All Chapters of Secret Baby Of the Ruthless Billionaire: Chapter 1 - Chapter 8

LISA’S POV:His lips hovered dangerously close to mine, the tension thick in the air, a strange mix of fear and confusion clouding my senses. My breath came in shallow gasps as I struggled to find words, any words, to stop this, but they wouldn’t come. I was trapped, caught in the magnetic pull of his cold, commanding gaze, unable to tear myself away.Then, as if sensing my hesitation, he pulled back, just enough to give me space to breathe but not enough to let me go. His grip on my waist loosened, and I felt his fingers trail down my side, sending an unwelcome shiver through me. My mind was racing, trying to make sense of what was happening, of who he was and why I was here, in his arms, with his eyes boring into me like I was some puzzle he wanted to solve.Before I could piece together a single coherent thought, his voice sliced through the air again, that same low, icy tone that made my stomach clench. “You’re not the person I was expecting,” he said, his voice devoid of warmth,

My life had settled into an unexpected calm ever since I arrived in California. There was a peacefulness here, an anonymity that soothed my frayed nerves. No one knew me, no one asked questions, and I was grateful for it. I spent most days working quietly on a business I’d started with the money I had gotten from that night—the night I wanted so desperately to forget. The investment I made had turned out better than I could have hoped, and for the first time in what felt like forever, there was no drama, no heartbreak. Just me, my work, and the slow rhythm of days blending together.But then, the nausea started.At first, I thought it was stress or maybe something I ate. But the queasiness became more frequent, then constant. Every morning, like clockwork, I’d wake up feeling sick to my stomach, unable to keep anything down. I dismissed it for weeks, chalking it up to anxiety or the toll of running a business on my own. But when the dizziness started, along with fatigue that left me e

The rain hasn’t stopped for hours. It trickles down the windows in lazy lines, blurring the world beyond the glass like a watercolor in motion. I sit curled up on the couch, a soft gray blanket draped around my shoulders, one hand resting on the curve of my belly. Six months. Just three months left, and everything changes.Again.I run my fingers across the little blue hat I knitted last night, its yarn still holding the warmth of my touch. It’s lopsided and imperfect, but I love it anyway. It’s his first. A tiny promise that I’ll be enough, even if I’m the only one he knows. Even if he never knows who his father is. I want to raise him with so much love.Enough love to soften the absence. Enough to make him whole.I close my eyes for a moment, letting the warmth from the fireplace soak into my skin. The logs crackle softly, the flames casting golden shadows on the floorboards. The baby kicks again, stronger this time, and I press a hand there instinctively.“Hey, little one,” I whis

If anyone tells you pregnancy is a beautiful, glowing, ethereal experience, they’re either lying or trying to sell you something. At eight and a half months, I’ve reached the stage where standing up feels like a strategic military operation, and my ankles have officially gone AWOL.I catch my reflection in the cottage mirror and wince.“Good Lord,” I mutter to myself. “Who let a beach ball wear my pajamas?”The baby kicks in response, and I swear it feels personal.“Oh, don’t you start,” I say, patting my belly as I shuffle toward the kitchen. “You’re the one who’s been using my bladder as a trampoline.”I’ve developed a weirdly affectionate habit of narrating everything out loud. It’s probably because I live alone, and if I don’t talk to myself or the baby, the silence gets a lIttle too loud. Claire says it’s adorable. I say it’s proof I’m two decaf coffees away from going completely feral.Speaking of Claire, she’s due any minute. She’s bringing groceries and something called “labor