Baby Daddy Roulette

Chapter 57

Selene’s POV

The conference room is designed to intimidate. Mahogany table long enough to land a small plane. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking downtown Seattle. Cassian’s legal team arranged like a firing squad on the opposite side.

Three lawyers. A paralegal. A videographer with a camera pointed directly at my face.

And me.

Diane sits beside me, her presence the only thing keeping me from bolting. Mateo and Axel aren’t here—deliberately. Diane insisted they stay out of sight, out of record, where Cassian’s team couldn’t study them, provoke them, or twist their reactions into leverage. This was my testimony to give, my composure to hold.

We’ve prepared for this—hours of practice sessions, anticipated questions, strategies for staying calm when they try to provoke me. But preparation and reality are different beasts.

"Please state your full name for the record."

"Selene Marie Marlowe."

"And you understand you're under oath, Dr. Marlowe?"

"I do."

The lead attorney—a sharp-featured man named Harold Brennan—opens a folder with theatrical precision. "Let's begin with your relationship with Mr. Drummond. You were engaged, correct?"

"Yes. From March of the relevant year until October."

"And the engagement ended when you allegedly discovered Mr. Drummond with another woman."

"Not allegedly. I walked in on him in our bed with someone else."

"So you claim." Brennan's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "But you have no photographic evidence of this alleged infidelity, correct?"

"I wasn't exactly thinking about documentation at that moment."

"Move on, Harold," Diane interjects. "The infidelity isn't the subject of this deposition."

"It speaks to credibility." But Brennan shuffles his papers, shifting tactics. "Dr. Marlowe, let's discuss the night you claim the engagement ended. After discovering Mr. Drummond with this alleged other woman, what did you do?"

"I left the apartment. Went to my sister's home."

"And then?"

"I stayed there for several days. Processing what happened."

"Processing." He repeats the word like it tastes bad. "And during this processing period, did you have any contact with Mr. Drummond?"

"He called multiple times. I didn't answer."

"So he was trying to reconcile."

"He was trying to explain. There's a difference."

"Is there?" Brennan leans forward. "Isn't it possible that during this 'processing period,' you reconsidered? That you went back to the apartment to discuss your relationship? That this discussion became... physical?"

My stomach turns. This is it—the fabricated reconciliation they're trying to establish. The lie Cassian built this entire lawsuit around.

"No. That never happened."

"You're certain? Because we have evidence suggesting otherwise."

Diane's hand touches my arm under the table. Steady. Stay calm.

"I'm certain. I never returned to that apartment. I never had any physical contact with Cassian Drummond after the night I discovered his infidelity."

Brennan produces a document. "This is a hotel receipt from the Rittenhouse Hotel in Philadelphia, dated two weeks after the October incident. The room was booked under the name 'S. Marlowe.' Can you explain that?"

"I was not at the Rittenhouse Hotel on that date. If a room was booked under my name, it was done fraudulently."

"Fraudulently." He raises an eyebrow. "That's a serious accusation."

"So is claiming I slept with your client when I didn't."

The room goes quiet. Diane's grip on my arm tightens—a warning not to let anger take over.

"Let's move on to your current living arrangement." Brennan's tone shifts, becoming almost pleasant. More dangerous. "You reside with two men—Axel Nielsen and Mateo Velasco. Both professional athletes. Both potential fathers of your children."

"That's correct."

"And you're in romantic relationships with both of them. Simultaneously."

"Yes."

"How would you characterize these relationships? Are they equal? Do you have a primary partner?"

"Our relationship is equal. We're all partners to each other."

"All partners." He writes something down. "So Mr. Nielsen and Mr. Velasco are also in a relationship with each other?"

"Yes."

"Sexual?"

The question is designed to shock, to make me uncomfortable. I don't give him the satisfaction.

"That's not relevant to this proceeding."

