Chapter 2 A Trap

My pregnancy was turning out to be an unending migraine.

Rationally, holding on to this child seemed ill-advised.

As a single mother, both my child and I were bound to be the target of relentless societal scrutiny.

Born out of wedlock myself, I was intimately familiar with the sting of sharp tongues-I couldn't fathom subjecting my child to the same relentless cruelty that had haunted my own footsteps.

Yet, the thought of parting with the child gnawed at me; it could have very well dashed my sole chance at motherhood into the rocks.

Flashback to my thirteenth year: my first period arrived in the middle of a brutal winter, unleashing snowstorms fierce enough to cripple the city. Amidst that chilling cold, I was cruelly thrust into an icy lake, a traumatic event that inflicted a chronic ailment upon me.

Years down the line, at my first medical exam with the company, the doctor delivered a grim prognosis: my chances of conceiving were slim.

That was why I was staggered by disbelief when the doctor from earlier revealed that I was pregnant.

It was akin to snagging a miraculous, one-in-a-million lottery ticket-a stroke of fate so rare it was almost mythical.

Who was I to make such a monumental decision about a life burgeoning within me?

The dilemma of whether to keep the child loomed large.

But before I could untangle my conflicted feelings, an avalanche of work assignments descended upon me, demanding immediate attention.

As a diligent worker in the advertising industry, I was perpetually at the beck and call of clients who reveled in wearing me down.

Oddly enough, amidst the turmoil of morning sickness and sidestepping client meltdowns, I clung to the advice that a pregnant woman ought to nibble on small meals throughout the day and shun late-night work.

Somewhere within me, perhaps, I had already decided to keep the child.

Jaxton? He was merely the contributor of genetic material, compensated for his role and nothing more. Regardless of whether I decided to go through with the pregnancy, he had no part in it.

Following our intense final confrontation, I had blocked his number, severing ties with him definitively.

I endured another grueling month of endless demands, and upon completing all the proposals, a wave of relief washed over me.

By that point, my decision was firm: I would have this child and dedicate myself entirely to its upbringing.

I knew quelling the gossip train was a lost cause, yet I resolved to stand firm as a mother, shielding my child from the whispers just as someone had once shielded me.

With my professional commitments momentarily paused, I savored a rare moment of peace in my office, poised to search for parenting advice, when my boss, Benny Gill, burst through the door.

"Cathy, there's a dinner engagement tonight, and you're joining me," he declared emphatically.

The mere mention of dinner conjured images of cocktails and clinking glasses, prompting me to unconsciously caress my stomach. "Benny, I'm really not up for drinks at the moment. Perhaps you could..."

"Who's talking about drinking? Just grace us with your presence; I'll manage the drinking part for both of us," Benny interjected, pounding his chest with a confident thump.

I paused, aware that these gatherings usually turned into smoke-filled rooms.

Benny, sensing my reluctance, sweetened the deal. "It's a significant client we're meeting tonight. Seal this deal, and you might just land a bonus that'll have six figures in it by year's end," he promised.

That potential bonus tugged at my conscience.

Yes, I had once defiantly hurled half a million in that scoundrel's face, feeling every bit the hero, but that had depleted most of my reserves, leaving a bitter taste.

I had scraped together every cent through unwavering grit and determination, unlike those silver-spoon-fed trust fund babies who knew nothing of toil.

And with a child on the way, the stakes were higher. I had made up my mind to keep the child, aiming to provide a life of more than mere scraps.

Firming my resolve, I agreed, "Alright, Benny, you've got yourself a deal."

He beamed. "That's my girl! Head home, doll yourself up, dab on some glamor, and slip into something stunning. We're meeting at the Prestige Club, Room 401, by six-thirty sharp."

The stakes were evidently high, as Benny had graciously allotted me half the afternoon to prepare myself.

I didn't waste a moment-darting into my car, I made a swift detour to the spa for a brisk but transformative touch-up, and then retreated to my home for a meticulous makeup session. By the stroke of six-thirty, I was pulling into the opulent driveway of the Prestige Club.

Upon tapping lightly on the polished door of Room 401 and stepping through, I was thrust into a buzzing atmosphere, the room brimming with an assortment of personalities. As soon as I made my entrance, all eyes snapped to me, their gazes alight with a curious intensity as though I was the star attraction of their gathering.

Benny was already weaving through the crowd, his eyes brightening as he spotted me. He clasped my shoulder with warm familiarity. "Cathy, you've arrived just in time! Allow me to introduce you-this gentleman here is Carl Reed from Light Media. Carl, meet the star of our team, Cathy Howard, our creative director."

Carl extended his hand with an engaging smile, his eyes twinkling with admiration. "The tales of your prowess in advertising are legendary, Miss Howard. It's clear to me now they barely captured the full picture."

As our handshake lingered, Carl's fingers teased mine with an unsettling caress, his glance sliding toward a disquieting smirk that sent a ripple of discomfort coursing through me.

Blissfully unaware of or choosing to ignore my discomfort, Benny cheerfully ushered me to Carl's side. "Cathy, do keep Carl entertained tonight-share a drink or two with him, won't you?"

My heart skipped a beat. Hadn't Benny assured me that drinking was off the table?

What game was this-had he decided to trade my comfort for convenience?

Carl's face lit up with excitement as he thrust a glass brimming with potent liquor toward me. "I've heard about your legendary tolerance, Cathy. Come on, down this glass and show me your capacity for drinking," he said with a grin.

"Mr. Reed, I..." I began, attempting to retreat while casting a pleading glance at Benny for assistance. Unfortunately, Benny played the traitor, pretending not to notice my distress.

He even encouraged me, saying, "One glass is not enough to show your capacity, Cathy. How about you take three shots to impress our VIPs here?" His suggestion trumped Carl's, escalating to three shots.

Observing my hesitation, Carl grew more audacious, lining up more drinks for me with a challenging look in his eyes.

Internally, I was fuming, yet I restrained my anger. Maintaining my job and my standing in the industry meant I had to grin and bear it.

Benny, knowing full well my predicament, had set this trap deliberately.

Alcohol was absolutely out of the question-any drink could endanger the child, especially something this strong. I couldn't risk it.

Yet, opting out required a plausible excuse.

As I desperately searched for an escape, the door burst open once more, and a formidable figure entered, altering the dynamics of the room.

Immediately, Carl, who had almost raised the glass to my lips, withdrew it.

I released a sigh of relief, and then cautiously turned to see who had entered.

At just one look, I froze solid.

Fate really had a way of mixing things up, didn't it?

Jaxton-my former shady fling whom I'd unceremoniously ditched with a hefty half a million over a month ago-strode into the room with an air of confidence that bordered on arrogance.

At that moment, I felt utterly doomed.

To my left, there was Carl, a man who resembled a devious opportunist, eager to pull me into his sordid plans. To my right, Jaxton, the man I had scorned and who likely harbored fantasies of vengeance. It was as if the universe itself was conspiring against me, its cold hand of fate pressing against my back.

Jaxton cut an imposing figure in a sharp navy suit, his expression cold, emitting a palpable aura of "back off" as he entered without so much as a glance to the side.

Observing his composed demeanor, I couldn't help but ponder how someone could seamlessly transition from a wild lion in bed to a polished, controlled gentleman.

And now, this menacingly elegant man was cutting through the crowd straight toward me, like a knife through silk. It didn't take a genius to realize that he was here to stir up trouble.

Tightening my grip into fists, I steeled myself, preparing to face whatever storm was about to break.