Accidental Pregnancy Books

My husband, Julian Sutton, is busy with work on the day of my prenatal checkup. His childhood sweetheart, Vera Levine, with whom he's been amorous for years, offers to drive me. On the way there, she suddenly swerves and rams into the back of a truck. The car is flattened. Julian is a doctor in the emergency room, but I don't call him. Instead, I dial 911 and wait for assistance. Why? I called him in my past life, and he took me to the hospital. Our child was saved, but Vera died due to significant blood loss. Julian claimed not to blame me and even arranged for me to stay in a private hospital ward. But on the day I was discharged, he dragged me to Vera's grave and stabbed me. I lost the child and was on the verge of death as I stared into his bloodshot eyes. They were filled with unbridled hatred as he snarled, "Vera wouldn't have died if you hadn't grabbed the wheel! Don't think I'll believe you just because you're acting innocent! An eye for an eye—I want you to die for her, but only after experiencing the pain she felt in a hundredfold!" He twisted the blade and stabbed me repeatedly. My blood splattered on Vera's gravestone, dying it red. When I open my eyes again, I find that I've been taken back to the scene of the accident.

In the seventh year of being in love with the Don, George Grimaldi, I said yes to his proposal. Inside a top-tier luxury bridal boutique, I stood in front of the mirror wearing the first wedding gown of my life. I looked at myself again and again and couldn’t stop smiling. Behind me, he watched in silence for a long moment. Then suddenly, he spoke, “Oh, right. We can’t get married for now. I’m married to someone else.” For a second, I thought I had misheard him. However, my entire body went stiff. The color drained from my face. “Josie is a benefactor of my family,” he explained casually, like he was talking about the weather. “My father insisted I register with her. But don’t worry. She won’t affect our relationship.” My ears rang. It took me a long time before I could finally process his words. “So you’ve been lying to me for seven years?” He frowned, as if I were the unreasonable one. “I wasn’t lying. I just forgot to tell you. This is my fault. If you don’t mind, we can still hold the wedding as planned—the gown, the ring, the honeymoon. You’ll have everything you deserve.” I lowered my gaze. My hand drifted down and rested gently against my lower abdomen. There was something else here, too—a secret I had planned to tell him today.

I was nine months along and ready to give birth, but my husband, Sean Conner, had me locked in the basement storage room and told me to hold the baby in. He said it was because his late brother’s wife, Quinn Faber, was also due today. Years ago, Sean and his brother had agreed that the first child born to the Conners would be raised as the heir and inherit the family inheritance. “Quinn’s baby must come first,” Sean said as if it were nothing. “She lost her husband and has nothing. You already have my love. It’s only right that the inheritance goes to her child.” The pain from the contractions folded me over, and I cried, begging him to take me to the hospital. He wiped my tears with a dangerously calm voice. “Stop the act,” he snapped. “I always knew you didn’t love me. All you care about is money and status. You forced labor to happen early so you could steal my nephew’s place… How can you be so cruel?” White-faced and shaking, I managed to whisper, “I can’t control when a baby comes. It’s a coincidence. I swear I don’t care about the inheritance. I love you!” He let out a cold laugh. “If you loved me, you wouldn’t have pushed Quinn to sign that contract relinquishing her child’s inheritance. Fine. Once she has her baby, I’ll come back for you. After all, the child in your belly is my blood.” Sean stayed outside Quinn’s delivery room. Only after the newborn arrived did he remember me. He ordered his secretary to take me to the hospital, but the secretary’s voice trembled as he said. “Madam… and the baby… They’re both gone…” At that moment, Sean lost his mind.

