Todos os capítulos de Accidentally Slept with My Ex-Boyfriend's Father: Capítulo 21 - Capítulo 30

Emily's POV"Is the baby mine?"The question came direct. No beating around the bush. No preparation. His voice was so low now that it sounded like a whisper from the bottom of an abyss."Arthur...""Answer." He took another step. Now there was no space between us. My chest almost touched his. His breath hit my face – warm, fast, uncontrolled, full of hunger. "Is the baby mine?""I don't want to talk about this," I said, my voice breaking. "You shouldn't be here. Much less asking me that."The words came out dry. Cutting. A knife.He didn't back away. Didn't blink. Just looked at me. His dark eyes traveled across my face — my eyes, my mouth, my chin, my neck. As if devouring me with his gaze."I left a million-dollar contract in Italy," he said. His voice was hoarse, tired, but had a sharp edge. "I came to New York without knowing if you would receive me. Without knowing if you would even look at my face. I only knew I needed to see you. Needed to smell you. Needed to know if you stil

Emily's POVThe studio was still buzzing around me, but I wasn't really there anymore.People rushed back and forth with folders in their hands. Lights shifted under the command of hurried assistants. Models came and went from the sets, changing clothes in seconds like it was the most normal thing in the world. The noise faded into a distant hum, drowned out by the blood pounding in my ears.Marcus just found out I'm carrying his child.I squeezed the phone in my pocket, my fingers still shaking. His voice echoed in my head. The desperation. The anger. The confusion. "Emily? Is Emily expecting my child?"I put the phone away and took a deep breath. I tried to go back to shooting. Raised the camera to my eye. Click. The image came out blurry. My hand wasn't steady. Click again. The focus was all wrong. The photo was just a mess of colors and lights."Emily."The voice came from behind me, close. I turned around.Sebastian stood a few feet away, his green eyes locked on me, his head til

Emily's POV "Why was Arthur Sterling, husband of the renowned Vivienne Sterling, here in New York holding your arm like that?" Sebastian's question echoed in the space between us, and I felt its weight on my shoulders like a solid object. His eyes didn't look away, waiting for an answer I didn't know how to give without destroying everything. I couldn't tell the truth. I couldn't say he was the man who made me feel things I had no right to feel. Instead, I looked away again to the bottom of the empty cup, where the coffee residue formed a dark stain on the porcelain. "Sebastian, I'm really grateful you brought me here," I said, feeling the weight of the silence between us. My hands were cold around the cup, and I squeezed the porcelain as if it could anchor me to something solid. "It really helped me a lot. But I think I can go now. I'm not hungry." He didn't answer right away. He just stood there, his fingers tapping slowly on the table – that low, constant rhythm tha

Emily's POVShe waited, her eyes wide, confused, searching for an answer she was already starting to guess."Emily," Nathalie called again, her voice low, trembling. "Why is Arthur Sterling here? Why did he do that? Why is he helping you?"I didn't answer. I couldn't. The words were stuck in my throat, all tangled up together, none of them wanting to come out.What was I going to say? That the owner of the company where she worked, Vivienne's husband, Marcus's father, was the man from the phone calls? That he was Jason? That I had slept with him?Nathalie waited. One second. Two. The silence stretched between us, heavy and full of unspoken things.She looked away."Thank you very much, Mr. Sterling," she said, her voice coming out strange, as if she were talking to herself. Then she looked at me again.Arthur turned to her. His jaw was still locked, his hands still slightly clenched, but his voice came out calm. "You don't need to thank me.""But you didn't have to…""I know." He cut

Emily's POVThe clock on the wall said 7:30 in the morning when I woke up on the couch.My neck hurt. My back hurt. Everything hurt. The blanket had slipped to the floor during the night, and the morning cold came in through the poorly closed window.The coffee table still had two mugs, one intact, mine, and the shards of the other, scattered on the floor, where they had been since the early morning.Nathalie wasn't there.Her room was empty. The bed was made. The closet was open. Some clothes were missing. Her phone was on the nightstand, silent, dark. She had left without her phone.She said not to follow her, I thought, looking at the empty bed. Even though it was so late. Even though it was dangerous.She said not to touch her. And I obeyed. I stayed there, on the couch, listening to the door close, listening to her footsteps fade down the hallway. I didn't go after her. Didn't yell. Didn't apologize. Just stayed.The guilt weighed on my chest like a block of concrete.I took a qu