Pregnant With The Ruthless CEO's Heir

The heavy oak doors of St. David's Church gave way under Cora's weight. The brutal November wind followed her inside, slicing through the thin fabric of her black trench coat and biting into her calves. She welcomed the sting. It kept her grounded.

The sanctuary smelled of burning wax, old wood, and thousands of white roses. The scent was sickeningly sweet. It coated the back of her throat like syrup. She forced herself to swallow it down, keeping her spine rigid.

A woman in the third row-a socialite whose name Cora didn't care to remember-turned her head. Her eyes widened. A harsh gasp slipped past her glossy lips.

It was the spark that lit the powder keg. Heads snapped around. Whispers hissed through the pews, a collective, venomous buzz.

Cora ignored the venom in their stares. She didn't look at the floor. She didn't shrink. She walked to an empty seat in the darkest corner of the back row, sat down, and crossed her legs.

At the altar, Axel Malone stood bathed in the warm light of the stained-glass windows. He wore a custom Tom Ford tuxedo. His hair was perfectly styled. He looked like a prince. He looked like a man who hadn't spent the last three years bleeding her dry.

Beside him stood Aubrey Mayer. The perfect heiress. The woman who had everything.

The priest's voice was a dull drone in Cora's ears. She watched Axel take Aubrey's delicate hand. He slid a massive, blinding diamond onto her ring finger.

Cora's stomach didn't drop. Her chest didn't cave in. Instead, her fingers slipped into the deep pocket of her coat. They found the folded piece of paper waiting there. The final notice from Mount Sinai Hospital. She gripped it so hard the crisp edge of the paper sliced a tiny, stinging cut into the pad of her thumb. She let the pain anchor her.

The crowd rose to their feet. Applause thundered through the vaulted ceiling.

Aubrey leaned into Axel's chest, the picture of a shy, radiant bride. But as she turned her head, her eyes cut through the crowd. They bypassed the smiling faces of her wealthy friends and locked dead onto the darkest corner of the back row.

Aubrey found Cora.

The bride's lips curved into a slow, smug smile. A silent declaration of victory.

Cora didn't flinch. She reached into her cheap leather tote bag, pulled out a half-empty plastic water bottle, and raised it in the air.

A silent, mocking toast.

Axel followed his new wife's gaze. His eyes landed on Cora.

The perfect smile on his face died instantly. His jaw clenched so hard Cora could see the muscle ticking from fifty feet away. Panic and raw, ugly rage flared in his eyes.

Cora lowered the bottle. She stood up, turned her back on the altar, and walked out.

The choir erupted into a booming hymn as she pushed through the heavy side doors, stepping into the dim, narrow hallway lined with wooden confessionals. The air here was stale.

A hand shot out from the shadows.

Large fingers wrapped around her wrist. The grip was bone-crushing.

Cora was yanked backward. Her shoulder slammed hard into the stone wall. The breath was knocked out of her lungs in a sharp gasp.

Axel stood over her. His chest heaved. He smelled of expensive scotch, mint, and nervous sweat.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" he hissed. His voice vibrated with fury. "Are you out of your mind? Trying to ruin my day?"

Cora looked down at his hand. His knuckles were white. He was hurting her.

She yanked her arm free with a violent jerk. She smoothed the wrinkled fabric of her sleeve, her movements slow, deliberate, and entirely devoid of fear.

"I just came to see what a soul costs these days," she said. Her voice was a flatline.

Axel stepped closer. He boxed her in, slamming his hands against the stone wall on either side of her head. He was trying to use his size to intimidate her.

"Don't play games with me, Cora. You need to learn your place." His tone shifted. The anger bled out, replaced by a sickening, condescending pity. "Keep your mouth shut. Stay out of my way. I'll set you up with an apartment on the Upper East Side. You won't have to work another day in your life."

He thought she was a beggar. He thought he could buy her silence with real estate.

Cora let out a harsh, scraping laugh. She reached up and flicked a crushed white rose petal off the lapel of his tuxedo.

"Your spare change wouldn't even cover one day of Julian's life support," she said. Her voice dropped to a lethal whisper. "Keep your apartment, Axel."

Axel flinched. The mention of her brother made his eyes dart away. He took a half-step back.

"Axel? Where are you, man?" A groomsman's voice echoed from the main hall.

Panic flashed across Axel's face. He looked toward the door, terrified of being caught.

Cora didn't wait for him to look back. She shoved past him, her shoulder clipping his chest, and left him standing in the dark.

She pushed through the exit. The cold air hit her face. A valet rushed forward with a black umbrella, but she waved him off. She stepped to the curb and threw her hand up. A yellow taxi screeched to a halt.