After being forced to go to rogue wolf territory to exchange my mate's kidnapped childhood sweetheart while three months pregnant, I was tortured to death. Before my death, my eight-year-old daughter begged her father three times. The first time, my daughter took her father's hand and said, "Daddy, mommy is pregnant with my little brother. She can't go to the rogue territory." The alpha wolf let out a cold laugh: "How dare your mother teach a pup to lie." Then he had his beta guards drive my daughter out of the pack house. The second time, my daughter grabbed his sleeve and told him the rogue wolves were torturing me with silver. The alpha frowned: "These rogues were hired by your mother to kidnap Willow. How could she really be tortured?" The guards stepped forward and once again pulled my daughter out of the room. The third time, my daughter lay on the floor, desperately clutching his pant leg, crying that I was dying in the rogue wolf territory. The alpha finally lost his temper. He slapped her away with force. "I told you, Ava won't die. She's strong. If you come running back here to disturb Willow's rest again, I'll definitely throw both of you out of the pack territory." To save me, my daughter gave her most precious possession to the most powerful warrior in the pack—the healing gemstone I had given her for her birthday. "Please, can you use this to help save my mother? I don't need protection anymore. I just want my mother to live." The warrior took her healing gemstone, but before he could leave to rescue me, Willow stepped in his way. "Sorry, little pup," she smirked. "The warrior needs to stay here to protect my dog. Your father was afraid I would be sad if anything happened to my pet."

My bestie Kenna and I were the fated mates of the two most powerful Alpha brothers in the Dark Moon pack. I was mated to the Head Alpha, Cade. Kenna was mated to his brother, Rhys. On our mating anniversary, a bloody package reeking of Rogues arrived. It was from Cade’s childhood friend, Lilah. The feral scent shocked my body into premature labor. Kenna rushed me to the pack’s private medical center. But the labor triggered a fatal condition: “Moon Eclipse Sickness.” My life force was draining away. With my last bit of strength, I used our mind-link to beg my Alpha for help. His furious voice was my only answer. “You’re faking this just because I missed our anniversary? Lilah’s rare silver hound is giving birth, and it’s dangerous. Don’t cause trouble for me now!” In the end, it was Kenna who drained her own wolf’s spirit to save me. I barely survived. But the pup I delivered was rushed to emergency care, too weak from my fading life force. Her eyes bloodshot, Kenna contacted her mate, Rhys. She begged him for "Moonflower Dew"—a serum from his own company that could save our baby. "Lilah's hound is weak after giving birth. I’m busy making a special formula for it. You and Evelyn are two of a kind. Always stirring up trouble. First her drama, now yours." My pup died. And my heart shattered with him. “Kenna, I’m rejecting my mate bond with Cade.” “If you reject him, I reject mine. Traitors don’t deserve mates.” But when we told the Alpha brothers we were rejecting them, they felt a panic they had never known.

I've planned seven wedding ceremonies in total, and not once has my fiance, Zachary Gardner, ever shown up for it. The first time, his adopted younger sister, Louise Foster, bursts into tears because she lost her passport at the airport. It was the dead of winter, but he dumped me by the side of the road and left me. The second time, Louise's dog sprained its ankle. Zachary stuffed the ring back into its box and rushed to the animal hospital to accompany her. Every time I argue with him about it, he declares nonchalantly, "We can get married anytime, but I can't let Louise be upset." Everyone around us agrees with him, saying that we're all family anyway, so I shouldn't be so petty. None of them has seen Zachary and Louise kissing fiercely on the dance floor. Today is the seventh wedding ceremony. Once again, he turns to leave after getting a call. I grab the corner of his shirt and say in a choked voice, "If you leave this time, Zachary, I won't marry you anymore." He stops in his tracks and peels off my fingers. "Wait for me," he says before rushing off. What he doesn't know is that this time, I won't be waiting for him any longer.

I was six months pregnant when my husband's childhood sweetheart showed up on Christmas Eve, pregnant too, demanding her place in his life. Smiling, I welcomed her in. "Come on in. Make yourself at home." In my previous life, I had forced my husband to kick Shirley out. She collapsed from low blood sugar and froze to death that very Christmas Eve. Matthew did not hold it against me. On the contrary, he softened, stayed by my side and took care of me while I waited to give birth. However, when the baby came, despite being an obstetrician himself, Matthew sent our healthy newborn son straight to the morgue. I begged him desperately, but his face was twisted with hatred. "If you hadn't been so petty and dramatic, Shirley wouldn't have died along with her baby!" "You're heartbroken over your son? Then go freeze to death too. Pay for Shirley’s life with your own life." Just like that, I opened my eyes again, back to the moment Shirley arrived on Christmas Eve.

