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Chapter 8

Author: J.D Penn
last update Huling Na-update: 2025-04-17 06:52:36
I wake up with the kind of headache that makes me think I deserve everything bad that’s ever happened to me. The sun’s too aggressive for a Tuesday, or whatever day it is, and there’s a sour taste in my mouth .

I reach for my phone, knock it off the nightstand, groan, fish it out from under the bed like a gremlin, and finally hit play on the voicemail that’s been haunting me for twenty-four hours straight.

"Hey, Char… I need to tell you something. I—”

Click.

That’s it. That’s all I get.

I close my eyes and feel a slow panic blooming in my chest. My heart starts skipping like it owes someone money.

Because what does he need to tell me?

Is it about her?

Is she pregnant?

Am I pregnant?

Did I catch something?

Did I GIVE someone something?

Suddenly, I’m sweating.

He knows I’m obsessive. He knows I spiral. This is premeditated emotional terrorism.

I sit up like my butt is on fire and I blink at the wall. Then I do what every emotionally responsible adult does in times of emergency. I op
J.D Penn

Hi everyone, I hope you're enjoying this story so far? I had a really long day today.

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  • 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.“

  • Pregnant By My Enemy's Fiancé   Chapter 27

    I should’ve had a drink.One sip. Half a mimosa. Hell, I would’ve even settled for a tequila shot served in a dirty heel from the hotel bar floor. Anything to stop my hands from shaking like I’m about to audition for America’s Next Top Model.But no. Here I am. Sober, sweating, and standing in front of a man’s hotel room like it’s 2007 and I’m auditioning for a rom-com reboot that’s about to go horribly wrong.My finger hesitates just a second before knocking. Once. Twice.Nothing.I glance down the hallway. Maybe the receptionist gave me the wrong room. Or maybe the universe is finally cutting me a break and Axton isn’t here. I can go back downstairs, stuff my face with overpriced macarons, and pretend this entire plan was just a weird hallucination from drinking too much matcha.I knock again. Harder this time.Still nothing.Fine.We’re doing this.I go full psycho ex-girlfriend mode and start pounding on the door like it personally owes me money. My knuckles are probably bruising

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  • Pregnant By My Enemy's Fiancé   Chapter 25

    The moment I see the words hi, Sticky, I forget how to breathe. Which is rude, because I was doing such a great job of panicking over Ashley the skank and the picture that could end her little engagement.But now?Now my body does this completely involuntary shimmy, like my soul just put on a feather boa and twirled.Pathetic really.Theo. It has to be him. It’s the worst possible moment, obviously. I'm mid-revenge fantasy, robe askew, heart full of righteous fury. And yet… my traitorous fingers want to text back immediately. Something chill. Something hot-but-unbothered, like “who’s this?” even though we both know damn well who it is.Instead, I pace.Robe slipping, flip-flops slapping, wet hair clinging to the back of my neck. I stare at the message again like it might change. Hi, Sticky. Three little words, and suddenly my brain is playing bingo with me.God, what’s the etiquette for this? Is there a girl code rulebook for flirting with the hot helicopter guy while you’re halfway

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