Chapter 8 The Almost Reveal

Michael had always prided himself on control.

He controlled his empire, his enemies, his emotions, and every fine detail of his meticulously guarded life. But Vera Stanford... was chaos in lipstick and curves. And he couldn't stop watching her.

Whenever she walked into his office with those shy eyes and soft smiles, he had to remind himself that she worked for him now. That touching her again wasn't just unwise it was a line he couldn't cross without consequences.

But damn, she made it hard.

She moved through the office with quiet confidence, head down, focused too focused. As if she were keeping something locked tight behind those pretty brown eyes. Something he couldn't name... but needed to understand.

And then, he noticed the change.

She'd gone pale twice in one morning. She was clutching her stomach when she thought no one was watching. And when he offered her coffee that afternoon, she pushed it away like it offended her soul.

"You hate coffee now?" he asked, studying her reaction.

She blinked. "It's been making me nauseous lately."

Nausea. Fatigue. Vitamins.

His mind sharpened.

"Are you sick?"

"No," she said too quickly. "Just stress. New job. New environment. That's all."

But it wasn't all. He knew it. Felt it. She was hiding something.

Later that evening, long after most of the office had cleared out, Vera stayed behind to finish a report. Michael had a meeting that ran late, but when he came back to his office, the light was still on in hers.

He walked over, intending to check-in. Maybe say goodnight.

But what he found froze him in the doorway.

Vera was hunched over her desk, one hand gripping the edge tightly, the other on her stomach. Her face was pale too pale. She looked like she was fighting off the pain.

"Vera," he said, a voice suddenly laced with concern.

She jumped and tried to straighten up. "I'm fine."

"You're not," he said, striding toward her. "You look like you're about to pass out."

"I just need air

But before she could finish the sentence, her knees buckled.

Michael caught her before she hit the ground, cradling her against his chest like she weighed nothing. "That's it. You're going to the hospital."

"No!" she gasped, eyes wide with panic. "Please, no hospital. I'll be okay, I just just take me outside. Please."

He hesitated.

Something was terrifying in her eyes. Not of pain, not of passing out but of what the hospital might reveal.

And suddenly, the truth slammed into him like a truck.

She's pregnant.

His breath caught, but he didn't say it aloud.

Not yet.

He scooped her up and carried her out to the rooftop garden instead quiet, secluded, and breezy. He sat with her on a bench, her body still trembling in his arms.

She leaned into him, eyes closed, breathing deeply.

After a long silence, she whispered, "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For being more complicated than you expected."

Michael brushed a thumb across her cheek. "I've handled cartels and assassins, Vera. I think I can handle you."

She gave a soft, breathless laugh.

But neither of them said what was now hanging in the air between them like lightning.

He knew.

And she was starting to realize it.

The storm was coming.