"It speaks to the nature of the household in which these children are being raised." Brennan's smile sharpens. "Isn't it true that this unconventional arrangement creates instability? That the children don't have a clear understanding of family structure?"

"My children have three loving parents who provide stability, support, and care. The structure of our family isn't unconventional—it's just different from yours."

"Different." He tastes the word. "Let's talk about different then. Dr. Marlowe, on the night of October fifteenth—the same night you claim you discovered Mr. Drummond's infidelity—did you engage in sexual activity with Mr. Nielsen and Mr. Velasco?"

Heat floods my face. Diane objects immediately. "That's inflammatory and irrelevant."

"It's directly relevant," Brennan counters. "If Dr. Marlowe engaged in sexual activity with multiple partners on the same night she ended her engagement, it suggests a pattern of behavior that calls into question the timing of conception."

"The timing of conception isn't in dispute. The children were conceived after the engagement ended."

"According to Dr. Marlowe. But if she was intimate with multiple men on the night in question—"

"I'm going to stop you there." Diane's voice is ice. "You're attempting to shame my client for her consensual adult relationships. The question of when she became intimate with her current partners has no bearing on paternity, which will be established by DNA evidence."

Brennan backs off. Slightly. "Very well. Let's discuss the DNA testing. Dr. Marlowe, you've refused to voluntarily submit the children for paternity testing. Why?"

"Because my partners and I made a decision not to determine biological paternity. All three children are being raised by all three of us, regardless of genetic connection."

"A convenient arrangement when you're trying to deny Mr. Drummond his parental rights."

"Cassian Drummond has no parental rights. He's not the father."

"You can't know that without testing."

"I know when I last had intercourse with him. I know when conception occurred. The timeline doesn't work."

"Unless there was a reconciliation encounter you're not admitting to."

Round and round. The same accusations, repackaged in different questions. By the third hour, I'm exhausted—not from the questions themselves, but from the relentless effort of staying calm while someone tries to paint me as a liar and a whore.

Brennan saves the worst for last.

"Dr. Marlowe, in your professional capacity as a sports psychologist, you treated both Mr. Nielsen and Mr. Velasco. Is that correct?"

"It was."

"And you began romantic relationships with them while they were your patients?"

"The relationships began after their treatment concluded."

"Did it?" He produces another document. "According to team records, Mr. Velasco was still listed as your active client when you announced your pregnancy. Can you explain that discrepancy?"

I can't. Because he's right—the paperwork wasn't clean. I transferred their files to Carmen Reyes, but the official documentation lagged behind the reality. An administrative oversight that looks damning in a deposition.

"The therapeutic relationship had ended before the romantic one began. The paperwork was processed later."

"So the records are inaccurate."

"The records reflect administrative timing, not the actual termination of services."

Brennan smiles. He's found a crack, and he knows it.

"No further questions."

The camera stops recording. Brennan and his team pack up with the satisfied air of hunters who've wounded their prey. I sit motionless until they leave.

"That could have gone worse," Diane says once we're alone.

"Could it?"

"They didn't break you. You stayed calm, stuck to the facts, didn't give them any explosive moments for the courtroom." She squeezes my shoulder. "The paperwork issue is a problem, but we can address it. The records from Dr. Reyes will show the actual timeline."

"And if they don't believe her?"

"Then we present other evidence. Character witnesses. Your documented professionalism. The complete absence of any complaints against you in your entire career."

I nod. Try to believe her.

But walking out of that building, I feel flayed open. Every private detail of my life, examined under harsh lights, judged by people who've already decided I'm guilty of something.

Cassian wasn't even in the room. He didn't have to be. He's fighting this war through proxies, through lawyers and fabricated evidence and invasive questions designed to humiliate.

I text Axel and Mateo from the car: Survived. Coming home. Need you both.

Two responses arrive within seconds.

Axel: We're here.

Mateo: Wine is already open.

I close my eyes and let myself be driven toward the only thing that makes sense anymore.

Home.