"Mount Sinai Hospital. The back entrance," she told the driver.

The partition went up. Cora slumped against the cracked leather seat. The rigid posture she had held for the last hour finally shattered. Her spine curved. She pulled the final notice from her pocket, its red 'URGENT' stamp seeming to burn in the dim light.

Her chest tightened. It felt like a heavy stone was sitting on her ribs, making every breath a chore.

Five hundred thousand dollars.

When the taxi pulled up to the hospital, Cora shoved a twenty-dollar bill through the slot and ran through the sterile, brightly lit hallways. The smell of bleach and antiseptic coated the back of her throat.

At the ICU nurses' station, the head nurse stepped into her path.

"Ms. Nolan." The nurse's face was grim. She held out a clipboard.

Cora didn't take it. She kept her hands at her sides.

"If we don't have the five hundred thousand by noon tomorrow, the administration will cut off Julian's experimental treatments," the nurse said softly. "I'm sorry. My hands are tied."

Cora's throat closed up. A hard lump formed, making it impossible to speak. She forced herself to swallow. It hurt.

"The money will be wired by tomorrow morning. I promise."

She walked past the desk and pushed open the heavy glass door to Room 412.

The rhythmic, mechanical hiss of the ventilator was the only sound in the room. Julian lay on the bed. He was seventeen, but he looked like a hollowed-out shell. Wires and tubes snaked out from under his gown, keeping his failing heart beating.

Cora walked to the side of the bed. She gently picked up his hand. It was ice cold.

Her eyes burned. The back of her nose stung. But she refused to blink. She didn't have time to cry. Crying didn't pay medical bills.

"I'm going to fix this, Jule," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I'm going to make them pay. All of them."

Her phone vibrated in her pocket. A harsh, jarring buzz against her thigh.

She pulled it out. A notification from a Hollywood gossip site lit up the cracked screen.

JACE BAUER, CEO OF BAUER EMPIRE, RETURNS TO NEW YORK.

Below the headline was a candid photo. Jace Bauer. His profile was sharp, his jawline looking like it could cut glass. His eyes held a terrifying, absolute authority.

Cora stared at the screen. Her thumb hovered over the photo.

She remembered the late nights when Axel would drink too much. He would talk about Jace. His older, legitimate half-brother. Axel hated him with a burning passion. But beneath the hate, Axel was terrified of him. Jace was the monster in Axel's closet.

Her heart started to pound. A slow, heavy thud against her ribs. The blood rushed in her ears.

An idea formed in her mind. It was reckless. It was dangerous. It was absolute suicide.

She locked her phone. The desperation in her eyes was gone. Only cold, hard resolve remained.

Cora leaned down and pressed her lips to Julian's cold forehead.

"Wait for me," she whispered.

She turned around and walked out of the room. Her heels clicked against the linoleum floor. The sound was sharp, steady, and completely devoid of fear.

Cora pushed open the door to her cramped Brooklyn apartment. The hinges let out a loud, metallic whine. She peeled the damp trench coat off her shoulders and tossed it onto the frayed arm of the sofa. She rubbed her temples, trying to massage away the dull ache throbbing behind her eyes.

Her roommate, Mel, was sitting cross-legged on the faded rug, a slice of pepperoni pizza halfway to her mouth. Mel dropped the pizza back into the box and scrambled to her feet.

"Well?" Mel asked, her eyes wide. "How was the wedding of the century? Did you key his car?"

Before Cora could answer, her phone lit up on the kitchen counter. Three text messages back-to-back. The screen displayed Axel's name.

You're making a mistake.

Answer me, Cora.

I can ruin you.

Cora didn't even blink. She picked up the phone, tapped the screen twice, and blocked the number.

Mel gasped, staring at the screen. "Are you insane? He has connections with every casting director in Hollywood. He could blacklist you permanently."

"I don't care about the blacklist," Cora said. Her voice was hard, devoid of any warmth. She walked past Mel and pulled open the doors of her tiny closet. "I'm done playing by his rules."

She pushed aside the cheap cotton shirts and grabbed a hanger from the very back. She pulled out a dress. It was a vintage silk slip dress, the color of dark, bruised cherries. It had a plunging neckline and barely-there straps. It was a dress meant for sin.

Mel choked on her own saliva. "Where the hell are you going in that? Are you having a mental breakdown?"

Cora sat down at the chipped vanity mirror. She picked up a black eyeliner pencil and began to draw a sharp, aggressive wing at the corner of her eye. She stared at her reflection. Her eyes looked feral.

