Perverting His Legacy

Ruth slammed the door and paced the entryway, practically spitting. Calvin trailed in behind her, watching the storm hit. The will was ridiculous—Ruth’s dad had shuffled off his money only to anyone who’d pumped out their own kid. Her siblings scored cash on the spot. Ruth got the shaft because Calvin was step, not seed. She was livid, some scheme already cooking behind her eyes. Calvin tossed his keys on the hall table and told her to chill, they didn’t need the inheritance. Who cares about rich-dead-dad approval when you’ve got each other? But Ruth wasn’t hearing it. She whirled on him, breathing hard, then broke into this grin that smelled like trouble. 'What if you knocked me up?' she shot at him, half-dare, half-promise. She pictured her father’s face if Calvin’s swimmers won the lottery—his bloodline officially tanked. She wanted it all: the cash, the power move, Calvin’s baby rooting inside her. She stepped close, voice dropping. 'Three years, Calvin. We do it now, we come out on top, and that old bastard can’t do shit from the grave.'