Pregnant With The Cold CEO's Heir

"Illysian" is a fortress of wealth and silence, hidden within an unremarkable skyscraper in Manhattan. In his most luxurious private suite, Damon Stanton watched a woman cry.

She is beautiful, yet her beauty is so ordinary that people forget her at first sight. But her tears were real. Tears streamed down her cheeks, ruining her expensive makeup, and at that moment, his two security guards were tightly holding her arms.

"I'm sorry." She sobbed, looking at him with pleading eyes. "Please, Mr. Stanton, I made a mistake."

Daemon said nothing. He picked up the glass of Scotch whisky—the very one she'd tried to sneak into a white pill a few minutes earlier—and gently swirled it. Ice cubes gently clinked in the cup. Apart from her crying, this was the only sound in the room.

His friend Corbin Bright, the man who brought this woman as a companion, was almost curled up in a corner, gasping for breath. "Damon, I swear to God, I really don't know. She said she was a model. I truly, really sorry. ”

Daemon's gaze was cold and hard, like the diamond on his watch. He didn't even glance at the woman. His gaze fell on the city lights flickering outside the panoramic window.

He spoke to his security supervisor, who was as burly as a refrigerator. "Make her disappear from Viredia City."

The woman's sobbing stopped abruptly. A genuine fear appeared on her face, far deeper than her previous performances. "No, I'm begging you! You can't—"

The security guard didn't wait for her to finish. They dragged her out, her pleas echoing in the hallway, then cut off by a closed door.

Corbin let out a trembling sigh. "Oh my god, Daemon." 'Disappeared'? What does that really mean? ”

Daemon finally looked at him, his expression unfathomable. He pulled out a silk handkerchief and meticulously wiped his fingertips, as if he had touched something unclean. "What I mean—" his voice was low and emotionless, "You won't bring this kind of trash to me again." ”

"Yes. Understood. There will be no more trash. Corbin nodded vigorously. Crystal clear. ”

Damon stood up and adjusted the cuffs of his tailored suit. He had already forgotten this episode; it was just a small trouble brushed aside casually. "I'm leaving."

"But the night is still long! There's a party downstairs—"

"No, thanks."

He walked out of the suite, and the club manager immediately came over and bowed flatteringly. The crowd in the corridor parted for him, like a sea of red, their eyes filled with a mix of awe and fear. No one dared to meet his gaze.

His driver, Gavin Hayes, was already waiting by the roadside in his Bentley. Dimon slipped into the soft leather of the back seat and closed his eyes.

The silence inside the car should have calmed him, but his thoughts were restless. In an instant, a scene appeared: a pair of large, clear eyes, filled with a mix of rebellion and vulnerability; A face flushed from drunkenness. That was a month ago, right at this club. That was the only night he lost control of his adult life.

He rubbed his nose in displeasure. That was a meaningless memory. He pushed it away.

At the same moment, on a rain-soaked street in Queens, Chloe Matthews was running desperately.

The rain started an hour ago, starting with a biting drizzle, then quickly turning into a torrential downpour. The rain soaked through her thin jacket, pressing her hair tightly to her face, chilling her bones from the cold.

She couldn't take the subway, nor did she dare to take the bus. They will find her. So she walked—or rather, limping, her injured ankle aching continuously. Every step felt like a new torment, racing from the soles of my feet all the way to my knees.

She has no destination. Her only true friend, Asha, is auditioning in Los Angeles. Seventy-four dollars in my pocket isn't enough to book a motel room, not even the most rundown kind.

Despair weighed on her like a heavy entity, making it hard for her to breathe. Raindrops mixed with silent tears streamed down her cold cheeks. She was too tired, too hungry. Her body began to protest.

Inside the Bentley, it's warm and dry. A top-tier sound system plays soft classical music. Dimon gazed out the window at the city washed by rain, his worries in the club still lingering. The world outside the tinted car window is a blur of wet asphalt and neon lights. Two different worlds, separated only by a thin layer of glass.

Chloe's vision began to narrow. The streetlights blurred into long streaks of water. Her body wobbled, and her legs could barely hold up. She staggered forward, desperately searching for some kind of cover—a bus stop, a canopy, anything would do.

She arrived at a crossroads, head down, focused solely on forcing herself to move forward step by step. She didn't see the crosswalk signal, nor did she hear the sound of the engine.

She simply staggered down the curb and entered the driveway.

Suddenly, a pair of dazzling, glaring headlights pierced through the rain, pinning her to the dazzling glow.

She froze, like a deer stared at by a silent predator.

A piercing horn sounded, followed by a terrifying screech of tires on the slippery road.