Pregnant With The Alpha CEO's Secret Heir

Johanna POV:

One month ago, I slept with my boss.

For a whole month, I kept telling myself: this matter must be kept to myself, kept completely hidden, as if it never happened.

Then, on an ordinary Tuesday morning, in front of the entire thirty-fifth floor, my body called me a liar.

One moment, I was staring at the quarterly expense report, the numbers blurring into a meaningless gray haze. The next, my stomach churned violently, a bitter wave of acid climbing up my throat.

I made it to the ladies' room by inches.

I crashed into the first stall and retched until there was nothing left-until my eyes streamed, my legs shook, and my knuckles ached white against the porcelain. And through every brutal heave, one thought kept circling like a shark:

I took the pill.

I swallowed it the very next morning. I did everything right. So this could not be what it looked like.

The gray-faced woman in the mirror over the sink didn't look convinced.

By the time I slid back into my chair, my hands had almost stopped trembling. Almost.

"Okay, that's the third time this week." Chloe Hayes leaned over the partition from the adjacent cubicle, her brow furrowed with genuine concern-but her eyes held the familiar glint of office gossip. "And it's always in the morning. Jo, you look like death."

I forced a smile, my lips feeling stiff.

"I'm fine." I lied, my voice tight. "Maybe just something I ate for breakfast."

My hand trembled as I reached for my water bottle. I needed to wash the acrid taste out of my mouth before my stomach staged a second coup.

Chloe's eyes narrowed playfully. "Morning sickness? Are you pregnant?"

The plastic bottle nearly slipped from my grasp.

Cold dread went through me like a dropped elevator.

"No! Of course not!" I snapped, louder than I intended. "Don't be ridiculous."

But my thoughts had already pulled me back to that night, without even asking for my permission first.

He kissed me in the hotel elevator, his breath smelling of whiskey, one arm around my waist. I remember his weight. He was hot, like he had a fever, his temperature much higher than normal. The deep sounds he made against my skin still linger in my memory.

Then dawn broke. Julian Montgomery lay on the disheveled sheets, a heavy arm pressing down on me, rendering me unable to move even in my unconscious state. I carefully and slowly freed myself from beneath him, holding my breath, and then ran out.

I remember fleeing in a panic the next morning, my cheeks burning with shame as I hurried down the street.

And I remembered the corner pharmacy. The small white box. The pill I swallowed right there on the sidewalk, washed down with lukewarm coffee because my hands were shaking too hard to wait.

I took precautions.

It was impossible.

I had made sure it was impossible.

Chloe raised her hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. Just a thought." She shrugged and turned back to her monitor, though I could feel her curiosity still lingering in the air between us.

I took a slow, careful breath and forced my eyes back to the spreadsheet. The numbers swam. The nausea hadn't left-it had just curled up low in my belly, a stubborn knot, waiting.

Just then, the internal line on my desk phone buzzed. It was Maria, one of the executive assistants from the top floor.

"Johanna, an urgent encrypted report needs to get to Mr. Montgomery immediately," she said, her voice rushed. "Lucas and I are swamped. I heard Mr. Montgomery is out for a meeting this afternoon. Could you just take it up and leave it on his desk?"

A wave of relief washed over me, so potent it almost made me dizzy.

He was out.

This was perfect. A chance to fulfill a high-priority task without the risk of actually seeing him.

"Of course," I said, my voice steady for the first time all morning. "I'll take it up right away."

I could just slip in, drop the file, and slip out. A ghost. He would never even know I was there.

I retrieved the heavy, sealed folder from the secure filing cabinet. The weight of it in my hands felt grounding. This was just a task. A simple delivery.

I walked towards the elevator bank, my steps feeling lighter than they had all day.

Inside the elevator, the polished steel walls reflected my pale, drawn face. I smoothed down my blouse, trying to compose myself. I could do this. It was nothing.

The elevator chimed softly, the doors sliding open onto the top floor.

The corridor was silent, carpeted in a plush gray that muffled my footsteps. The air here was different-cooler, stiller, smelling faintly of expensive leather and something else... something that reminded me of pine and cold winter air. It was his scent.

I walked quickly towards the imposing double doors of the CEO's office, my heart a frantic drum against my ribs. Just drop it and go.

I reached the door, my hand outstretched, ready to push it open.

At that exact moment, the doors of his private elevator, set flush against the wall beside his office, slid open without a sound.

Julian Montgomery stepped out.

He had returned from his meeting early.

We froze, locking eyes in the silent hallway.

