subtle but real enough to make me feel the weight of the responsibility growing inside. Two babies. Twins. The news still spins in my head like a hurricane, even after weeks. Me, Katherine Sinclair, alone and… a mother of twins. Who would have thought?

I close my eyes for a moment. I need to be strong. I can’t keep putting this off. I have to tell him—Sebastian Saint'Vincent. The man who got me pregnant in a night that was supposed to be nothing more than a fleeting glimpse between two opposite worlds. The man who, for a few hours, made me believe there could be some genuine connection between us, despite all the social differences and chasms of expectations. What a fool I was.

I met Sebastian at the top of Manhattan, literally. It was a luxurious party in his penthouse, an entire floor of glass and gleaming metal reflecting the city lights, so high up I felt like an ant staring at the stars. Up there, rich and famous people celebrated some kind of opening—I don’t even remember what it was. I had been hired by a catering company to serve champagne and canapés. My job: be invisible, polite, keep the tray steady and the smile soft, never attracting undue attention.

But Sebastian… well, he noticed me. Or maybe he was just bored and looking for a distraction. He was everything I wasn’t: confident, powerful, armed with a sarcasm that could cut through the air and the kind of beauty you don’t forget. Clear eyes, a crooked smile, dark hair styled in a way that looked both casual and meticulously planned. He drew me into a conversation, offered me a glass of champagne as if we were equals. I hesitated. I wasn’t supposed to accept, but there was something in the intensity of his gaze that made me lower my guard. That moment, the intoxication of his laughter, the soft music, the city shining beneath us… Everything turned into a night I could never get out of my head.

And now, here I am, with two lives growing inside me, lives created from that improbable encounter. He needs to know. Not because I expect support or anything like that. I’m not deluded. Sebastian Saint'Vincent is not the kind of man who embraces a waitress pregnant with twins. But the truth is a burden that needs to be shared, even if I end up receiving an invisible slap in the face for doing so.

I gather my things, put on a simple dress and a worn coat. My reflection in the mirror is not of a confident woman. I see dark circles, a tense expression, hair pulled back in a rushed bun. But I am who I am. I have no time for vanity anymore. I check my cheap phone in my pocket, the address in my notepad. Sebastian lives in the same place. He probably won’t recognize or remember me. But I’ll try. I have to.

I cross the city by subway, my stomach churning not just from pregnancy but from nerves too. When I step out onto Fifth Avenue, the scenery changes drastically: high-end boutiques, glass-and-steel skyscrapers, and a wind that seems sharper here, as if each gust reminds me I don’t belong in this world.

I arrive at Sebastian’s building, a luxury tower with uniformed doormen who look at me as if I’m an out-of-place insect. I swallow hard and introduce myself, saying I have something personal to discuss with Mr. Saint'Vincent. They hesitate, of course. Why would someone like me have a meeting with someone like him? I try to keep my voice steady, mentioning his name and the urgency of the matter. One of the doormen makes a call, whispers something into the intercom, and then, with a distrustful glance, lets me in through the lobby. A private elevator awaits me, gleaming and mirrored, reflecting my nervousness in all directions.

With each floor the elevator ascends, my thoughts become more tangled. What exactly will I say? “Sebastian, I’m pregnant… With twins… They’re yours.” It sounds so absurd. Half of me wants to run, the other half knows there’s no turning back. Finally, the doors open into a silent corridor, and an assistant—a slim man in an expensive suit with an indifferent expression—leads me to a gigantic living room, minimalist in design, with a panoramic view of the city. There, standing by the window, is Sebastian.

He turns when he sees me, his mouth forming a lopsided smile—not of recognition, but of boredom. Apparently, he thinks I’m some staff member or someone from a past life. It doesn’t surprise me. It’s been months, and I was in uniform. Still, I force myself to speak:

“Mr. Saint'Vincent, I’m Katherine Sinclair. You might not remember me, but we met at a party in your penthouse a few months ago. I was working as a waitress that night...”

I see his expression shift. His eyebrow arches, and for a second, he seems to try to recall. Then he shrugs, crossing his arms. There’s an arrogant gleam in his eyes, and he tilts his head slightly, as if to say, “So what?”

“Right. And what brings you here, Miss Sinclair?”

I take a deep breath. My heart pounds so hard I’m sure he can hear it. I try to keep my voice steady, without trembling:

“I… Well, I found out I’m pregnant. And the children” — I pause, my throat dry — “are yours. Twins.”

