I'm Pregnant, And It Isn't My Husband's
Olivia Pearson is just a pawn – a wife bought to rescue her father's ailing business. Her husband, Sebastian, maintains his icy grip over her life and escape feels like a pipe dream. But when Olivia uncovers the secrets of his empire filled with lies and illicit dealings, she decides to take control. The more she tries to figure things out, the more she realizes that the only person who can assist her might be Ethan Blackwood, Sebastian's brother, and the man who has captured her heart.
Now Olivia is sandwiched between two brothers. The choice to make is simple but painfully difficult; the husband who owns her or the difficult, yet enticing lover who comes with freedom.
It remains to be seen what is more perilous: that decision, or the consequences that follow.
THIS IS A SIZZLING NEW ROMANCE – NO HANDS!
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Chapter 8
"Come in."
Camille sashayed in, her skirt a calculated inch shorter than professional standards, her blouse unbuttoned just enough to offer a promise without quite breaking HR rules. Sebastian recognized the game-had played it himself often enough.
"The revised projections, Mr. Blackwood." She leaned over his desk, placing the files directly in front of him. "I also took the liberty of drafting a response to the SEC inquiry."
Sebastian glanced at her, noting the carefully applied makeup, the practiced way she bit her lower lip. Camille had been his executive secretary for two years-and his occasional stress relief. She was competent enough at both roles, but lately, her ambitions were showing.
"Is there anything else you need, Sebastian?" Her voice dropped to a suggestive purr as her fingers brushed against his hand.
The fury still burned under his skin, memories of Ethan's hands on his wife sending fresh waves of rage through him. He needed release-needed to purge this violent energy before it consumed him.
"Lock the door," he ordered.
Camille's smile was triumphant as she complied, already unfastening another button on her blouse as she returned. "I've missed you these past days. Ever since your... marriage." She practically spat the word.
Sebastian stood. "Turn around. Hands on the desk."
Excitement flashed in her eyes as she obeyed, bending over the desk, presenting herself like an offering. Sebastian yanked her skirt up around her waist, unsurprised to find she'd worn nothing underneath.
"Prepared, weren't you?"
"Always for you, Sebastian," she moaned, arching her back. "I know what you need."
He entered her with brutal force. There was no tenderness, no foreplay. Camille's moans grew louder.
"Yes! God, Sebastian, no one fucks me like you do!"
The fakery grated on him. Even in this, she was calculating, performing what she thought would please him. Sebastian increased his pace, not out of passion but a ruthless determination to finish this transaction.
Camille's cries reached a crescendo as she convulsed around him, her release triggering his own. He emptied himself inside her with a grunt, already mentally returning to the Axiom projections before he'd even withdrawn.
"That was amazing," Camille purred, turning to wrap her arms around his neck. "We should celebrate your new merger with Axiom in my apartment tonight. I bought that Bordeaux you love."
Sebastian stepped back, zipping his trousers. "That won't be necessary."
"But-"
"In fact, your services as my executive secretary will no longer be required." He returned to his chair, already scrolling through emails. "I'm transferring you to compliance."
Camille froze. "Compliance? That's-that's three floors down! After everything we've-"
"After everything we've what, Camille?" Sebastian looked up. "You provided a service. I compensated you generously." He opened a drawer, withdrew a stack of cash, and placed it on the desk. "Consider this a severance package for the additional services rendered."
"You're firing me because you got married?" Her voice rose. "She can't possibly satisfy you like I can!"
"I'm reassigning you because I've found your replacement." The word was designed to cut, and it did.
Tears welled in Camille's eyes. "Sebastian, please. I've been loyal. I've been discreet. I can still be useful to you! You can fuck me again... Now, anytime." She was already rolling her skirt up once more.
"The desperation isn't attractive, Camille. Take the money and your dignity, and leave while you still have at least one of those things."
Her hands trembled as she gathered the cash, humiliation radiating from her in waves. At the door, she turned back, fury replacing the tears. "She'll never love you, you know. Not the way I could have."
Sebastian chuckled. "Love? I don't want love, Camille. I want obedience. Now get out."
❧
Olivia's new phone buzzed with a message that made her stomach drop.
Sebastian Blackwood: My office. 9 AM sharp. Wear the Armani suit Marissa selected. Marcus will get you here. You start today.
Her fingers hovered over the screen. Start what?
The response was immediate: Working for me. You didn't think I'd let you sit idle in that penthouse, did you?
