CHAPTER 14: First Day Back

I threw up twice before I even left the penthouse.

Morning sickness, Dr. Roberts had said, was actually a misnomer. It could happen any time of day. And apparently, for me, it happened most when I was stressed.

Today, I was very stressed.

"Are you sure you're ready for this?" Alexander asked, hovering outside the bathroom door while I brushed my teeth for the third time.

"I have to be. I can't hide forever."

"You're not hiding. You're recovering from a medical situation."

"Which will turn into office gossip the second I walk in." I checked my reflection. Pale but presentable. Professional outfit that was already feeling slightly tight around the waist even though I was barely five weeks along. "They're going to talk."

"Let them."

I turned to face him. "You keep saying that like it's easy. But you're not the one they'll be talking about."

His jaw tightened. "If anyone says anything inappropriate—"

"I'll handle it." I grabbed my bag. "I can fight my own battles, Alexander."

"I know you can. But you shouldn't have to."

The car ride to Sterling Corporation was silent. Thomas drove while Alexander and I sat in the back, carefully not touching. Professional distance. Even though we'd eaten breakfast together an hour ago and he'd held my hair back while I threw up.

"Different entrances," I said as we pulled up to the building. "You go through the executive entrance. I'll use the main lobby."

"Bella—"

"People are going to notice if we arrive together. Better to keep some distance at work."

He didn't like it. I could see the frustration in the set of his shoulders. But he nodded.

"I'll see you later."

"Later," I agreed.

I watched him disappear through the executive entrance before heading to the main lobby. The receptionist—Jenny, I remembered—gave me a bright smile.

"Ms. Martinez! Welcome back. Feeling better?"

"Much better, thank you."

The elevator ride to the fifteenth floor felt like ascending to my execution. By now, everyone would know I'd been out for a week. Everyone would have theories about why.

The marketing department went quiet when I walked in.

Not obviously quiet. But that subtle shift when people were talking about you and suddenly you appear. Conversations dropped. Eyes averted. Someone coughed.

Claire was the first to break the silence.

"Bella! You're back!" She rushed over, genuine concern on her face. "Are you okay? We heard you were really sick."

"Just a stomach bug. I'm fine now."

"Good. We missed you. The Nakamura campaign isn't the same without your input."

Others gradually returned to their work, the tension easing. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. Maybe people would just—

"Well, well. Look who decided to show up."

James.

Of course.

He leaned against a cubicle wall, arms crossed, that familiar smirk on his face. "A week off for a stomach bug? Must have been quite serious."

"It was," I said evenly. "I'm better now."

"Interesting. Because my father was also... distracted this past week. Leaving early. Taking personal calls during meetings. Very unlike him."

Several people were now obviously listening. Pretending to work but clearly tuned in to our conversation.

"I wouldn't know anything about that," I said.

"Wouldn't you?" James pushed off the wall, moving closer. "See, here's what I find curious. You get sick. My father suddenly becomes very interested in employee wellness. Changes his schedule. And now you're back, looking—if I may say—different."

"Different how?"

"Can't quite put my finger on it." His eyes scanned me, making my skin crawl. "You've lost weight. Pale. Tired-looking. Almost like you're still sick. Or maybe..." He paused dramatically. "Maybe it wasn't a stomach bug at all."

My heart stopped.

He couldn't know. There was no way he could know.

"I don't know what you're implying," I said, keeping my voice steady, "but I suggest you stick to actual work instead of spreading gossip."

"Gossip?" He laughed. "I'm just concerned about my colleague. Making sure you're really fit to work. Because if you're still unwell, maybe you should take more time off. Unpaid, of course."

"She's fine."

Everyone turned. Alexander stood at the entrance to the marketing floor, his expression cold.

"Mr. Sterling," James said, not bothering to hide his annoyance. "I was just checking on Ms. Martinez's health."

"That's HR's job. Not yours." Alexander's eyes swept the room. "Everyone back to work. And James, my office. Now."

The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife.

James shot me a look that promised this wasn't over, then followed his father to the elevators.

The second they were gone, the marketing floor erupted in whispers.

"Did you see that?"

"Mr. Sterling never comes down here."

"He was defending her."

"Something's definitely going on."

Claire appeared at my elbow. "What was that about?"

"I have no idea," I lied.

"Well, whatever it was, James looked pissed. And Mr. Sterling looked ready to commit murder."

"I'm sure it's nothing."

But it wasn't nothing. James was suspicious. Alexander was being too protective. And people were noticing.

This was exactly what I'd been afraid of.

I threw myself into work, trying to ignore the speculative looks and whispered conversations. The Nakamura campaign needed revisions. I had three other projects in various stages. Plenty to keep me busy.

But I couldn't focus. Couldn't stop wondering what was happening in Alexander's office. What James was saying. What accusations he was making.

My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.

UNKNOWN: We need to talk. Conference Room C. 20 minutes. Come alone. -J

James. Of course.

