Chapter 5: Pregnant

Evangeline

One simple piece of advice.

Ladies, when you go to a club, drink something your body knows and stick to your limits. Trust me, you don’t want to wake up months later to a life-altering surprise.

I should know.

Three months ago, I made the worst decision of my life. I was paid to seduce a man and give him a night he’d never forget—two days before his wedding. His name? Alexander Creed. And until this morning, I thought I’d left that reckless choice in the past where it belonged. But now, as I stare at the second pink line on the pregnancy test, reality is crashing in.

I’m pregnant. With Alexander’s child.

Fuck me.

My chest feels tight as I stand in the cramped bathroom of my best friend’s clinic. My head swims with everything I’ve been ignoring for weeks—the nausea, the exhaustion, the missed periods. I thought it was stress, maybe hormonal shifts. But no, it’s this. Pregnancy. Baby.

Do I want one? No.

But here I am, carrying one—a three month old one.

“It’s real,” I murmur, my voice barely audible. “It’s so… fucking real.”

"It is," Alessia replies from across the room. Her arms are crossed, her expression showing that she’s both concerned and frustrated at me. “Evans, what are you going to do about this?"

The question slams into me like a weight, making me release a sigh. “What do you mean?” I ask, even though I’m already suspecting what the underlying meaning of her words is.

She sighs, her voice softening. “I’m asking if you’re keeping the baby. Or if you want to consider. . .” She trails off.

My brows furrow, eyes narrowing at her as if to warn her not to complete that statement. Thankfully, she understands.

I look away, fixing my gaze to the floor. There’s a small voice in the back of my mind—one I didn’t expect to hear—urging me to keep it, to disregard the whys and hows and keep the baby. The idea of becoming a mother makes my chest flutter with excitement.

 

But then there’s my fear.

I’m afraid.

Again, fuck me.

Mental note: after this, don’t let any man take you to his hotel room after a fun time at the club. 

“I don’t know what to do,” I admit, tears stinging my eyes. “This shouldn’t be happening. I wasn’t thinking. I made a mistake.”

“A very stupid mistake,” Alessia snaps, her voice firm. “I told you not to take that job. It’s not like you were desperate for money. And now, look where this has landed you.”

She’s right. I know she’s right, yet her words sting. The judgement in her eyes causes my stomach to flip. “Don’t yell at me, And don’t talk like I’m carrying some disease. It’s just a baby.” I tell her, intending to counter, but the softness of my voice makes it seem more like a plea. 

“Do you even know the father?” she asks, her tone skeptical. “I mean, it was just a one night stand. You don’t even know him enough.”

“I know him well enough,” I reply, though my voice lacks conviction.

Alessia arches a brow. “Well enough to know he’ll step up and be involved?”

Her question silences me. 

I’m silent because I don’t have an answer. Alexander should know what I did by now. The role I played in his public humiliation has likely burned any bridge between us. Appearing out of the blue, three months pregnant, isn’t going to make this easier.

“A part of me wants to keep this baby,” I admit quietly. “But. . .I’m scared. What if he refuses to step forward? What if I have to do this alone?”

Alessia steps closer, her expression laced with understanding. “You know where to find him, Evans. Go to him, tell him, don’t let your fears keep you from trying because you wouldn’t know until you try.” 

I nod slowly, her words sinking in. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I need to face this head-on, no matter how daunting it feels.

“Right,” I whisper, a new resolve creeping into my voice. “I guess I should try.”

. . .

My cab weaves through the polished streets of Manhattan. The den of VIPs—with their beautiful houses and uptight security. 

I watch the map carefully. Just one more turn and we’ll arrive at Alexander’s estate. My heart is beating rapidly against my ribcage, my stomach churning as we near.

I need to get it together.

What’s the worst that can happen?

The cab slows to a stop in front of tall gates. My stomach flips as I look up at the estate. It’s massive, way beyond what I expected. Intimidatingly large. I hesitate for a second before stepping out.

My palms are sweaty as I press the intercom button. Once. Twice. Three times. 

“Good afternoon. May I know who’s calling?” The voice that rings out is soft.

I clear my throat. "Evangeline. I’m. . .a family friend of Mr. Creed."

There’s a pause, a long one.

I almost turn around and leave. But then the gates swing open, a security guard stepping out and ushering me in. My legs feel shaky as I walk up the long driveway. The closer I get, the heavier my chest feels.

Inside, I’m led to what seems like an office. It’s cold, sleek—just like I imagined Alexander would prefer. Everything is perfect, from the spotless glass table to the furniture. It feels impersonal, like he doesn’t really come in here. 

I sit on the edge of a chair, tapping my foot nervously. 

The help soon serves some cookies and a glass of juice. At first, I didn't want to eat it, but trust a growing baby to make a grown woman munch on anything she sees.

My heart races at every small sound, wondering if it’s him. Minutes drag by until I hear footsteps.

The footsteps are heavier, closer. I instinctively drop the glass and the half-eaten cookie in my hand before I rise to my feet, my eyes pinned to the creaking door. One step. Two steps. He appears—Alexander Creed, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, his tie slightly loosened, like he just got back from a tiring meeting. 

His eyes land on me, and he freezes, skin pale like he’s seen a ghost.

"You. . .Evangeline?" He says, his voice low, words drawled. His brows pull together, confusion and anger flashing across his face.

I slowly turn my body to face him, my hands clasped tightly in front of me. "Hi, Alexander."

Eyes drag over my form, more furious. One step forward. He bites out, "What are you doing here?" 

My mouth feels dry. 

"We need to talk," I manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper.

“What about?” He asks, his voice thick.

“It’s been three months, Alexander and you’re still as grumpy as always.” I mutter, intending to lighten up the mood.

“If you have anything to say, Evangeline, do well to say it or get the fuck out of my house.” He growls.

“I’m pregnant.”