The world tilted on its axis. The folder slipped from my numb fingers, hitting the plush carpet with a soft thud. The blood drained from my face, leaving my skin cold and clammy.

Every carefully constructed wall of avoidance I had built for the past month crumbled into dust.

His blue eyes, which I had only seen in my nightmares for weeks, narrowed slightly. They were sharp, piercing, missing nothing.

"What are you doing here?" His voice was a low rumble, deep and commanding, echoing in the cavernous silence.

It wasn't a question. It was an accusation.

I felt like a prey animal caught in the unblinking stare of a predator.

I fumbled to pick up the folder, my fingers clumsy. "The... the encrypted report," I stammered, holding it up like a shield. "They said you were out."

Julian POV:

I ignored her stammered explanation.

The sight of her, pale and startled in the hallway outside my office, sent a jolt through me. For a month, she'd been a ghost. A whisper in the corridors. A name on reports I deliberately had rerouted through my beta, Lucas.

And now, here she was.

My inner wolf, dormant and sullen for weeks, stirred. Mine.

The possessive thought was so strong, so primal, it was a physical sensation, a tightening in my chest. I clenched my jaw against it.

I gave a short, sharp nod toward my office door.

"In."

I didn't wait for her reply. I pressed my thumb to the biometric scanner beside the door. It clicked open. I pushed the heavy oak door inward and stood aside, my posture an unspoken command.

She hesitated for a fraction of a second, her brown eyes wide with a fear that both irritated and intrigued me. Then, with a stiff, jerky movement, she walked past me into the room.

The scent of her-freesia and fresh rain-filled my senses, a stark contrast to the leather and cedarwood of my office. It was the same scent that had clung to my sheets, my skin, for days after that night. The scent I couldn't get out of my head.

The door clicked shut behind her, the sound unnervingly final in the large, quiet space.

I walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows, turning my back on her. The New York skyline sprawled below me, a kingdom of glass and steel. But I wasn't seeing it. I was tracking her movements through the reflection in the glass.

She moved with a skittish energy, like a deer in a lion's den. She held the folder clutched to her chest, a flimsy piece of armor.

She tiptoed to my large mahogany desk and placed the folder on the corner, as far from my chair as possible. She was trying to be quick, efficient, invisible.

"Mr. Montgomery, the report is here," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

Then she turned, her movements swift, and headed for the door. Her hand was on the handle. She was about to escape.

A low growl rumbled in my chest.

"Did I say you could leave?"

The words were quiet, but they cracked through the silence like a whip.

She froze instantly, her back ramrod straight. I could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her hand remained frozen on the doorknob. A fine tremor ran through her.

I felt a surge of dark satisfaction. She wasn't going anywhere until I was done with her.

Slowly, she turned to face me. She wouldn't meet my eyes. Her gaze was fixed on a point on the Persian rug.

"My apologies, Mr. Montgomery. Is there anything else?"

I turned from the window and started walking toward her. My shoes made no sound on the thick carpet. The air in the room grew heavy, charged with unspoken words.

With every step I took, she seemed to shrink.

She took an involuntary step back. Then another.

I kept advancing, slow and deliberate, until her back was pressed flat against the cold, unyielding wood of the door. There was nowhere left for her to run.

I stopped directly in front of her, so close I could see the frantic pulse beating in the delicate skin of her throat. She had to tilt her head back to look at me, a position of complete submission. It was exactly where I wanted her.

She flinched as I raised my hand, her eyes squeezing shut. Did she think I would strike her? The thought was insulting.

My fingers brushed past her cheek, the skin as soft as I remembered. I didn't touch her. I simply reached past her and engaged the lock on the door. The soft click echoed in the silent room. A cage door swinging shut.

I leaned in, placing my hands on the door on either side of her head, trapping her completely. Her scent was intoxicating, clouding my judgment.

My voice was a low, dangerous murmur, for her ears only. "Why have you been avoiding me, Johanna?"

Using her first name was a deliberate choice. A reminder of the intimacy we had shared, an intimacy she was so desperate to pretend never happened.

Her eyes shot open, wide and startled. She forced herself to meet my gaze, a flicker of defiance in their brown depths.

"I haven't, Mr. Montgomery. I've been busy with work."

The lie was so blatant, so pathetic, it was almost laughable. A humorless smirk touched my lips. My wolf snarled at the deceit.

My gaze dropped to her mouth, to the way she was worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. A nervous habit. I remembered the taste of those lips, the soft, yielding texture.

