Hidden Pregnancy: The Billionaire CEO's Secret Heir

Sebastian Sterling stood before the floor-to-ceiling window of Suite 1501, looking down at the ant-sized cars crawling along 57th Street. He held a small, plastic rectangle in his hand. He ran his thumb over the photograph. Clara Miller. She wasn't smiling in the picture; she looked serious, almost frightened, her eyes wide and alert. The door to the suite opened. Luke, his personal assistant, walked in carrying a garment bag and a tablet. Luke paused when he saw the unmade bed, the tangled sheets. He was trained well enough not to react, but his eyes flickered to the floor. "Check the security footage for the hallway between 6:00 AM and 6:30 AM," Sebastian said, his voice gravelly with sleep. Luke hesitated. "Sir, the hotel security system underwent a mandatory firmware update this morning. The cameras on the 15th floor were offline for forty minutes." Sebastian's lips quirked into a dry, humorless smile. Of course they were. Fate loved to play games. But Fate hadn't accounted for carelessness. "Never mind," Sebastian said. He tossed the ID badge onto the unmade bed. "I have what I need." Downstairs in the lobby, chaos was unfolding. Jojo Sterling, Sebastian's younger sister and the bane of the hotel staff's existence, was shouting at the manager. "I'm telling you, she bumped into me! She was stumbling like a drunk zombie!" Jojo shrieked, waving a manicured hand. "She was wearing this hideous blue dress-off the rack, obviously-and she reeked of cheap tequila." Sebastian stepped out of the elevator, fully dressed in a charcoal three-piece suit. He adjusted his cufflinks as he approached the scene. "Josephine," he said calmly. Jojo spun around. "Seb! You have to fire them all. Security is a joke here. Some girl just nearly vomited on my Louboutins." "What did she look like?" Sebastian asked, his tone indifferent. "Brown hair, messy. Big eyes. Skinny. Looked like a frightened deer. Smelled like that floral shampoo they sell at drugstores." Jojo huffed. "I think her name is Clary? Or Clara?" Sebastian's eyes darkened. Clara. "Luke," Sebastian said, turning to his assistant without looking back at his sister. "Cancel the inquiry with the hotel. Handle Jojo." He walked through the revolving doors to his waiting Maybach. He didn't need cameras. He had her name. He had her scent still lingering on his skin. And now, he had the hunt. Clara stood in the shadow of the newsstand across from Sterling Tower. It was 8:45 AM. She had been standing there for twenty minutes, clutching a cup of lukewarm coffee from Starbucks. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. A notification from the company app: Mandatory Meeting. M&A Division. Conference Room 1. 9:00 AM. She couldn't go in. She couldn't get past the turnstiles without her badge. And she couldn't ask for a temporary pass because that would log her arrival time and alert security, and if Sebastian was looking for her... "Miller?" The voice made her jump. It was the security guard, Old Mike. He was staring at her from the sidewalk. "You forgot your badge again? You know the drill. No badge, no entry. Not even for the Pope." "I know, Mike. I'm just... waiting for a colleague," she lied, her voice tight. A sleek black car pulled up to the curb. The back door opened. Clara instinctively ducked behind the newsstand display, her heart hammering against her ribs. Sebastian emerged. He looked immaculate. Powerful. He buttoned his jacket, his gaze sweeping over the bustling street. He didn't look like a man who had woken up with a stranger in his bed. He looked like he owned the pavement he walked on. He started toward the revolving doors, then stopped. Slowly, deliberately, he turned his head. His eyes locked onto the exact spot where Clara was hiding behind a stack of Vogue magazines. He couldn't possibly see her through the display, but it felt like his gaze burned right through the paper. He didn't smile. He didn't frown. He just stared for three seconds, then turned and walked into the building. Clara let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. Her phone pinged with an email. From: Unknown Sender Subject: Lost Property Her fingers shook as she opened it. There was no text. Just an attachment. It was a photo. A high-resolution picture of the back of her head, taken from inside the hotel elevator as the doors were closing. Her hair was messy, her dress zipped crookedly. Clara sank onto the dirty sidewalk, heedless of the grime ruining her slacks. The hunter had set his trap. And she was already caught.