I Was Just A Passerby Carrying His Twin Heirs Chapter 09

I Was Just A Passerby Carrying His Twin Heirs Chapter 09

The next morning, Logan sent a town car to pick me up.

I was still munching on a breakfast burrito when I got in, accidentally dropping a bit of grease onto the leather seat. The driver caught it in the rearview mirror, his mouth twitching slightly.

I pretended not to notice and wiped the seat clean with a napkin.

Yep, totally invisible now.

The car pulled up to a private military-affiliated hospital.

The kind of high-end clinic I would never step foot into on my own dime in this lifetime.

The floral arrangements at the entrance cost more than my monthly rent.

Logan was already waiting in the lobby.

“Miss Miller, right this way.”

He led me up to the VIP floor.

The entire floor was deathly quiet, lined with thick carpets, and smelling faintly of cedarwood.

I felt a brief sense of disorientation.

The last time I visited a medical facility, it was just at a local community health center for a quick shot.

He pushed open a door, where a doctor was already waiting.

An elderly female doctor with graying hair smiled the moment she saw me.

“Miss Miller, correct? We’ll do a routine check-up first, then draw some blood.”

I nodded and quietly cooperated.

While drawing blood, I glanced sideways.

On the adjacent chair sat another set of blood collection tubes-labeled “Grant Vance.”

Oh, he already had his drawn.

Pretty efficient.

After the examination, the doctor reviewed the ultrasound scan results and adjusted her glasses.

“Miss Miller, it’s indeed twins, currently at eight weeks. They’re developing exceptionally well.”

“Mm,” I responded politely.

Whether they developed well or not didn’t really concern me that much.

They were getting-

“That said,” the doctor added, frowning slightly at her chart.

“Your vitals show you’re noticeably underweight and mildy anemic. Have you been eating properly?”

“Yeah, my financial situation hasn’t been great recently.”

The doctor frowned slightly but didn’t say anything further.

Leaving the hospital, Logan drove me back.

In the car, he said, “The prenatal DNA test results will take about three days. We’ll notify you then.”

“Alright,” I replied.

After a moment’s hesitation, I asked, “I don’t have to pay for today’s check-up, right?”

Logan’s expression turned subtle. “…No.”

“That’s good.”

I leaned back comfortably against the seat, closing my eyes for a quick nap.

Reaching my building, I stepped out of the car and waved at him.

“Thanks, Logan.”

He nodded, and the car pulled away.

I went upstairs and carried on with my life.

Three days flew by.

On the third evening, my phone rang.

It was Logan.

“Miss Miller, the results are in.”

“Yeah? What’s the verdict?”

“It’s confirmed to be Mr. Vance’s.”

I nodded.

Well, duh. Whose else could it be?

“So about the twenty-eight hundred-”

“Miss Miller,” Logan interrupted, his tone sounding a bit strange.

“Mr. Vance would like to meet with you again. Is tomorrow convenient?”

I frowned slightly.

Meet again?

Now that the DNA is confirmed, can’t he just transfer the money?

Why meet up?

Does a twenty-eight-hundred-dollar split require a signed contract?

“Fine.”

“Same time and place?”

“No, this time Mr. Vance would like to meet at… a restaurant.”

“…To eat?”

“Yes.”

I fell silent for three seconds.

“Is he paying?”

Logan: “…Yes.”

“I’m in.”

Never pass up a free meal.

Hanging up, I opened my closet and rummaged through it.

That white T-shirt had already been worn twice…

Whatever, as long as it’s clean.

The floating text popped up again.

Holy shit, Grant Vance asked her out for dinner? When has he ever asked a woman out for dinner? He

doesn’t even attend the military command annual galas!

This plot is totally off! Isn’t this guy supposed to be cold and stoic? Why is he suddenly taking the initiative?

The DNA is confirmed, it’s the sole heir’s only bloodline! Of course he’s anxious! He’s definitely trying to find a

way to keep the babies.

What if she insists on getting the abortion though?

…Twenty-eight hundred dollars versus a multi-billion-dollar estate battle, this is literally a dimensional strike.

I closed out the floating text and warmed up last night’s leftovers.

Gotta save room for tomorrow’s feast.

Making do for tonight.

I, Josie Miller, might be broke, but I’m no fool.

Whatever Grant Vance wants to talk about, I’ll hear him out.

But my twenty-eight hundred dollars? Not a single penny less.