The Architect's Prophecy: He Has to Get Them Pregnant

Mounted high in the corner of the ceiling was a sleek, black dome camera.

Jalen pressed his back flat against the wall, his pulse spiking. Megan had specifically said this hallway was a blind spot. Chris must have quietly upgraded his security system the moment he realized she was gone.

Jalen gritted his teeth, calculating the lens angle. He dropped low, practically crouching as he hugged the wall, sliding directly underneath the camera’s field of view until he reached the heavy oak door of Chris’s office.

He slipped inside, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Moving fast, Jalen headed straight to the massive mahogany desk. He reached for the third drawer on the right and yanked the handle.

It didn’t budge.

Jalen swore under his breath and pulled again. Locked. Chris might have been arrogant, but his paranoia was clearly starting to override it.

Wasting no time, Jalen pulled the flathead screwdriver from his back pocket. He wedged the thin metal into the lock mechanism, applying steady, careful pressure. He wiggled it, feeling the internal pins shift. After five agonizing seconds, he heard a soft click.

He pulled the drawer open. There, sitting underneath a stack of mundane financial reports, was the black leather folder.

He opened it up, verifying the bold “PRENUPTIAL AGREEMENT” header, pulled the thick document out, folded it twice, and shoved it deep into his pocket. He pushed the folder back under the reports and slid the drawer shut.

Just as he turned to leave, heavy footsteps sounded right outside the office.

Jalen froze, his blood running cold.

Shit. The brass doorknob began to turn.

Thinking fast, Jalen dropped to the floor and scrambled under the large mahogany desk, pulling his legs tightly to his chest just as the door swung open.

From the narrow gap beneath the desk, he saw the polished black dress shoes of an older man step into the room. The butler.

Jalen held his breath, his muscles burning with tension. The butler muttered something under his breath and walked over to the bar cart in the corner. Jalen listened to the clink of crystal glasses and the heavy glug of liquor being poured.

Just pour your drink and leave, Jalen prayed silently.

But the butler didn’t leave. Instead, the man sighed heavily and walked directly over to the desk.

Jalen pressed himself flush against the back panel, making himself as small as physically possible. He could see the butler’s shoes stop mere inches from where he was hiding. The man set his crystal glass down on the desk with a heavy thud.

Then, disaster struck.

The butler’s sleeve caught the edge of a heavy silver pen sitting on the desk. It rolled off the edge and hit the floor, bouncing twice before rolling directly underneath the desk, stopping just inches from Jalen’s knee.

Jalen’s heart slammed against his ribs.

The butler let out an annoyed grunt. The polished shoes shifted, and the man slowly sank to one knee.

Jalen stopped breathing. He closed his eyes, entirely trapped. A large, wrinkled hand reached blindly into the shadows beneath the desk, groping the carpet for the pen. The man’s knuckles lightly brushed against the fabric of Jalen’s pant leg.

Jalen didn’t flinch. He didn’t move a single muscle.

The butler’s fingers finally closed around the silver pen. He grunted again, using the edge of the desk to push himself back up to his feet. He grabbed his glass of liquor and, finally, strode back toward the door.

The door clicked shut.

Jalen stayed frozen for five extra seconds, his chest burning from the lack of oxygen. When he was certain the hallway was clear, he carefully and quietly crawled out from under the desk, sweat beading on his forehead.

No time to waste.

He cracked the office door open and peeked out. Clear.