Defying Scott's Blackmail

I thought Warren's penthouse would be my sanctuary, but I was wrong.

The pounding on the door came at dawn, violent and relentless. Through the peephole, I saw Scott's twisted face, and behind him—my blood turned to ice—Cheyenne, her pregnant belly prominent beneath a flowing white dress that made her look like some perverted angel of vengeance.

"Open the door, Brynn," Scott's voice carried through the thick wood, deceptively calm. "We know you're in there. We just want to talk."

Warren appeared beside me, his jaw tight. "Don't. We can call security."

But Scott's next words froze me in place: "I have videos, Brynn. Of us. Very intimate videos. It would be such a shame if they found their way to your workplace. Or Warren's business partners."

My hands shook as I reached for the deadbolt. Warren caught my wrist, his eyes fierce with protective fury, but I shook my head. "He'll destroy me either way," I whispered. "At least this way, I control when."

The moment the door opened, Scott pushed past me like he owned the place, Cheyenne gliding behind him with a satisfied smile that made my skin crawl. She surveyed Warren's elegant living room with calculating eyes before settling onto his Italian leather sofa as if it were a throne.

"Much better," Scott said, pulling out his phone and opening the camera app. "Now, Brynn, it's time you understood your place in our new arrangement."

Cheyenne stretched her legs out gracefully, her designer heels catching the morning light. "My feet are so swollen from carrying Scott's baby," she said with mock sweetness, her voice dripping with false vulnerability. "All this stress from your selfishness, Brynn. The least you can do is help me feel better."

The request hit me like a physical blow. "What?"

"Kneel," Scott commanded, his phone now recording. "Wash her feet. Show some respect for the mother of my child."

Warren stepped forward, his voice deadly quiet. "Get out. Now."

Scott laughed, a harsh sound that echoed off the walls. "Or what? You'll call the police? With what evidence? I'm just visiting my fiancée with my pregnant sister-in-law who needs medical attention." His eyes glittered with malice. "Besides, I wonder what your business associates would think of these videos of Brynn. So passionate. So... accommodating."

The threat hung in the air like poison. I looked at Warren's face, saw the helpless rage there, and felt something inside me break. This was my mess. My choices had led us here.

"It's okay," I whispered to Warren, though nothing about this was okay. "I'll do it."

"Brynn, no—"

But I was already moving, my legs wooden as I approached Cheyenne's outstretched feet. She wiggled her toes, the diamond wedding ring on her finger—David's ring—catching the light as she used her hands to frame her pregnant belly.

"That's it," Scott crooned, his phone capturing every humiliating second. "This is how it's going to be, Brynn. You'll serve Cheyenne, help raise my children, and be grateful for whatever scraps of attention I give you."

I knelt on Warren's pristine marble floor, my hands shaking as I reached for Cheyenne's shoes. The leather was soft, expensive—probably more than I made in a month. Cheyenne's breathing was deliberately loud, theatrical, as if the simple act of sitting was an enormous burden.

"The water should be warm," she instructed, her voice sickeningly sweet. "Not too hot for the baby, you understand."

But as my fingers touched her shoe, something rebelled inside me. The baby in my own belly—my mother's gift—seemed to pulse with life, reminding me that I was more than this moment, more than Scott's twisted games.

I pulled my hands back, looking up at Cheyenne's smug face. "No."

The word came out stronger than I felt, but it was enough. Cheyenne's mask slipped for just an instant, revealing the vicious calculation beneath her angelic facade.

Scott's face darkened like a storm cloud. "What did you say?"

"I said no." I stood slowly, my knees aching from the brief contact with the cold floor. "I won't do this."

Scott's hand shot out, gripping my arm with bruising force. "You don't have a choice."

That's when Warren moved, his hand closing over Scott's wrist with quiet menace. "Let her go."

For a moment, the three of us were frozen in tableau—Scott's grip on me, Warren's grip on Scott, Cheyenne watching from her perch with glittering eyes. Then Scott released me so suddenly I stumbled.

"Fine," he snarled, pocketing his phone. "If you want to do this the hard way, we'll do it the hard way."

Before I could react, he grabbed me again, this time dragging me toward the door. Warren lunged forward, but Scott was already pulling me into the hallway, toward the emergency exit.

"Scott, what are you doing?" I gasped, but he was beyond reason now, his face twisted with rage and humiliation.

The emergency door burst open, and suddenly I was outside in the storm that had been building all morning. Rain lashed my face like needles, and thunder crashed overhead as Scott shoved me onto the rooftop terrace.

"You want to be stubborn?" he shouted over the wind. "Then you can stay out here until you learn some respect!"

The door slammed shut behind me, and I heard the click of the lock engaging. Through the glass, I could see Cheyenne's pale face watching from the window, her hand pressed protectively to her belly, her expression one of satisfied vindication.

The storm hit with full fury, soaking through my clothes in seconds. I pounded on the door, screaming to be let in, but the thunder swallowed my voice. My thin cotton dress clung to my skin, offering no protection against the driving rain.

Minutes felt like hours as I huddled against the door, my body shaking uncontrollably. The stress, the cold, the sheer terror of being trapped—it all crashed over me like the waves of rain. My vision began to blur, and a sharp pain shot through my abdomen.

The baby. Oh God, the baby.

I pressed my hands to my stomach as another cramp seized me, this one stronger than the first. Through the glass door, I could see Cheyenne still watching, her face a mask of cold satisfaction as I collapsed to my knees on the flooded terrace.

The last thing I remembered was the sound of the door finally opening, Warren's voice calling my name through the storm, and the feeling of strong arms lifting me from the rain-soaked concrete as darkness claimed me.