The Bizarre Bond: The CEO's Regret

Sophie pressed herself deeper into the shadows. Her breath was ragged.

She should leave. But her feet wouldn't move.

Through a gap in the door, she watched Julian help Zoe onto a sofa. He arranged a pillow behind her back with a care that stole the air from Sophie's lungs.

"Julian," Zoe said, her voice fragile. "I was so scared. When I fell... I'm so glad you were there."

Her fingers brushed his sleeve. He didn't pull away.

"You're safe now," Julian murmured. "I won't let anything happen to you."

He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. His fingers lingered.

Zoe leaned into his touch. "You've always taken care of me. Remember the treehouse? I was terrified of climbing down. You stayed with me for hours."

A faint smile touched Julian's lips. "I remember."

Zoe reached into her blouse and pulled out a thin silver chain. A small, tarnished locket. "I've kept it with me all these years."

Julian's gaze softened further. He recognized it.

Zoe's eyes drifted toward the crack in the door. Toward Sophie.

Their eyes met.

Zoe's mouth curled into a faint, triumphant smirk.

Sophie staggered back. Her pain was not an accident. It was the point.

She turned and fled.

She slid into the driver's seat of her car. Her hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white.

She dialed Julian's private number. Once. Twice. Three times.

No answer.

On the fourth ring, a click. But not Julian's voice.

"Hello?" Zoe's voice, honeyed and breathless. "Sophie? Oh, I'm sorry—Julian can't come to the phone right now. He's... helping me with something."

Sophie's blood turned to ice. "Put him on."

"He's busy." A soft laugh. "You know how he gets. So attentive. He's been holding my hand for the last ten minutes. Said he missed me."

"Put. Him. On."

A pause. Then Julian's voice, distant and distracted: "Who is it?"

"Your wife," Zoe said, loud enough for Sophie to hear. "She sounds upset."

"I don't have time for this." Julian's voice was flat. "Tell her I'll call back."

The line went dead.

Sophie stared at her phone. He hadn't even bothered to speak to her. She threw the phone onto the passenger seat. It bounced and hit the floor.

A dry, ragged sob escaped her. Then she laughed—bitter, broken. She was carrying his child, and he couldn't spare her ten seconds.

At the Fifth Avenue mansion, Sophie walked through the grand foyer. A wave of nausea hit her. She stumbled rounding a corner, her shoulder brushing a tall vase. The vase wobbled. Sophie lost her balance and crashed onto the Persian rug.

A sharp pain shot through her palm. Her blood ran cold. The baby.

"Hey! Watch it!"

A woman in a cleaner's uniform stood a few feet away, holding a small boy's hand. She glared at Sophie. "What's wrong with you? You almost knocked over my son!"

Sophie tried to push herself up, but her arms trembled. "I'm sorry—I didn't see—"

"Didn't see? He's three feet tall! You rich people think you own the world." The woman yanked her son closer. "Are you drunk or something?"

"No, I—" Sophie's hand pressed against her stomach. Pain lanced through her. "Please, I need help—"

"Help?" The woman laughed, harsh and ugly. "You almost hurt my baby, and you want my help?" She tugged the boy's hand. "Come on, Marcus. Stay away from her."

The boy stared at Sophie with wide eyes. "Mommy, she's bleeding—"

"Not our problem." The woman dragged him away.

Sophie looked down at her palm. A thin line of red welled up from a cut. But the real fear was lower. Inside.

She forced herself to her knees, then to her feet. The room spun. She leaned against the wall, breathing in short, shallow gasps.

No one came. No one asked if she was okay.

She limped toward the stairs, one hand on the railing, the other covering her abdomen.

"Watch your child," she had said to the woman. But whose child was she watching now? Hers? Or the one Julian would never acknowledge?

She had to get out. For herself. And for the life growing inside her.