I should ignore it. Should tell Alexander. Should not walk into whatever trap James was setting.

But if I didn't go, he'd just corner me somewhere else. Better to face him on my own terms.

Twenty minutes later, I stood outside Conference Room C. Through the glass walls, I could see James waiting. Alone, as promised.

I took a deep breath and entered.

"Close the door," he said.

"I'd rather leave it open."

"Close. The. Door." His voice was hard. "Unless you want the entire floor to hear this conversation."

Reluctantly, I closed it. But I stayed near the exit.

"What do you want, James?"

"Answers." He leaned back in his chair. "You disappeared for a week. My father has been acting strange. And you two can barely look at each other without some kind of electric tension. So I'll ask you directly: what's going on?"

"Nothing is going on."

"Bullshit. I've known my father my whole life. He doesn't get personally involved with employees. Ever. But with you? He changed the entire org structure to protect you. He shows up on the marketing floor—something he never does. He looks at you like—" James stopped. "Like he looked at my mother."

The comparison made my stomach twist.

"You're imagining things."

"Am I? Because here's what I think happened." James stood, moving closer. "You got dumped. Went to a hotel to drink away your sorrows. Met someone. Had a rebound hookup." His eyes narrowed. "What I can't figure out is who. Unless—"

I watched the realization dawn on his face. Horror mixed with fury mixed with disbelief.

"No," he said. "No. Tell me you didn't."

"Didn't what?"

"Him. The hotel guy Sarah mentioned. That was my father, wasn't it?"

"James—"

"WASN'T IT?" His voice rose. Several heads turned outside the glass walls.

"Lower your voice."

"You slept with my father." He said it like an accusation. A crime. "When? That night I broke up with you? You went straight from my bed to his?"

"It wasn't like that."

"Then what was it like? Enlighten me." He was in my face now, vibrating with rage. "You fucked my father to get back at me?"

"I didn't know who he was! I didn't know you were his son!"

The words hung in the air.

James went very still. "You're serious."

"Yes. I met him at a hotel bar. We talked. One thing led to another. I didn't know he was Alexander Sterling until the merger meeting."

"And then what? You decided to keep it going? Thought you'd upgrade from the son to the father?"

"That's not what happened."

"Then what happened, Bella? Because from where I'm standing, you're living some kind of twisted revenge fantasy. Couldn't have me, so you went after my dad."

"I'm living in his penthouse because—" I stopped.

Too late.

"Because why?" James's eyes went wide. "Oh my God. You're living with him? You moved in with my father?"

"James, let me explain—"

"Explain what? That you're a gold-digging whore who's trying to trap a billionaire?"

The door slammed open.

Alexander stood there, his face darker than I'd ever seen it.

"What did you just call her?"

James spun around. "Dad, this isn't—"

"What. Did. You. Just. Call. Her."

The temperature in the room dropped about twenty degrees.

"I—nothing. I was just—"

"You called her a whore." Alexander stepped into the room. "You called the mother of my child a whore."

Silence.

Complete, total silence.

James's face went white. "What?"

"You heard me."

"She's—you're—" James looked between us. "She's pregnant? With your baby?"

"Yes."

"How—when—" James was sputtering now. "How far along?"

"That's none of your business."

"The hell it's not! You knocked up my ex-girlfriend!"

"I didn't know she was your ex-girlfriend when it happened. Neither did she."

James laughed. Wild. Almost hysterical. "This is insane. This is—Dad, she's twenty-four!"

"I'm aware."

"And you're forty-five!"

"Also aware."

"So what, you're just going to—what? Play house with her? Pretend this is normal?"

"I'm going to support the mother of my child. Yes."

James turned to me. "Did you plan this? Get yourself pregnant to trap him?"

"No," I said firmly. "It was an accident. We used protection. It failed."

"Convenient accident."

"James." Alexander's voice was deadly quiet. "You need to leave. Now."

"Or what? You'll fire me? Choose her over your own son?"

"You're making me choose. And yes, if it comes down to you respecting Isabella or you working here, you will lose your job. Family or not."

The betrayal on James's face was almost painful to watch.

"I can't believe this." He grabbed his phone, his briefcase. "You're choosing some random girl you knocked up over your own son."

"I'm choosing to protect an innocent woman and my unborn child from harassment. There's a difference."

James stormed toward the door, then turned back. "When this blows up in your face—when she shows her true colors and takes you for everything you're worth—don't come crying to me."

He left.

The conference room was silent except for the sound of my ragged breathing.

"Are you okay?" Alexander asked quietly.

"Everyone heard that. Everyone knows now."

"I know."

"James knows about the baby."

"I know."

"This is a disaster."

"I know." He moved closer, not quite touching but close enough that I could feel his warmth. "But it was going to come out eventually. Better on our terms than his."

"Our terms? Alexander, he just announced to half the company that I'm pregnant with your baby!"

"Which is true."

"But now everyone will think—"

"Let them think what they want. We know the truth. That's what matters."

I wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe that the truth would be enough. But I'd seen the looks on people's faces through the glass walls. Shock. Judgment. Speculation.

By end of day, the entire company would know.

By tomorrow, it would be in the tabloids.

And my life would never be private again.

"I need to go home," I said.

"I'll take you—"

"No. If we leave together now, it'll just add fuel to the fire. I'll take a cab. You stay and do damage control."

"Bella—"

"Please, Alexander. I just—I need space to process this."

He looked like he wanted to argue. But he nodded.

"Go. I'll handle things here."

I grabbed my bag and headed for the elevator. As I passed through the marketing floor, every eye was on me. Conversations stopped. People stared.

The elevator couldn't arrive fast enough.

When the doors finally opened, I stepped inside and pressed the button for the lobby. Just before the doors closed, I saw Claire. She was staring at me with an expression I couldn't quite read.

Pity, maybe.

Or worse—confirmation that all her suspicions had been right.

The lobby was mercifully empty. I made it to the street and flagged down a cab.

"Where to?" the driver asked.

I gave him Alexander's address—because that was home now, wasn't it? I couldn't go back to Sarah's. Couldn't face her questions.

During the ride, my phone started buzzing. Texts. Calls. All from numbers I didn't recognize.

I turned it off.

At the penthouse, Maria took one look at my face and immediately made me tea and soup. I didn't have the heart to tell her I wasn't hungry.

"Mr. Alexander called," she said gently. "He said you might need some company. I can stay late if you'd like."

"No. Thank you, Maria. I'm okay. I just need to rest."

She left reluctantly.

I went to my room—my beautiful guest suite that I'd lived in for less than a week—and curled up on the bed.

My phone was still off. The silence was almost peaceful.

Until I heard the front door open.

"Bella?"

Alexander.

I didn't answer.

Footsteps in the hallway. A soft knock on my door.

"Bella? Can I come in?"

"It's your house."

He entered, still in his suit, looking exhausted.

"How bad is it?" I asked.

"HR is fielding questions. PR is preparing a statement. James went home sick."

"Sick with rage, probably."

"Probably." He sat on the edge of the bed, careful to maintain distance. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have confronted him like that. Shouldn't have confirmed it so publicly."

"You were protecting me."

"I was losing my temper. There's a difference."

We sat in silence. The city glittered through my windows, indifferent to our drama.

"What happens now?" I asked.

"Now we deal with it. Together."

"The media is going to have a field day. Billionaire CEO knocks up employee twenty years younger. His own son's ex-girlfriend."

"Let them talk."

"You keep saying that!"

"Because it's true." He turned to face me fully. "Bella, I don't care what people say. I care about you. About the baby. About making sure you're both safe and healthy and protected. Everything else is noise."

"Easy for you to say. You're Alexander Sterling. You're untouchable."

"I'm not untouchable. But I have resources. Lawyers. PR people. The ability to control the narrative."

"You can't control this narrative. This is—this is too big."

He was quiet for a moment. Then: "You're right. We can't control it. But we can control how we respond to it."

"How?"

"By being honest. By not hiding. By showing them that this isn't some sordid scandal—it's two adults who are having a child together and trying to do the right thing."

"Is that all it is?" The question escaped before I could stop it.

He looked at me. Really looked at me.

"No," he said quietly. "It's not all it is. At least, not for me."

My heart stopped.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that yes, we're having a baby together. Yes, we're trying to do the right thing. But Bella—" He moved closer. "That night at the hotel wasn't just a random hookup for me. And these past few days, living with you, talking with you, planning a nursery together—that hasn't been obligation. That's been—"

He stopped.

"Been what?"

"Something I haven't felt in a long time. Something I didn't think I'd ever feel again."

The air between us was electric. Charged with everything unsaid. Everything we'd been carefully not acknowledging.

"Alexander—"

"You don't have to say anything. I just needed you to know. Whatever happens next—with the media, with James, with the company—I'm not going anywhere. I'm in this. With you. For real."

Tears I'd been holding back all day finally spilled over.

"I'm scared."

"I know. Me too."

"What if this is a mistake? What if we're making everything worse?"

"Then we'll deal with it. Together." He reached out, hesitating. "Can I—"

I nodded.

He pulled me into his arms. I buried my face in his shoulder and let myself cry. All the stress of the day, the fear, the uncertainty—it all poured out.

And he held me through it. Solid. Steady. Safe.

When I finally pulled back, his shirt was damp with my tears.

"Sorry."

"Don't be." He brushed a strand of hair from my face. "Feel better?"

"A little."

"Good." He stood. "I'll let you rest. But Bella? We're going to be okay. I promise."

After he left, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling.

Tomorrow the media storm would hit. Tomorrow James's rage would intensify. Tomorrow the world would know that Bella Martinez—nobody from nowhere—was pregnant with Alexander Sterling's baby.

But tonight, in this moment, I felt something I hadn't felt in a long time.

Hope.

Maybe we really would be okay.

Maybe.