Revenge Got Me Pregnant: My Alpha Boss's Baby

Claire's POV I took a personal day from work, a welcome reprieve from the awkward office encounters. At one o'clock sharp, I arrived at the Conrad Hotel for Uncle John's sixtieth birthday celebration. I presented him with the carefully selected gift and offered my polite birthday wishes, trying my best to ignore the familiar tightness in my chest. My father hadn't arrived yet-a small, momentary victory. The mere thought of seeing him, flashing that artificial smile beside her, made my stomach churn. I planned to make my excuses and slip away quietly after the main course, but Aunt Carter, ever so kind, caught my arm just as I was about to execute my escape. "Claire, don't leave yet. There's another guest joining us, someone very important!" I forced a small, polite smile. "Important? Who could that be?" "Your Uncle John's friend's son," she said, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "You'll never believe it-he's your company's new CEO! Lucius Watson!" The champagne flute in my hand nearly slipped, the delicate stem suddenly slick with sweat. "What?" The single word was a choked gasp. Of all the people in the world. him. Again. Before I could recover from the gut-punch of shock, the grand banquet hall doors swung open. And there he was. Lucius, striding in with the effortless confidence of a man who owned not just the room, but the very air within it. And beside him-my father's family. As if fate thoroughly enjoyed tormenting me, I spotted Ethan too, hovering near Emma's elbow. My stomach twisted painfully, nausea rising. I wanted nothing more than to simply vanish. But Aunt Carter, blissfully unaware of the emotional minefield she'd just pushed me into, gently guided me toward the VIP table. When I was seated, my pulse nearly stopped. At the very same table sat my father, Ryan, his trophy wife Connie Briden, her daughter Emma, Ethan, and Lucius. The air itself seemed to thicken, heavy, suffocating, crackling with an almost palpable tension. I wasn't sure if Aunt Carter, still believing in my relationship with Ethan, had invited him, or if Emma had simply dragged him along as her latest conquest, a shining new accessory. Connie sat across from me, elegance dripping from every smug gesture. Her designer gown shimmered beneath the crystal chandelier, catching the light. Beside her, Emma, all engineered perfection-thick, fluttering lashes, a meticulously pouted lip, an unnaturally sculpted face that screamed of expensive procedures and endless vanity. And there he was-Ethan himself-sitting right next to her, his arm casually draped over the back of her chair, his smirk as self-satisfied as ever. Funny. Just this morning he'd texted me, claiming he still loved me. Yet here he was, playing the devoted boyfriend in public. Men truly were masters of hypocrisy. Lucius sat opposite me, composed and unreadable, his tailored black suit fitting him like a second skin, an armor against the world. He didn't look at anyone directly, his gaze distant, almost bored. Yet, I could feel the pervasive weight of his presence, the quiet command that seemed to ripple from him without a single word. I lowered my head, focusing intently on the exquisite, expensive dishes I couldn't afford in a thousand lifetimes. The food was undoubtedly gourmet, yet in my mouth, it tasted like bitter ash. Then my father's voice cut through the polite murmurs, oily and obsequious. "Oh, Emma," he cooed, his tone oozing with forced warmth. "This is Mr. Lucius Watson. He's the CEO of the Watson Group now. Our company might have a chance to work with his in the future. You should. make sure to get acquainted." Ryan Pierce-my father. The man who had shattered our family and now shamelessly sought profit from every connection, including the man who had, in a different way, just ruined me. Emma's laugh was sweet and practiced, a high, tinkling sound. "It's such an honor to meet you, Mr. Watson. I truly hope we'll have the chance to work closely together in the future." She leaned forward, giving him a perfect, unobstructed view of her ample cleavage. Lucius didn't flinch. His gaze remained perfectly level, impassive. His voice, when he finally spoke, was polite but utterly detached. "Pleasure." For a fleeting second, his eyes flickered towards me-so quickly, I could have easily imagined it. But the sudden, sharp tension that coiled in my chest was undeniably real. Emma, oblivious, pressed on. "It feels too formal to call you 'Mr. Watson.' May I just call you Lucius instead?" Her tone was sickly sweet, cloying. I wanted to gag. Ethan, the opportunist, looked delighted, like a man who relished being close to power, even if it meant tolerating his cheating partner's blatant flirting. Lucius said nothing, his expression completely unchanged. "Lucius?" Emma persisted, twirling a lock of perfectly styled hair around her finger. "Could I perhaps have your contact information? Strictly for business purposes, of course." "You can reach my secretary," he replied flatly, without a hint of warmth. The brutal rejection hung in the air, sharp and merciless. For a moment, his gaze slid towards me again. I instinctively looked away, my cheeks heating for reasons I couldn't quite