THE CEO WHO GOT PREGNANT

The penthouse was silent; it always was.

Milo's tablet sat glowing on the counter, flooding him with a cascade of unread messages, documents, and investor updates.

Most were things he could skim with his eyes half-closed. His assistant had already sorted the urgent ones and left the ignored ones.

He scrolled, bored, as if he were checking for particular mail.

Then a new notification slid across the top of the screen. He smiled; it was the one he was expecting.

The mail came in anonymously, with no subject and no IP.

He paused for a second, smirked, and then tapped it.

– You look smaller from up here.

The message read.

His lips twitched; this wasn't the first time, not even the fifth, he was receiving mail from the anonymous person.

He bit his lip lightly, a habit from his teenage years he couldn't change; he smiled and stared at the message with something between amusement and irritation.

These anonymous emails had been rolling in for weeks, sometimes vague, sometimes weirdly complimentary, and sometimes disturbing.

This one landed in the middle. Kinda annoying or weird?

He exhaled slowly, his thumb hovering to swipe it away, when another message popped up below the first one.

–Do you think security will get to your room in less than a minute?

That one made his blood cool.

But still, Milo didn’t react outwardly; he locked the screen, set the tablet down, and muttered under his breath, "Cute but annoying," he huffed.

He stood, adjusting his bathrobe, and headed back toward the bedroom to get dressed.

The threat was... unsettling, sure. But panic wasn’t his style. He had always been a less concerned one.

Camille had been nagging him for weeks to hire a bodyguard or a secret security service. But he always shut it down every time.

"I don't need a nanny," he'd told her. “They’re nagging too much,” he added.

He still didn’t.

The thought of someone always around him, watching his every move, breathing in his personal space—it made his skin crawl.

He could actually handle a stalker. But he can't bear staying with someone for too long because he hates farewells, and he isn't one to show interest.

Besides, showing concern gave people power. And Milo Eves never let anyone have power over him.

His security system chimed as someone approached the private elevator. He checked the panel. It was his secretary, Camille.

He didn't rush; he just continued searching his wardrobe for a particular wear.

He was just pulling a black turtleneck over his head when he heard the soft sound of the door opening. He took his time coming down the stairs, tugging on his watch strap, still in his fluffy legwear.

"You're early," he called out to Camille.

She was already in the kitchen, sliding off her coat. "Traffic was surprisingly cooperative today. Unlike you, apparently."

He smirked. "Isn't it obvious?"

She moved efficiently, like always. That was what Milo appreciated about her: no wasted energy, no dramatic attention.

Camille had worked with him for three years and never once lost her cool. That made her a rare one.

She picked up his abandoned coffee mug. "Tell me you didn’t eat that toast."

"Technically, I chewed food, so I ate,'" Milo replied, sinking into the couch.

"That doesn't count as a proper meal,'" she shot back. Then, she said more formally, "I brought the weekly updates. And...something else."

He narrowed his eyes, noticing the folder in her hand.

"I told you not to bring more paper."

"But still," she replied mildly, placing it on the glass table beside him.

"You don’t listen."

"You have a habit of ignoring things sent to you, so I thought this should be a better way."

He snorted and snatched the folder toward him like it was irritating. "Let me guess. Merger nonsense, an old board tantrum, or maybe a lawsuit from someone?"

Camille said nothing. She just gave him a calm, professional look and then said, "None of the above. And also, unfortunately, all of the above."

Milo stared at her. "You really know how to ruin a morning."

"It’s part of my job description."

She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a flash drive. "This is what you need to see."

"Seriously, are we staging a presentation?"

"I think you should see this; it's more than a presentation."

Milo raised an eyebrow. "You’re being very cryptic today. That usually means something annoying is coming; should I expect something?”

"It actually is."

She crossed to his tablet and inserted the drive. He leaned forward as the file opened, an image in black and white. It loaded slowly, then expanded to fill the screen.

It was his apartment, his window.

Captured from a distance, the photo was zoomed in way too tight. You couldn’t see anyone in the shot, but it was clearly taken with professional equipment and a long-range lens.

"Where did you get this?" He sounded rude.

"Security detected it," Camille said, her voice nervous and low. "It was actually beeping, then all of a sudden it went off. I couldn't find anything until I had to dig it up."

Milo blinked. "You mean they closed it?"

She nodded. "I wasn’t supposed to find it, but I did." She sighed, “I don't know if this is a setup or a coincidence.”

Milo studied the photo again, then he studied his window and his apartment. Someone had been watching him, not only stalking.

He sat back, exhaling. "You want me to freak out, don’t you?"

"I want you to stop pretending this is harmless."

He looked up at her, his eyes trying to figure something out. "Let me guess. This is where you suggest, once again, that I hire a bodyguard."

Camille didn't smile; she just looked at him, calm and composed as always.

"No," she said. "This is where I insist."

Milo tilted his head. "Insist? That’s bold of you."

"This isn’t just some creep with a crush anymore."

"You think I don’t know that?"

"I think you pretend you don’t."

The silence between them thickened. Milo stood, brushing invisible lint from his sleeve. His voice came quieter now, lower.

"Camille, I know you mean well. But I’m not helpless; I don't need help."

"I never said you were, but you act like you don't care, and you build your walls so high."

That landed sharper than he expected.

She stepped forward, her tone still professional but gentler now. "Boss... you are being watched. And we both know it's not a creep with a crush.”