"For a month?" I challenged, my voice dropping lower. "You've avoided my floor, taken the stairs when you see my elevator arriving, and had Lucas handle everything that requires your presence here."

The shock on her face was deeply satisfying. The color drained from her cheeks, leaving her looking fragile and utterly exposed.

She hadn't thought I'd noticed. She had underestimated me.

She knew. I knew everything. I had been watching her every move.

The realization seemed to terrify her. She swallowed hard, a convulsive movement in her throat. The wave of nausea I'd seen a hint of in the hall seemed to return, stronger this time.

My brows knitted together. The predator in me momentarily receded, replaced by something else. A flicker of concern.

"Are you unwell?"

Johanna POV:

His question hung in the air, sharp and dangerous.

Panic seized me, cold and suffocating. He couldn't know. He couldn't even suspect. The thought of him connecting my sickness to that night was a nightmare I couldn't afford to entertain.

I had to end this. Now.

I took a shaky breath, forcing myself to hold his piercing blue gaze. "No, I'm just... a little tired. I didn't sleep well."

A flicker of disbelief crossed his face. His Alpha intuition, or maybe just his CEO's bullshit detector, was screaming. He knew I was lying.

"Tired enough to avoid your boss for a month?" he pressed, his tone laced with a cold mockery that made my skin crawl.

Vague excuses weren't going to work. I needed a firewall. Something absolute. A reason so final he would have no choice but to back off and leave me alone.

I steeled myself, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I looked him straight in the eye and delivered the lie I had been rehearsing in my head for weeks.

"Mr. Montgomery, I've been avoiding you because I have a boyfriend."

The words came out stronger than I felt, echoing in the tomb-like silence of the office.

The effect was instantaneous.

The predatory intensity in his eyes froze, replaced by a glacial stillness. It was as if a mask had dropped over his features, making him unreadable, but the sudden, oppressive cold radiating from him was more terrifying than his anger.

I saw the muscles in his jaw bunch, a tiny, violent twitch.

I had to press the advantage. I had to make it final.

"That night..." I forced the words out, my voice raspy. "It was a mistake. A drunken mistake. It meant nothing to me, and I don't want my boyfriend to misunderstand."

Each word was a betrayal of a memory that was burned into my skin, but I had to say them. I had to sever this.

To make it absolutely clear, I added the final, clinical detail. "I took the morning-after pill. There's no possibility of any... consequences. You don't have to worry."

I was saying it for him, but I was also saying it for myself. A desperate mantra against the sickness churning in my gut.

The temperature in the room seemed to plummet. The air grew thin, hard to breathe. He was staring at me, but his eyes were looking through me, and what was behind them was chilling. It was a raw, primal fury barely held in check.

He slowly, deliberately, straightened up. He removed his hands from the door, taking a single step back.

For a wild, hopeful second, I thought it had worked. I thought he was letting me go.

But then he spoke, and his words were shards of ice.

"I see," he said, his voice devoid of all emotion. "So your 'professionalism' was just a ploy to get into my bed?"

The accusation hit me like a physical blow. I gasped, stumbling back against the door. "What? No! That's not what I meant!"

He had twisted my desperate self-preservation into a sordid, calculated scheme. He was painting me as a cheap, ambitious woman who used her body to get ahead.

A cruel, humorless smile twisted his lips. "It doesn't matter what you meant."

His eyes, once filled with a dangerous fire, were now just cold, empty pits of contempt.

"Get out of my office."

The dismissal was brutal. The disgust in his voice was absolute.

Tears sprang to my eyes, hot and shameful. Humiliation washed over me, a burning tide. I wanted to scream, to defend myself, to tell him the truth-that I was terrified, not scheming. But one look at his frozen, contemptuous face and I knew it was useless. He had already judged and convicted me.

I fumbled with the lock, my fingers clumsy and slick with sweat. I wrenched the door open and fled. I didn't just walk out; I ran, escaping the suffocating atmosphere of his office, of his presence.

I didn't look back. I couldn't.

I heard the heavy door slam shut behind me, the sound echoing down the silent corridor like a gunshot. A final, resounding rejection.

Inside the office, Julian stood motionless, his gaze fixed on the door she had disappeared through. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, the knuckles white.

He hadn't fired her.

His wolf wouldn't let him.

He stalked back to his desk, picking up the report she had brought. The paper felt foreign in his hands. He stared at the words, but they were just black marks on a page. All he could see was the shimmer of unshed tears in her eyes, and the echo of her words in his mind.

I have a boyfriend.