Semua Bab Pregnant by the CEO I Hate : Bab 1 - Bab 9

Oliva;My fingers tremble as I zip up the deep emerald gown. The silky fabric glides over my skin, sticking to every curve, the slit along my thigh flashing with each movement. It’s sexy, elegant, perfect for the night I had planned. I light the last candle, and the warm glow of vanilla and jasmine fills my apartment. Thirty years old today. My wild curls falls over my shoulders, caramel highlights catching the light as I check my reflection. I’ve already taken my half of the enhancer, the capsule sitting warm in my stomach, promising the slow, delicious sensation that always turns our nights into pure ecstasy. Nox and I have done this ritual every birthday for three years. Take it early, let it build, and by midnight we lose ourselves completely in each other.I swallow my heart medication next, the bitter pill a daily reminder of my hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. My heart that can’t be trusted. The one that needs constant protection. Not tonight, though. Tonight is supposed to be per

Oliva;I pace back and forth across my tiny living room, the old wooden floor squeaking under my frantic steps. My fists clench tightly in my wild curls, tugging until my scalp stings. The pregnancy test still lies on the coffee table like a bomb that has already gone off. Positive. Caspian Fender’s child. What am I going to do? Tears burn my eyes as I stop in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection, pale face, messy hair, eyes wide with terror. I can’t tell him. I can’t walk into that man’s office and say, “Congratulations, you’re going to be a father.” The arrogant bastard would laugh in my face or worse accuse me of trying to trap him for his money. He hates my guts. Five years of constant ridicule have made that painfully clear. And the worst part? He doesn’t even remember that night. To him, I’m still just the disgraceful secretary with bad hair and worse shoes. I press a hand to my flat stomach, the nausea rising again. A baby. With no father who would want it. With

Caspian;I stare at the woman standing in front of my desk, her underwear still gathered around her ankles, and wonder how someone can spend five years surprising me in all the wrong ways.Olivia Bash has always had a talent for turning the simplest situations into spectacles. One day it's a missing button, the next it's coffee down the front of her blouse or her skirt caught in an office chair. Every time I think I've seen the worst of it, she proves me wrong, but even I wasn't prepared for this."Do you have a boyfriend?" The question is out before I can decide whether it's any of my business. Olivia doesn't answer, she remained rooted to the spot, staring at the underwear around her ankles for longer than she should. I clear my throat. It's only then that she seems to remember where she is. She bends, scoops them up in a rush, and straightens so fast she almost loses her footing, still clutching them in one hand. I look away.This woman is exhausting.Anyone else would have been

Olivia;I stand in front of the mirror holding a small shopping bag, the new set of underwear still sealed inside. After yesterday’s disaster, I refuse to take any chances. The last pair had already humiliated me once in front of the worst man alive. Tonight, at least, I will sit through the team dinner without the constant fear of another elastic failure.I pull the new panties on carefully, then reach for a simple black dress that does not hold too tightly around the middle. The little pregnancy bump is still easy to hide, but every week it becomes harder. My hands move slowly as I dress, the usual pregnancy symptoms settling into my bones. The hormones have been a mess for days with sudden nausea, mood swings, and tiredness. I need to see Dr. Pepper soon. The last appointment is already overdue, and the thought of putting it off any longer makes my chest tighten.I finish with a light jacket and flats, then stand still in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection. The woman lo

Olivia;I thank the kind pilot and make my way down the aisle toward the open door. The air outside is more relaxed than I expected. A line of black SUVs waits on the tarmac, engines running. One of the drivers steps forward and gestures toward the third vehicle in the row.I follow him, climb into the back seat, and close the door. The convoy begins to move almost immediately. Caspian’s SUV was already far ahead.The convoy slows as we pull into the circular drive of a tall glass-and-stone building I recognize immediately. One of Caspian’s hotels. I have stayed here on previous trips, always in the same type of room, always with the same energy that surrounds everything he owns.I step out of the SUV and follow the others into the lobby. The receptionist already has the keys prepared. Caspian takes his without a word. The elegant lady stands close beside him, accepting her own key as staff begin moving their luggage toward the elevators.He has already assigned a room to her before o