"I'm not breaking down," Cora said, her lips curving into a cold smile. "I'm going fishing. I need a shark. One big enough to swallow Axel whole."

Forty minutes later, Cora was stepping out of an Uber in front of SoHo House in Lower Manhattan. The November wind whipped around her bare legs, but she didn't shiver. She stood tall in her five-inch stilettos, the red silk clinging to her curves like a second skin. Mel stood beside her, shivering in a denim jacket, looking terrified.

The bouncer at the door was a mountain of a man in a black suit. He crossed his arms, blocking the entrance. "Members only. Card?"

Cora didn't flinch. She looked him dead in the eye and dropped the name of a sleazy producer she had met at a wrap party three months ago. "I'm a guest of Marcus Vance."

The bouncer pressed a finger to his earpiece. He muttered something, listened for a second, and then unhooked the velvet rope. He didn't look happy about it.

Cora stepped inside, pulling a hesitant Mel with her.

The air inside SoHo House was thick and warm. It smelled of expensive cigars, aged whiskey, and money. Low, pulsing jazz played from hidden speakers. The lighting was dim, casting long shadows across the velvet booths and mahogany tables.

Cora walked straight to the bar. She ordered a martini she couldn't afford and turned her back to the bartender. Her eyes scanned the room, moving with the precision of a sniper.

She found him.

Up on the second floor, in a semi-private VIP booth behind a frosted glass partition. Jace Bauer.

He was leaning back into the deep leather sofa. He held an unlit cigar between his fingers. Even sitting down, he radiated a suffocating dominance. His jaw was clenched, his eyes dark and bored as he listened to the man sitting across from him.

Cora's breath hitched. Her stomach tightened. He was exactly as terrifying as the photos.

The man across from Jace-Gus Bullock, a known playboy and Jace's closest friend-suddenly turned his head. His gaze swept over the railing, looking down at the main floor.

Cora reacted instantly. She lowered her head, lifting the martini glass to her lips. She let her long, dark hair fall forward, completely shielding her face from Gus's line of sight. She forced a laugh, pretending to chat with the bartender.

Gus's eyes moved past her. He turned back to Jace, complaining about something and gesturing wildly. Jace didn't even blink. He just sat there, a statue of cold indifference.

Mel followed Cora's gaze. When Mel saw the men on the balcony, all the color drained from her face. She grabbed Cora's arm, her fingers digging into the silk.

"Cora, no," Mel whispered, her voice trembling. "That's Jace Bauer. He's a monster. He's a machine. Pissing off Axel is one thing, but if you cross Jace Bauer, you won't just lose your career. You'll disappear."

Cora gripped the stem of her martini glass. Her knuckles turned white. "I know exactly what he is," she murmured. "And right now, a monster is exactly what I need."

Out of the corner of her eye, Cora caught a flash of movement.

A woman in a tight, sequined dress was walking toward the stairs that led to the VIP section. She was carrying a small silver tray with two glasses of amber liquid.

The woman paused in the shadows at the base of the stairs. She looked around nervously. Then, her thumb slipped over the rim of the glass on the right. A tiny, almost imperceptible flick. A white powder dissolved instantly into the alcohol.

Cora's dynamic vision caught every detail. Her pupils dilated.

It was a setup. A cheap, desperate trap meant for the king of the Bauer empire.

Cora set her martini down on the bar. The glass hit the wood with a sharp clink.

"Stay here," she ordered Mel.

Before Mel could protest, Cora was moving. She didn't run. She glided. She moved through the crowded room like a predator locking onto its prey, her eyes fixed on the woman ascending the stairs. This was her way in. This was her only shot.

The woman was one step away from the second-floor landing. Cora accelerated. Her stilettos sank into the plush carpet, silencing her approach. Just as the woman lifted her foot for the final step, Cora twisted her ankle inward and threw her weight forward.

She slammed into the woman's back.

A sharp gasp echoed in the stairwell. The woman stumbled forward, her arms flailing. The silver tray tipped dangerously, the two glasses of whiskey sliding toward the edge.

Cora's hands shot out. She grabbed the edges of the tray, stabilizing it a split second before the glasses shattered on the floor.

The woman caught the railing and spun around, her face twisted in fury. "Watch where you're going, you stupid-"

The insult died in her throat. Cora stepped into her personal space, her eyes cold and dead.

"I saw the powder," Cora whispered, her voice barely a breath against the woman's ear. "White. Fast-dissolving. You dropped it in the glass on the right."

The woman's face turned the color of chalk. Her eyes darted frantically around the stairwell. She opened her mouth to deny it, but Cora's index finger was already resting on the rim of the spiked glass.