Twenty minutes later, Marissa appeared with coffee and a garment bag. "Mr. Blackwood wants you polished. We don't have much time."
The Armani was severe-charcoal gray, tailored within an inch of its life, the skirt hitting just above her knees in a way that managed to be both professional and possessive. Marissa wrestled Olivia's hair into a sleek chignon, applied makeup, then fastened the diamond collar around her throat.
"Perfect," Marissa declared, though her eyes held something like pity. "The car's waiting."
❧
Blackwood Tower stabbed into the morning sky like a monument to excess. Olivia had seen it from a distance her entire life, but standing in its shadow was different. The building seemed to swallow light, all dark glass and sharp angles that screamed power.
The lobby was marble and chrome, filled with beautiful people moving with purpose. Everyone wore designer suits. Everyone looked like they belonged.
Olivia felt like an imposter wearing someone else's skin.
"Mrs. Blackwood." A security guard materialized at her elbow. "Mr. Blackwood is expecting you. Top floor."
The elevator ride felt like ascending to her own execution. Each floor that passed increased the pressure in her chest until she could barely breathe. When the doors finally opened onto the executive suite, she stepped into a world of floor-to-ceiling windows and ruthless elegance.
And Sebastian, standing at those windows like a king surveying his kingdom.
He turned, his gaze traveling the length of her body with an assessment that made her skin crawl. "You're two minutes late."
"The traffic-"
"Wasn't a question." He gestured to a woman standing beside his desk-tall, brunette, stunning in a way that made Olivia feel instantly inadequate. "This is Camille. She'll train you."
Camille's smile was all venom. "Train her? Sebastian, she has no experience. She doesn't even have a business degree."
"She has the most important qualification." Sebastian's eyes locked on Olivia's. "She's mine."
"Of course," Camille said, her voice sugar-sweet poison. "I'll show Mrs. Blackwood everything she needs to know about serving you."
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8.4
I was drugged and sent to a hotel room to be compromised, but I ended up in the presidential suite with a stranger.
I didn't know the man I clung to in my hallucinogenic haze was my own husband, Devaughn Winters, a man I hadn't spoken to in a year.
When I woke up the next morning, the terror of what I’d done hit me like a physical blow. I fled, leaving behind nothing but a shredded dress and a lingering sense of dread.
I thought I’d finally escaped the cold, suffocating contract of our marriage when I signed the divorce papers, but I was wrong.
My mother-in-law arrived at my apartment, freezing my sick mother’s medical funds and threatening to ruin me for the "infidelity" she claimed I’d committed.
She dragged my secrets into the light, leaving me with no choice but to fight back with a knife in my hand and a 911 call on speaker.
But just as I thought I was free, the man I’d spent the night with—the man who was supposed to be my stranger—tore up our divorce papers and declared that I was his to keep.
I was a pawn in a game I didn't understand, trapped between a ruthless father who wanted to sell me for corporate secrets and a husband who demanded I belong to him in life and in death.
How did he not know who I was that night, and why is he suddenly claiming me as his own?
I’m done being a victim, and if he thinks he can own me, he’s about to find out exactly what happens when a cornered woman decides to burn it all down.
8.0
For six years, I played the perfect, submissive wife to Wall Street titan Francis Castro. I suffocated my own ambitions to fit into his conservative world.
But while I waited alone at a Michelin restaurant, a news alert popped up. My husband had just dropped millions on an aquamarine diamond necklace for his "muse," Chanelle.
The real nightmare began when I rushed home to find our five-year-old son in severe anaphylactic shock. I frantically called Francis from the ambulance, but he manually rejected my calls. He couldn't leave the bidding war for Chanelle's PR launch.
When he finally arrived at the ER, Chanelle was right beside him, wearing that blinding multi-million-dollar necklace. He didn't ask about our dying son.
"Why weren't you watching him?" he demanded, his voice hard and accusing.
And when my son woke up, hazy from the drugs, he rejected my touch and reached for Chanelle instead. Francis just stood there, praising Chanelle for knowing exactly how to calm him down.
I stared at the three of them looking like a perfect, happy family. Six years of swallowing my pride, only to realize my husband would let our son choke to death just to buy another woman's smile.
The last thread of my heart snapped. I handed him the divorce papers, demanding zero alimony. Then, I drove to a hidden Brooklyn loft, cut off my hair, and unlocked my safe.
It was time to resurrect my true identity—the legendary fashion designer, Ember.J. I am going to burn her empire to the ground.