fathom. Perhaps I was imagining the pull-that strange, magnetic awareness that had haunted me since that night. But before the awkward silence could fully settle, Connie's shrill voice sliced through the air like a knife. "Claire, you are being terribly rude. I am your elder. Aren't you going to offer me a greeting?" The sheer audacity of that woman. My head snapped up. I met her gaze squarely, refusing to back down. "You're not my elder," I said, my voice dangerously even. "You're just the woman who ruined my family." The table went utterly still. A hush fell over the surrounding diners. Lucius's eyes sharpened almost imperceptibly, though his face remained a mask of impassivity. Connie gasped, a theatrical performance of mock offense, and turned to my father. "Ryan, your daughter is completely out of control!" My father's face darkened, a familiar storm brewing. "Claire, apologize to Connie right now!" Of course. That was always his line. No matter what the situation, Connie was always the aggrieved victim, and I, the perpetual disgrace. Ethan, ever the opportunistic sycophant, decided to chime in, playing the moral judge. "Claire, that was completely uncalled for. You should apologize." I laughed, a cold, sharp sound. "Playing the dutiful future son-in-law already? How truly sweet of you." He sneered. "No wonder our relationship never worked. You never knew when to shut your mouth." My temper, already threadbare, finally snapped. "It didn't work because you don't know how to keep your pants on-and Emma doesn't know how to keep her legs closed." Gasps rippled through the table, a collective intake of breath. Emma's perfectly painted smile vanished, replaced by a mask of furious shock. I stood, my chair scraping loudly, harshly, against the marble floor. "Tell me, why should I apologize? Because she's older? Because she stole my father, destroyed my mother's life, and now expects me to bow down to her?" Connie shot to her feet, trembling with incandescent rage. "Ryan! She's humiliating me! Do something!" My father's hand slammed down on the table, the sound echoing like a gunshot. "Enough!" Then came the crack. The slap landed across my face before I even saw it coming. Pain exploded, a white-hot agony. The room spun wildly. I staggered, my knees buckling, sending me sprawling to the floor. Before I could even register the shock, a sharp, piercing sting burst across my hand-Emma's heel, pressing down, grinding hard on my fingers. I looked up, fury burning through the dizzying haze. "You know what?" I spat, pushing myself to my feet, my voice shaking with raw emotion. "Fuck all of you!" More gasps filled the room, now a chorus of stunned silence. I grabbed the nearest bowl of steaming soup-an elaborate consommé, perhaps-and hurled it straight at Ryan. The boiling liquid splashed across his expensive suit, eliciting a choked cry. He roared in outrage, but I was already moving. The next plate went flying-a meticulously arranged appetizer-its contents splattering across Connie's designer chest, followed by another, aimed squarely at Emma's pristine gown. The room erupted into utter chaos. "Claire, stop it!" Uncle John shouted, rushing towards me, his face pale, but his words were muffled, lost in the din. Connie was shrieking, a high-pitched, furious sound. Ryan was cursing, shaking his fist. Emma frantically tried to wipe soup off her chest with a flimsy napkin, only succeeding in smearing it further. I turned to my father, my chest heaving, tears finally blurring my vision, not of sadness, but of pure, unadulterated rage. "You said you won't have a daughter like me? Good. Because I no longer have a father like you." The words left my lips like fire, searing the air. For the first time in my life, I felt no guilt in speaking them. Freedom burned where pain used to be. I walked away, trembling uncontrollably, but unbroken. Author's POV Lucius had remained utterly silent through the entire sordid scene, his gaze never once leaving her. The chaos erupting around the table was mere background noise, an irrelevant din. What truly mattered was her. Claire Morrison. The fierce defiance in her eyes. The barely perceptible tremor in her hands. The raw courage with which she stood her ground, despite the pain, despite the betrayal. Raven stirred inside him, restless, agitated. "She's ours."a primal growl echoed in his mind. Lucius's jaw tightened, a muscle ticking. "No." His control was slipping. "She's bleeding," the voice in his head snarled, darker now."They hurt what's ours." His knuckles went white as he gripped the tablecloth. His wolf Raven, the wild and primitive part of him, was fighting for control, desperate to rip apart anyone who had hurt Claire. The protective instinct was overwhelming. But he stayed silent, forcing down his wolf's violent impulses. He had to. Not here, not now. Not if he wanted to keep pretending to be human. As she stormed away, all furious grace and fire, he caught one last glimpse of her face. Flushed, angry, beautifully alive. The truth hit him, ancient and absolute, sinking into his bones. He could fight it, deny it, rage against it. But the mate bond was already there. Unbreakable. Undeniable. She was his fated mate. Even if she didn't know it yet.