Ran Away From Him with His Baby

"I need more time," I insisted, my voice wavering despite my best efforts to sound confident. "A family emergency requires my immediate attention."

Connor's granite expression didn't soften. He stood before my desk, arms crossed, his tailored suit accentuating the breadth of his shoulders. Those shoulders I'd once clutched in a moment of drugged passion—a memory that made heat rise to my cheeks even now.

"You've mentioned this 'family emergency' three times, Emily, yet provided zero specifics." His voice dropped to that dangerous octave that made executives twice his age squirm in boardrooms. "In two years, you've never once mentioned family problems."

I swallowed hard, one hand instinctively moving to my still-flat stomach before I caught myself and redirected it to straighten papers on my desk. "It's personal, Mr. Ashford."

"Personal." The word hung between us like a challenge. "And the frequent bathroom visits? The sudden aversion to coffee that you previously consumed by the gallon?"

My heart stuttered. He'd noticed that too? I'd been so careful, or thought I had.

"I'm having some health issues," I admitted, which wasn't a lie. Morning sickness was certainly a health issue, just not the kind I wanted to discuss with the unwitting father of my child.

Something flickered in his steel-gray eyes—concern, perhaps, though it vanished so quickly I might have imagined it. "Then you should see the company doctor. Today."

"That won't be necessary," I said too quickly. "My personal physician is handling it."

"Is it serious?" The question was abrupt, almost accusatory.

I hesitated, unsure how to answer. Was pregnancy serious? Life-altering, certainly. Especially when the father was my boss who had no memory of our encounter.

"It's... manageable," I finally replied.

Connor studied me with the same penetrating intensity he used to dissect business proposals. I fought the urge to squirm under his scrutiny.

"One month," he said finally. "I'll accept one month's notice instead of three. That gives you time to train your replacement."

It wasn't what I wanted, but it was better than nothing. I nodded, relief washing through me. "Thank you, Mr. Ashford."

He turned to leave, then paused. "And Emily? I expect complete honesty from my employees. Always."

The irony of his statement struck me like a physical blow. Complete honesty would destroy us both.

---

The evening air in the parking garage felt oppressive as I made my way to my car, my sensible heels echoing against concrete. One week had passed since my attempted resignation, and each day had been an exercise in avoidance and nausea control. The pregnancy symptoms were intensifying—a cruel reminder of the secret growing inside me.

I was so distracted by my thoughts that I didn't notice the figure leaning against my car until I was nearly upon him.

"Ms. Carter. Just the woman I wanted to see."

I froze, keys clutched in my hand. Owen Fletcher's smile didn't reach his eyes as he straightened, blocking my access to the driver's door.

"Mr. Fletcher," I acknowledged, fighting to keep my voice steady. "I'm afraid I'm in a hurry."

"I'll be brief." He reached into his expensive coat and withdrew an envelope. "I have a business proposition for you."

Every instinct screamed danger. This was the man who had drugged Connor, who had orchestrated the very situation that led to my current predicament.

"I'm not interested in any proposition," I said firmly, taking a step back.

"You haven't heard my offer." He extended the envelope. "One hundred thousand dollars. Cash. Tax-free."

My eyes widened despite myself. That kind of money would change everything—provide security for my child, freedom from financial worry.

"What would I need to do for such a generous sum?" I asked, though I already suspected the answer.

"Something simple." His smile widened, turning predatory. "Copy some files from Ashford's private server. Client lists, upcoming acquisitions, strategic plans. Nothing you don't already have access to as his assistant."

Disgust replaced my momentary temptation. "You want me to steal from Connor?"

"I prefer to think of it as evening the score." Owen's pleasant facade slipped, revealing the bitterness beneath. "Ashford destroyed everything I built. He deserves to know what that feels like."

I straightened my spine, gripping my keys tighter. "I would never betray Mr. Ashford's trust. Not for any amount of money."

Owen's expression darkened. "Loyalty to a man who treats you like furniture? How touching." He stepped closer, his cologne—too strong, too sweet—making my sensitive stomach churn. "Did you know he's already interviewing your replacements? Three candidates this week alone."

The news stung more than it should have. Of course Connor was moving forward efficiently. I'd expected nothing less.

"My answer is no, Mr. Fletcher. Now please move away from my car."

Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. "You stupid bitch," he hissed, all pretense of civility evaporating. "Do you have any idea what Ashford did to me? My company, my reputation—gone! My own father won't take my calls!"

He slammed his palm against my car, making me jump. "All because of one little mistake at a banquet. One drink!"

My blood ran cold. He had no idea of the true consequences of that "one little mistake"—the child growing inside me.

"That's not my concern," I said, trying to edge around him toward my car door.

"It could have been so easy," Owen continued, his voice rising with each word. "A simple trade—information for financial security. But you'd rather worship at Ashford's feet like all the other mindless drones!"

His rage was escalating, his face contorted with hatred. I glanced around the garage, hoping to see security or another employee, but we were alone among the concrete pillars and fluorescent lights.

"I'm leaving now," I announced, attempting to project confidence I didn't feel. "Step aside, Mr. Fletcher."

Instead, he grabbed my arm, his fingers digging painfully into my flesh. "You think you're better than me? You're nothing! Just Ashford's little secretary he'll discard when—"

"Let go of me!" I yanked my arm free and tried to move past him.

What happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion. Owen's face twisted with fury as he lunged toward me. I stumbled backward, my heel catching on the concrete. His hands connected with my shoulders in a hard shove.

I felt myself falling, arms flailing, unable to catch my balance. The impact knocked the breath from my lungs, and I slid to the ground, one hand instinctively moving to protect my abdomen.

That's when I felt it—a warm wetness between my legs, followed by a sharp, cramping pain that made me cry out.

"No," I whispered, looking down to see a small dark stain spreading on my skirt. "No, no, no..."

Owen stood frozen, his rage replaced by dawning horror as he realized what was happening. "Are you... bleeding?"

Another wave of pain tore through me, more intense than the first. I curled forward, tears springing to my eyes. "My baby," I gasped. "Please, call an ambulance."

Owen's face drained of color. "Baby? You're pregnant?"

I couldn't answer as another cramp seized me. The world was starting to blur at the edges, panic and pain overwhelming my senses.

The last thing I remembered was Owen backing away, phone in hand, his voice distant as he called for help. Then darkness claimed me, my final conscious thought a desperate prayer for the tiny life I might already be losing.