8.4
Cyburris Hospital collapsed, and Director Greg sacrificed his pregnant wife, Ronda, to save his idolized love. Her right hand was crushed, she lost their baby, and he dragged her name through the mud, forcing her to leave with nothing.
With an injured hand and a stillborn child, Ronda fled the country overnight. Three years later, she returned as an international authority on neural regeneration, ready to seek revenge with both hands-one to slap faces, the other to perform surgery.
Her academic revelations exposed scandals, data breaches shook the foundations, the idolized love's reputation crumbled, and the scoundrel was left paralyzed-a complete crash and burn, all in one go.
In the end, she radiated with brilliance at a grand wedding with her ultimate partner, while her ex passed away in solitude in a hospital room.
7.2
I stared at the ceiling tiles of the sterile clinic, counting water stains to keep from screaming. The IVF transfer was complete, but the nurse didn’t call me a mother—she called the life inside me an "asset" for Caldwell Holdings.
When I walked into my husband Alexander’s office to demand a divorce, he didn't even look up from his desk. He just laughed, shredded my legal papers, and told me I was nothing more than a high-end broodmare for his inheritance.
The nightmare only deepened from there. To keep me in line, Alexander fabricated evidence of an affair to destroy my reputation. When I tried to run, he revealed he controlled the facility where my sister was on life support, threatening to pull the plug if I didn't submit.
"One phone call, and her ventilator stops," he whispered.
Even my own parents turned against me, demanding I apologize to Alexander’s mistress just to secure their next business merger. I was a prisoner in my own life, trapped between a husband who wanted to own me and a family that had already sold me. I couldn't understand why everyone was so obsessed with this pregnancy until I saw the fear in Alexander's eyes when his uncle, the powerful Harrison Sterling, started showing up at my door.
I finally hacked into the clinic’s high-security database and found the truth. There had been a catastrophic lab breach the day of my procedure. The donor wasn't some anonymous third party.
I wasn't carrying my husband's child. I was carrying his uncle's heir.
As Alexander sent a hitman to stage a fatal "accident" on the Manhattan Bridge, I realized the war had just begun. This time, I wasn't just fighting for my life—I was holding the nuclear leverage that would burn the Caldwell empire to the ground.
8.7
Clara Vane had everything-wealth, status, and the man she loved. But on the night meant to celebrate her future, everything was stolen. Betrayed by her best friend Sienna and pushed from a rooftop, Clara's life ended in a single, shocking moment.
Then she wakes up three years earlier, given a second chance. This time, she will not be a victim. Armed with the knowledge of the future, Clara watches, plans, and turns the greed and arrogance of her enemies against them. Each calculated move brings her closer to revenge and transforms the innocent girl she once was into a woman of power and precision.
Her path crosses with Alistair Thorne, the city's most feared CEO-a man whose cold, commanding presence makes her pulse race. Dangerous, brilliant, and impossibly alluring, he becomes both ally and challenge, drawing Clara deeper into a world of high stakes, wealth, and deception.
As betrayal lurks behind every door and danger waits in every shadow, Clara must outsmart those who once destroyed her. In a city built on power, money, and lies, she has one choice: rise, survive, and take everything back.
9.4
My Alpha mate abandoned me three years ago, leaving me as a disgraced Omega to raise our two children in a freezing, ruined hovel.
To keep them from starving, I was forced into a humiliating deal with a rogue wolf named Jax, who stole our pack rations and demanded my young son as payment.
The entire pack shunned me, my mother-in-law treated me like dirt, and my children lived in constant fear.
When I finally awakened my ancient Luna bloodline to fight off Jax and feed my kids, Ryker suddenly returned.
But he didn't come to save us. He blasted our door off its hinges, his eyes burning with a murderous rage.
He ignored our starving reality and accused me of selling our bloodline to the rogue.
"Where is the rogue? Who did you trade my bloodline to?!"
I had endured beatings, starvation, and utter humiliation just to keep his children breathing.
I had bled to protect our family. Yet, the moment he returned, he believed the lies of our tormentor and looked at me with the intent to kill.
Why was I the villain in the story of my own survival?
As his powerful inner wolf suddenly whined in submission for the magical food I had cooked, his Alpha command faltered into deep confusion.
He ordered me not to leave his sight until I explained everything.
But looking at the mate who had abandoned us, my mind was crystal clear.
The real question wasn't whether I would leave, but whether he was still worthy of letting me stay.