"You have two choices," Cora said, her tone conversational. "You let go of this tray and walk out the front door right now. Or I scream for security, and I let the Bauer legal team bury you in a federal prison for the next twenty years."

The woman swallowed hard. Terror radiated from her in waves. Her hands shook violently as she released the tray. She didn't say a word. She turned and practically ran down the stairs, disappearing into the crowded club.

Cora stood alone in the shadows of the stairwell. She took a deep breath, letting the stale air fill her lungs. She adjusted the straps of her red dress, pasted a flawless, seductive smile onto her lips, and stepped out onto the second-floor landing.

She walked straight toward the semi-private booth.

Gus Bullock was the first to notice her. He was playing with a silver lighter, flipping the lid open and shut. When he saw the red silk and the long dark hair, he stopped. A slow, appreciative smirk spread across his face. He let out a low whistle.

Jace didn't move. He slowly lifted his gaze. His eyes were the color of a stormy ocean, dark and freezing. They locked onto Cora, stripping her down, analyzing her as if she were a hostile asset. The sheer weight of his stare made Cora's lungs seize.

She forced her legs to keep moving. She reached the table and gracefully set the tray down. She picked up the untainted glass of whiskey and slid it across the mahogany table toward Gus.

Gus leaned forward, his eyes dropping to her cleavage. "Well, hello. Did they upgrade the bottle service, or are you a special delivery?"

Cora ignored him completely. She didn't even blink in his direction.

She turned her head and met Jace's eyes.

He was watching her. Waiting. He knew she wanted something.

Cora didn't speak. She picked up the second glass-the one with the powder. She held Jace's gaze, her eyes burning with a silent, reckless challenge.

Then, she tipped her head back and drank it.

She downed the spiked whiskey in three long gulps. The liquid burned a fiery trail down her throat. A single drop escaped the corner of her mouth, tracing a line down her neck and disappearing into the deep V of her red dress.

Jace's jaw tightened. The hand resting on the table twitched, his fingers curling slightly inward. His eyes darkened, the cold indifference fracturing for a fraction of a second.

Cora slammed the empty glass back onto the tray. The sharp clack echoed over the jazz music. She gave Jace a slow, heavy-lidded smile-a promise and a threat all rolled into one.

The drug hit her bloodstream faster than she anticipated. A sudden, violent wave of heat bloomed in her stomach. The edges of her vision blurred. Her knees went weak.

She turned away before she collapsed. She forced herself to walk away from the table, her hips swaying, heading toward the private VIP suites at the back of the floor. Every step was a battle. Her blood felt like it was boiling.

Gus let out a bark of laughter. "Bold strategy. She's practically throwing herself at you, man. Easiest lay of the century."

Jace tossed his unlit cigar onto the table. "Stupidity," he muttered. But he noticed the slight tremor in her hand as she slammed the glass down. It wasn't the confidence of a seductress. It was a gamble. He decided to see the flop. Slowly, deliberately, he stood up.

Gus's jaw dropped as he watched his notoriously ruthless, untouchable friend button his suit jacket and follow the woman in the red dress down the hall.

Cora reached the heavy wooden door of the last suite. She pushed it open and stumbled inside. The room was pitch black and silent. She leaned against the back of the door, her chest heaving as she gasped for air. Her skin was on fire. The drug was tearing through her nervous system.

Footsteps echoed in the hall. Heavy. Deliberate.

The door was shoved open, pushing Cora forward. Jace stepped into the room. His massive frame blocked the light from the hallway. He reached behind him and locked the door with a loud, definitive click.

He looked down at her, his expression a mask of pure disgust. "You're pathetic," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Drugging yourself just to get into my bed? Is your life worth that little?"

Cora couldn't defend herself. She didn't want to. She sank to her knees, her legs finally giving out. She reached up with trembling hands and grabbed the perfectly creased fabric of his suit pants.

Jace flinched. He moved to kick her away, a reflex born of paranoia and disgust. But as his leg brushed against her bare arm, he froze.

She was burning up. Her skin was radiating an unnatural, terrifying heat.

Cora tilted her head back. Her eyes were glazed over, filled with a desperate, feverish haze. She looked up at the man who could destroy her, the man she was trying to destroy.

"Even pathetic women can carry kings," she choked out, her voice a broken rasp, her eyes burning with a defiant challenge that pierced straight through his armor.

Jace stared down at her. The disgust in his eyes warred with something darker, something violent and possessive that flared at her audacity. He didn't just see a broken woman; he saw a wild thing daring to claim a piece of his throne. He cursed under his breath. He bent down, wrapped his arms around her waist, and hoisted her off the floor, carrying her toward the massive bed in the center of the room.