Pregnant Oracle: The CEO's Most Dangerous Mistake

The elevator doors opened to the underground garage, the air thick with the smell of rubber and gasoline. Anona walked toward the reserved spot where the town car usually waited.

Empty.

She stopped, her heels clicking against the concrete. She pulled out her phone. A notification from Alexander's executive assistant sat on the screen.

Per Mr. Caldwell: Clause 14. Non-business travel is not reimbursable. Vehicle privileges suspended.

Anona stared at the screen. Her stomach cramped, a sharp, twisting pain that made her gasp. She leaned against a concrete pillar, closing her eyes. He was cutting off her legs to see if she would crawl.

She pushed off the pillar and walked toward the exit ramp.

Outside, the sky had broken open. A torrential New York downpour hammered the pavement, turning the gutters into rivers.

Anona stood under the small overhang of the parking garage exit. She opened her ride-share app. No cars available.

She shivered. The dampness was seeping into her incision site. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to hold the pieces of her body together.

A long, black car slowed down as it approached the exit. It wasn't a town car. It was a Maybach 62S, a sleek predator of a vehicle that cost more than most people earned in a decade.

The rear window rolled down halfway.

Anona took a step back, water splashing onto her ankles.

Get in, Mrs. Caldwell.

The voice was deep, resonant, and commanded rather than asked.

Anona peered into the gloom of the backseat. Harrison Sterling sat there, a shadow among shadows.

She hesitated. Alexander's uncle. The man Alexander feared. The man everyone feared.

She looked at the rain, then at the open door. She didn't have a choice.

She climbed in.

The interior was silent and smelled of expensive leather and faint sandalwood. It was warm.

Harrison didn't look at her. He was reading a financial newspaper, his legs crossed.

Thank you, Mr. Sterling, Anona said, her voice steady despite the shivering. The subway station on 5th is fine.

Harrison turned a page. A Caldwell wife on the subway? Alexander's stock would dip three points before you swiped your MetroCard.

Anona let out a small, bitter laugh. Maybe that's the point.

Harrison lowered the paper. He looked at her then. Really looked at her. His eyes were the color of steel, sharp and assessing. He took in her wet hair, the pale exhaustion in her face, the way her hand hovered protectively over her lower stomach.

His gaze lingered on her hand.

Harrison's jaw tightened. He had just come from a meeting with his private investigators about the lab breach. They were scouring the city for the woman who had received the compromised sample. Alexander had assured him it was a stranger.

Harrison looked at Anona again. She was too thin. Too pale. And far too protective of an abdomen that held, as far as he knew, an anonymous donor's child. His gaze dropped to her hand, and a cold, possessive fury coiled in his gut. His nephew was a fool, treating a priceless investment with such carelessness, regardless of its origin.

To the Blanchard Estate, Harrison said to the driver.

Anona turned to him, startled. How did you know?

You look like a stray cat that's been kicked off the porch, Harrison said, his voice devoid of sympathy but heavy with something else. Where else would you go but back to the litter?

Anona stiffened. She turned her head to look out the window, watching the rain streak the glass.

I'm not a cat, Mr. Sterling. I'm an accountant.

Harrison watched her profile. She didn't cry. She didn't complain about her husband leaving her stranded. She just endured.

Interesting definition, he murmured.

The car hummed as it merged into traffic. The warmth of the heated seat began to seep into Anona's back. The adrenaline of the morning crashed. Her eyelids grew heavy.

Within minutes, her breathing evened out. Her head lolled to the side, resting against the cool glass.

Harrison watched her sleep. He saw her hand twitch in her lap, still guarding her stomach.

He felt a strange, irrational spike of anger directed at his nephew. He reached over and tapped the climate control, raising the temperature two degrees. It was a calculated measure to preserve the asset's stability, nothing more.