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Chapter 23
Last Updated:
2025-08-07 02:08:14
J.D PennSooo… um… yeah. I’ve been a little MIA. For like... two months. Which is basically ten years in internet time, I know. I deserve the side-eyes and the shade, BUT LET ME EXPLAIN 😭 First of all… drumroll please… I graduated from Pharmacy school!!! Yes, I now hold a degree and absolutely no idea what I’m doing with my life. I am officially unemployed😭. Also, I’ve been battling some next-level writer’s block, so I really hope this chapter was worth the wait. But I’m back now!! I can’t promise daily uploads, but I can promise to be more consistent, even if that means writing in my pajamas with an empty fridge and too much emotional damage. Thank you for being patient, for not un-aliving me, and for still being here. You’re the real MVPs💗
Latest chapter
Pregnant By My Enemy's Fiancé Chapter 34
The bathroom tile is cold under my knees, and the fluorescent light is doing absolutely nothing for my self-esteem.I'm hunched over the sink like a girl in a tragic indie film, except this isn't poetic or edgy, it’s just gross. My hands are gripping the porcelain, knuckles white, and I’m pretty sure I’m still shaking.Callie and Emily are hovering behind me like I’m going to start convulsing or sprout wings or something.“Maybe the muffins were expired?” I croak, trying for a laugh. It comes out more like a wheeze.Emily’s arms are crossed in front of her chest, eyes narrowed like she’s solving a crime scene. “Char, this isn’t food poisoning.”Callie nods slowly, like she’s piecing together a conspiracy theory. “It’s the nausea. The weight loss. The mood swings. The... glow, except like, the opposite of glow.”I spin around, eyes wide. “You think I’m pregnant?”“I think you could be,” Emily says gently, because of course she’s the gentle one. “We just need to be sure.”And then I la
Pregnant By My Enemy's Fiancé Chapter 23
Chapter 33 – The Muffin IncidentIf someone were to look at my life right now, like actually look, not the curated snapshots I post on Instagram, but the real behind-the-scenes footage, they'd probably assume I’m starring in a really underfunded documentary titled,Burnout: The Glamorous Decline of Charlotte Montgomery.It’s been two months since London. Two whole months since I ghosted the city, the hotel, the man, and quite literally everyone else. And yet, here I am, still living in the emotional aftershocks like they’re rent-free guests in my very overpriced penthouse.“I’m saying this with love,” Callie begins, already offensive, “but you look like someone who haunts train stations.”I blink at her from the kitchen counter, clutching a crusty slice of cold pizza like it’s the only thing tethering me to Earth. “So I’m going for ethereal. Iconic.”“Your hair’s greasy.”“I’m saving water. For the planet.”She chucks a cushion at me, full force. “You’re not eating, Char. You’re not s
Pregnant By My Enemy's Fiancé Chapter 32
The buzzer goes off again. One long, impatient bzzzz that practically screams I know you’re in there, bitch.I blink at the ceiling, still clutching the now-warm beer bottle to my chest like a security blanket. My fingers are trembling, not from fear, but from sheer emotional exhaustion. It’s probably the ghost of my dignity finally coming back to haunt me.No one knows I’m back.I didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t post. I didn’t text. I turned off location sharing like I was planning a heist.The buzzer goes again.“Charlotte Montgomery!” a voice screeches through the intercom.Yep. Definitely Callie.“If you don’t buzz me up right now, I swear to GOD I will set this building on fire and dance in the ashes.”I drag myself off the couch, nearly tripping over the blanket tangled around my ankles. My feet feel like concrete, but somehow I make it to the door and hit the buzzer.“Come up,” I croak, then stagger back to the couch like some kind of post-breakup zombie.The elevator dings less t
Pregnant By My Enemy's Fiancé Chapter 30
I don’t remember falling asleep, I just remember the cold and his absence.The sheets are still tangled around my legs, still faintly warm on the side where he lay, but he’s gone.The sheets still smell like him and my body still aches in that way that makes me feel stupid. My thighs are sore, my lips are swollen, and my chest feels like it’s been hollowed out with a spoon.His side of the bed is empty. Of course it is.I stare at the ceiling in the dark, eyes burning, body heavy and sticky and useless, like if I move I might fall apart completely.But then I do move.I sit up too fast and regret it immediately. My head spins, and my chest tightens, and there’s a sound somewhere between a sob and a cough that claws its way out of my throat before I can stop it. I press the heel of my palm to my face, hard, like I can push everything back in.My eyes are puffy, the room is dark, and the clock on the nightstand says 02:04 a.m.I pull the covers tighter around myself like they can shield
Pregnant By My Enemy's Fiancé Chapter 29
I don't know who reaches first. Maybe it's me. Maybe it’s him. Maybe it’s just both of us reaching across the same unbearable silence.But it starts with the brush of our fingers when we both grab our drinks at the same time, and that stupid electric buzz shoots up my arm like it’s trying to light a fuse under my skin.I pull my hand back like the glass bit me, like touching him again might scorch through every boundary I’ve been pretending to keep in place.But it’s too late. I already felt it. He already felt it.His breath catches. Sharp and audible. His fingers curl slightly around the glass, and I can see it, the way he swallows hard, the way his jaw clenches like he’s holding back something primal.I feel goosebumps rise across my arms, the back of my neck, everywhere. It’s like my body is already reacting to something I haven't even decided I want.But I want it.God, I want him.And I hate myself for it.I stare down into the bottom of my glass like it might give me answers. A
Pregnant By My Enemy's Fiancé Chapter 28
I don’t remember walking out of his room.One second, he’s telling me to “get out” like I’m the villain in his tragic little opera, and the next, I’m standing in the elevator, fists clenched, teeth grinding, heartbeat screaming louder than my thoughts.Julian waits by the doors like a loyal golden retriever, calm and gentle-eyed, like he doesn’t realize my entire chest is burning down from the inside. “Char—”“Bar,” I snap.He blinks. Nods. Doesn’t ask questions.The hotel bar is dimly lit and moody, like it was designed specifically for heartbreak and overpriced cocktails.Everything smells like cedarwood and quiet resentment, and the leather seats creak under me like even they’re too exhausted to comfort.Julian escorts me in and stays long enough to order me a drink, vodka soda, boring and clean, but I wave it away and order a gin and tonic instead.I hate gin. It tastes like someone juiced a pine tree and called it classy. But somehow it fits tonight. Sharp, dry, bitter. Like me.“
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