Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Professional Complications

The boardroom felt like a sauna, and my blazer was a torture device. Morning sickness had evolved into all-day nausea, and twelve executives droning about quarterly projections wasn't helping.

Marcus sat at the head of the table, every inch the corporate titan. His presence both steadied and unnerved me. Even now, our secret pulsed between us like a living thing.

"Ms. Mitchell, your department's numbers?"

I stood, praying my stomach would behave. "Q3 projections show—"

The wave of dizziness hit without warning. The room tilted. My papers scattered.

Strong hands caught me before I hit the ground. Marcus.

"Meeting adjourned," he barked. Not a suggestion. A command.

The room cleared instantly. No one questioned Marcus Henderson.

"I'm fine," I mumbled, but my traitorous body swayed again.

His arm stayed around my waist. Too intimate. Too right.

"Like hell you are," he growled softly. "When did you last eat?"

I tried to remember. Failed.

Marcus pressed a button on his phone. "Sandra, clear my afternoon. And get Dr. Chen here. Now."

"I don't need—"

"Not negotiable." His voice softened. "Let me take care of you."

The tenderness in his tone undid me more than any weakness could.

His private office felt like a sanctuary. Cool. Quiet. Safe.

"Lie down," he ordered, gesturing to his leather couch.

"People will talk."

"People always talk." He handed me water. "Drink."

I did. His presence loomed over me, protective and dangerous.

"The board meeting—"

"Is handled." His smile was predatory. "Trust me."

I did. That was the terrifying part.

Dr. Chen arrived within minutes. Of course Marcus had a private physician on call.

"Blood pressure's low," she announced after examining me. "And when exactly did you last eat, Ms. Mitchell?"

Marcus's jaw clenched at my silence.

"As I suspected." Dr. Chen wrote something. "Bed rest today. Light work tomorrow. And for God's sake, eat regularly."

After she left, Marcus's control cracked.

"You're being reckless," he said, pacing. "With yourself. With our child."

"I'm trying to keep my career intact," I snapped. "Or should I just announce to the board that I'm pregnant with the CEO's baby?"

His eyes darkened. "Don't."

"Don't what? State facts?"

He moved closer. Too close. His scent—expensive cologne and raw masculinity—made my head spin.

"Don't push me," he growled. "Not about this. Not about you two."

The possessiveness in his voice sent shivers down my spine.

A knock interrupted us. Sandra entered with a lunch tray that probably cost more than my weekly grocery budget.

"Eat," Marcus commanded once we were alone again.

I did. The food helped. His presence... complicated things.

"We need a better system," he said finally.

"Meaning?"

"You're moving offices. Next to mine."

I nearly choked. "That's exactly what we don't need. More visibility."

"What we don't need is you collapsing in meetings." His tone brooked no argument. "I can protect you better if you're closer."

"And how exactly do you explain that to the board?"

His smile was calculating. "Already done. Your promotion was announced an hour ago."

"My what?"

"Senior Vice President of Operations." He looked smug. "Completely merit-based, of course. Your numbers support it."

"Marcus—"

"The timing works perfectly. New position, new office. No one questions my decisions."

He was right. Damn him.

"And the fact that I'm carrying your child had nothing to do with it?"

His eyes darkened again. "You earned this position long before that night at the bar. Don't insult either of us by suggesting otherwise."

Truth rang in his words. I had earned this.

"Thank you," I said softly.

He touched my cheek. Brief. Electric. "Rest now. Sandra's arranging a car for you."

"I can work—"

"You can rest." His tone softened. "Please, Sophia. Let me do this."

The please undid me. Marcus Henderson didn't say please.

I nodded.

His smile was both triumphant and tender. A dangerous combination.

As the car took me home later, my phone buzzed with his message:

*Office will be ready tomorrow. Take care of our future.*

Our future.

Two simple words that changed everything.

Professional complications didn't begin to cover it.

But somehow, I couldn't bring myself to care.

At home, exhaustion hit like a tidal wave. I barely made it to my couch before collapsing, Marcus's words echoing in my mind.

*Our future.*

My phone buzzed again. Victoria Henderson.

*Interesting promotion, dear. We should discuss it over lunch tomorrow.*

My blood ran cold. Victoria never did anything without calculation.

Another message. Marcus this time:

*Don't respond to her. I'll handle it.*

But Victoria wasn't done:

*Or perhaps we should discuss the real reason my husband has been watching you so carefully.*

Ice spread through my veins. I called Marcus immediately.

"She knows," I whispered when he answered.

"She suspects," he corrected. "There's a difference."

"What aren't you telling me?"

His silence spoke volumes.

"Marcus?"

"There's something you need to know," he said finally. "About Victoria. About why our marriage has been a sham for years."

A sharp knock at my door interrupted us.

"Hold on," I said, moving to answer it.

Through the peephole, I saw Victoria Henderson herself, looking perfectly poised and utterly dangerous.

"Marcus," I whispered into the phone. "She's here."

"Don't—"

But it was too late. Victoria had a key.

The door swung open.

"Hello, dear," she said, her smile razor-sharp. "We need to talk about what you've been hiding."

In her hand was an envelope. Medical records.

My medical records.

And behind her stood James, his face twisted with an emotion I couldn't read.

The phone was still connected. I could hear Marcus shouting my name.

But it was too late.

Everything was about to explode.

And I had nowhere left to hide.