My Husband Isn’t the Father of My Baby, but His Boss Is

Two bright pink lines stared back at me from the plastic stick.

My hand shook. I laid the test on the marble counter, pressed my palm against my flat stomach, and answered the phone buzzing beside.

"Did you take it?" My best friend Sophie asked, her voice crackling through the speaker.

"It's positive."

"Jesus." Sophie sucked in air. "Julian's?"

I let out a bitter bark of laughter. "I don't think so."

Three months ago, I was drowning. My husband Julian started coming home less in the evenings. He said a new project was getting underway.

But I knew the truth. His ex Chloe had returned to the city, newly divorced, and my husband had run straight back to her like a stray dog.

Every other evening, my phone would chime with pictures—Julian sleeping against silk sheets, Julian cooking in her penthouse, a woman's manicured hand resting over his bare chest.

And one night I received a text.

*He still whispers my name when he finishes.*

I knew it was Chloe. I just couldn't why Julian went to her side.

Three years ago, Chloe dumped him to marry an oil heir. It was me who pulled him out of the gutter.

I poured the Vance family's capital and my influence until he sat in the highest position as CEO of Hayes Group.

But the second Chloe whistled, he dropped to his knees for her again.

"Elena, talk to me," Sophie urged. "Are you panicking?"

"No," I said. "I'm strangely calm."

"The baby is his, right?" Sophie asked quietly. "I sent him to your suite because you were breaking apart at the seams."

I closed my eyes, and the haze of bourbon and dim amber lights rushed back into focus.

* * *

The private lounge smelled of expensive leather. My makeup was ruined from crying when the heavy oak door clicked open.

A handsome man stepped inside. Tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair swept back, jaw sharp enough to cut glass, eyes cool and lethal under the low lights.

"Who are you?" his voice was deep, low, controlled.

I stood up from the velvet sofa, stumbling on my hem, and grabbed his lapels. "Are you the best Sophie could buy?"

He arched an eyebrow, looking down at my tear-stained face. "I'm expensive."

"Good." My voice cracked into a ragged sob. "I just don't want to think of anything tonight."

He stared at me, and then reached out and brushed a tear from my cheek with a gentleness that didn't match the rest of him.

"Fuck me. Right now. Fuck me until I forget him." I shoved him against the door.

A smirk tugged at his lips. "Demanding, aren't you?"

"Shut up and touch me!" I ripped open his silk shirt.

He grabbed my wrists in one massive hand, pinning them above my head against the door. His other hand snaked down my spine, gripping my waist so hard it left red marks.

"You want to use me?" he leaned down until his lips brushed my jaw.

I tore at my own zipper, letting the designer dress pool around my ankles. He stripped off his trousers with ruthless efficiency. His cock was thick, heavy, already jutting hard.

I didn't wait. I climbed onto him, wrapping my legs around his hips. "Ram it in."

"Careful what you ask for, sweetheart," he muttered, lining his tip against my entrance.

He thrust upward in one brutal, ruthless stroke.

A sharp cry tore from my throat as his cock stretched me open, sinking all the way to the hilt. Tears spilled down my cheeks, hot and bitter, but I didn't stop. I bucked my hips down against him, using his hard body to purge the betrayal.

He spun me around, throwing me onto the sofa cushions. He grabbed my ankles, shoving my thighs wide apart until my pussy was completely bare to his gaze. Without a second's pause, he drove back into me with punishing force. The leather groaned beneath us. Every slam of his hips hit my cervix, driving wild, blinding electricity through my veins.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice dark, filthy, commanding. "Don't close your eyes. Take every drop, babe."

We tore each other apart until the sofa wasn't enough. He hauled me down onto the plush carpet. I screamed into the darkness, riding wave after wave of crushing orgasms until my knees gave out completely.

When morning light pierced through the curtains, my entire body burned with a deep, tearing ache.

The other side of the king bed was cold. He was gone.

On the nightstand rested a sleek, heavy black business card and a signed check. My head was pounding like an anvil. I sneered at the paper, assuming the agency had left a receipt and a surcharge bill for his services.

Without bothering to read a single letter, I crumpled both into a ball, hurled them into the trash can, pulled on yesterday's wrinkled clothes, and fled the suite.

* * *

"Elena, What are you going to do?" Sophie's voice pulled me back to the present. She asked cautiously. "I new a discreet clinic. I can book an appointment for tomorrow morning. Nobody will know."

"No." The word came out instantly, firm and steady.

"No?" Sophie gasped. "Elena, you're carrying the child of a man! And you don't even know his name!"

"Julian won't find out anything," I stared at my reflection in the mirror. "I need a child to inherit the Vance."

"From a stranger in a club?"

"The man was stunning," I said, a faint, cold smile gracing my lips. "Perfect outlook. Most importantly, no baggage. No legal claim. No emotional entanglement. He was paid for a job, and he gave me the best gift I could have asked for."

"You're crazy," Sophie whispered, though a hint of admiration slipped through. "You're going to raise him alone?"

"This baby belongs to me. Only me. A father is a nuisance." I picked up the pregnancy test and slipped it into the velvet jewelry box on the vanity.

Now, it's time to settle the bill with my husband.