The silence between us is deafening. He stares at me for what feels like too long, and I see something flash across his face: surprise, disbelief, maybe anger. Then he laughs—a cold, cutting laugh, full of derision. The kind of laugh that makes your blood run cold.

“Funny,” he says, taking a few steps toward me, “you really think I’m going to fall for that story? Twins. Mine. What’s next, Miss Sinclair? A large sum of money to ‘take care’ of them? Some cheap blackmail?”

“It’s not blackmail.” My voice falters slightly, and I hate that. “I didn’t come here asking for money. I just thought you should know. It’s the truth.”

He narrows his eyes, his expression hardening. There stands the rich and powerful man, accustomed to control, to never being deceived. And in his view, I’m nothing more than a gold digger. An opportunist. His lips press into a thin line, his jaw tight.

“The truth?” He repeats the word as if tasting it with bitterness. “The truth, Katherine, is that women like you show up all the time. They think fame and money are a doorway out of their mediocrity. You worked as a waitress here, saw the chance to get close, and now you show up with this absurd story. Spare me the cliché.”

I feel my face heat with anger and humiliation. I should have expected this. My gaze drops to the floor for a second before I lift it again to meet his. My eyes burn, but I refuse to cry. Not in front of him.

“Do you really think I’d waste my time inventing a pregnancy?” My voice is tense. “You can do a paternity test if you want. I’m not lying.”

“Oh, so now you’re offering a test. How convenient.” He takes another step closer, close enough for me to catch the scent of his expensive cologne. There’s hostility in his stance. “I’m not going to subject myself to this kind of game. Get out of my penthouse. Now.”

I swallow hard. I didn’t expect flowers and confetti, but I also didn’t expect to be treated like human trash. Still, I have to try one more time.

“Sebastian...” His expression tightens when I dare to call him by his first name. “Please, at least think about it. I don’t want anything from you. I didn’t ask for money. I just thought you should know. These children are yours; I have no doubt. And it’s not just about you and me anymore. There are two innocent lives involved.”

He shakes his head, a short, dry laugh escaping his lips.

“Are you done? Because I have more important commitments than entertaining an opportunist’s imagination. Get out.” He gestures to the assistant, already standing nearby, waiting for the signal to remove me. “And don’t come back. Not once more.”

I feel the humiliation rise like a knot in my throat. I take two steps back, avoiding his gaze. The tears threaten to surface, but I swallow them down. I won’t give him that satisfaction.

“Fine,” I say, my voice shaky but still standing tall. “You’ll remember this conversation when the truth comes out.”

Without replying, he turns his back, as if I no longer exist. The assistant, gentle yet firm, escorts me to the elevator. When the doors close, I catch my own reflection, pale, shaken. My heart pounds painfully, and my hand instinctively returns to rest on my belly.

I can’t hold back the tears any longer. They fall silently as the elevator descends from the penthouse to the ground floor, bringing me back to the real world, the world where I belong. I tried. I gave him the chance to know, to be a part of this. He despised me, called me a fraud, as if I were just another name on his list of problems to ignore.

As I step out of the building, the cold wind of New York hits my tear-streaked face. I’m alone again, and I need to find my way home. The city surrounds me with its noises and smells, indifferent to my pain.

I take one step, then another, keeping my hand on my belly. They only have me, I think. These babies, my children, only have me. And though fear grows with every beat of my heart, I promise myself I won’t fail them. No matter how much their father rejects them. No matter how unjust the world may seem.

I move forward, the streets of New York stretching ahead like a battlefield I must cross. I am Katherine Sinclair, and despite everything, I will fight for these little beings who aren’t even born yet but have already made me stronger than I ever imagined I could be.

Sebastian

I stand before the panoramic window of my apartment, perched atop the tower that bears my family’s name, observing New York as if it were my private backyard. The city stretches out beneath my feet in a palette of gray and glass, illuminated here and there by neon signs and distant car lights. It’s morning, and my schedule already looms with tedious obligations: meetings with investors, a lunch with potential Asian partners, a visit to a new resort in the planning stages. None of it excites me as much as it should. Nothing distracts me from the irritating emptiness that’s settled within, a space I can’t even name.

Until the internal phone rings. I turn my back to the view, frowning. My personal assistant, a discreet man with a calm, measured voice, announces that someone is downstairs asking to see me. A woman named Katherine Sinclair.

For a moment, my mind contracts, the name reverberating with unexpected intensity. Katherine Sinc