After dying suddenly from overwork, I found myself transmigrated into the life of a fake heiress who had been cast out of her wealthy family. While the real heiress reclaimed the life that had once been mine, I decided to leave the drama behind. Armed with my savings, I embraced a carefree lifestyle, swapping boyfriends every three days and living for the moment. Then, two months later, life hit me with a curveball—I discovered I was pregnant. The problem? I had no idea who the father was. With no choice, I approached the three powerful CEOs I had been involved with, each more arrogant and competitive than the last. What followed was a 10-billion-dollar bet by each of the three over who the father might be, with me caught in the middle. "I bet the baby belongs to all three of you," I teased, only for them to roll their eyes and dismiss me as ridiculous. Even so, when I gave birth to triplets, their argument outside the delivery room went viral, sending the internet into a frenzy and turning my life—and theirs—into a spectacle.

I was his one weakness. Don Alex, the king of New York. And I was his queen. But days before our child was due, I was thrown into the Dockside Deathmatch—a cruel game broadcast for the underground world’s entertainment. The bullets flew, hidden traps lay in wait, and my every terrified, pathetic attempt to survive was broadcast live on giant screens. Then, I heard his second-in-command on the loudspeaker. "Boss, your wife's about to pop. You sure you wanna be here?" I froze. Alex was here? A moment later, a woman’s sugary voice dripped through the speakers. "Forget that bitch. Alex told me the only thing that mattered today was being here with me. Right, honey?" It was Scarlett. The Chicago Outfit's princess. Alex's childhood sweetheart from Chicago, a woman he had always pampered and shown a distinct bias towards. He had turned down her advances for years, but he never refused her whims. Today, she was in a bad mood and insisted on watching the deathmatch, so he was here to keep her company. I screamed for Alex, begged him for help, but he was convinced I was an assassin in disguise. Because Scarlett laughed and said the game needed to be more exciting. So he pressed the button. Vicious patrol dogs hunted me. My water broke, mixing with blood on the ground. I was in agony. The game hit its climax as more dogs and gunmen closed in from all sides. Everyone was betting on who would be the next to die. Alex smiled, his voice a low, careless drawl, "I’ll bet on that filthy pregnant woman to die." He didn't know the truth until I bled out on an operating table, our child dead with me. They say the ruthless Godfather shattered. Broke completely.

I am the wife of Anthony Caster, don of the mafia family in New York. When I was nine months pregnant, he brought a woman named Evelyn Graves into the manor, claiming she’d saved his life. That was the day my nightmare began. She put something in my food. Next thing I knew, I was doubled over in pain. And she had the nerve to blame it on me—said I was being reckless with what I ate. She lost her footing and fell down the stairs, but she told everyone I was the one who shoved her. Every day, she’d cry in front of Anthony about how saving him had left her wounded and unable to bear children, how seeing a pregnant woman broke her heart. But the moment she turned to me, the tears were gone, replaced by a cold smile. “As long as I’m here,” she whispered, “your babies will never be born.” Anthony was convinced I was jealous of her. He locked me away in the abandoned attic of the manor and said, “Reflect on your actions and stop bullying Evelyn.” On the first day they shut me in, the contractions began. I screamed, I begged, I banged on the door. The butler heard me and went to inform Anthony. He said, “Amelia, your due date is three days away. Stop putting on an act. Three days in a snowstorm and you came out fine. This? You can handle this.” On the second day, my water broke. I screamed at the top of my lungs, my fingernails digging into the cracks of the wall, blood spilling all over the floor. The butler went to Anthony again. Evelyn said, “Anthony, she’s making all that noise because she wants you to feel sorry for her and let her out. If you give in now, she’ll only grow more reckless later.” He believed her. On the third day, I stopped screaming. Anthony thought I had finally learned my lesson, unaware that I had already died from the difficult labor. When he finally opened that door, all he would find was my rotting, putrid body.