The Unwanted Wife's Secret Pregnancy

Halle Rowe pressed the freeze button on the ultrasound machine. A sharp beep cut through the sterile silence of the private examination room.

On the monitor, a tiny, distinct gestational sac appeared against the static black-and-white background.

Halle turned the screen toward the examination table.

Corrin Mcknight sat there. Her head was bowed. Her thumbs flew across her phone screen, drafting an email to the legal department.

"Look," Halle said.

Corrin's fingers froze mid-keystroke. She raised her head. Her gaze landed on the monitor.

Her pupils constricted. The air in her lungs vanished.

"The machine is malfunctioning," Corrin said. Her voice was flat. "Or you misdiagnosed. I take prescription birth control every single day."

Halle pulled up the blood test results on her tablet. She slid the screen directly in front of Corrin.

"Your HCG levels say otherwise," Halle said. "You are six weeks pregnant, Corrin."

A violent wave of nausea hit Corrin's stomach. She shoved the tablet away, clamped a hand over her mouth, and dry heaved. Her shoulders shook with the force of the spasm.

Halle quickly poured a cup of warm lemon water from the dispenser. She handed it over. Her eyes were full of worry.

Corrin grabbed the paper cup. She drank the water in three large gulps. The sour liquid forced the bile back down her throat. She grabbed a tissue from the counter and wiped the corner of her mouth.

"Do you want to call Grayson Carlisle?" Halle asked.

At the sound of Grayson's name, the temperature in Corrin's eyes dropped to freezing. Her posture stiffened.

Corrin reached out and snatched the printed ultrasound scan from the tray. Her knuckles turned stark white. She crushed the glossy paper in both hands, twisting it into a tight, hard ball.

She tossed the crumpled ball into the biohazard waste bin in the corner. The paper hit the plastic liner with a dull thud.

Corrin stood up. She smoothed the skirt of her tailored black suit. The wrinkles vanished. The cold, untouchable mask of the Chief Operating Officer slid back into place.

"Put this under a Level One medical NDA," Corrin said. Her tone left no room for negotiation.

Halle sighed. She tapped her keyboard, locking the electronic medical record behind an encrypted firewall. "Done."

Corrin picked up her Birkin bag. She pushed open the heavy door of the examination room and stepped out into the private corridor.

Brooklynn Lara, her personal assistant, jumped up from a leather bench in the hallway.

"Boss," Brooklynn said, her voice tight with anxiety. "Is it the stomach ulcer again?"

Corrin did not blink. "Ovarian cyst. I just need to take the medication on time."

Brooklynn let out a massive breath. She patted her chest. "Thank God. I thought it was terminal."

Corrin walked past her. Brooklynn scrambled to follow. They walked down the long, quiet corridor toward the VIP elevator. The faint smell of medical grade disinfectant and expensive lavender room spray hung in the air.

Corrin pressed the down button. The metal surface was cold against her fingertip.

A soft chime sounded. The brushed steel doors slid open.

A woman stood inside the elevator car. She wore a pristine white cashmere coat. Her blonde hair fell in perfect, soft waves.

It was Jaye Beaumont.

Corrin's breath hitched. Her stomach cramped violently.

Jaye looked at Corrin. A flawless, condescending smile spread across her lips.

Jaye stepped out of the elevator. Her designer heels clicked sharply against the marble floor.

"Corrin," Jaye said. Her voice was light and airy. "I just got back from the sanatorium in Switzerland. I was just visiting Dr. Sterling on the fifth floor for my chronic migraines. It's been a dreadful flight back. The air in Manhattan is so stifling, don't you think?"

Corrin said nothing. She stared at Jaye's neck.

Jaye reached into her handbag. She pulled out a thick envelope with gold foil lettering. She held it out to Corrin.

"The Manhattan Elite Prep School reunion is this weekend," Jaye said.

Corrin looked at the envelope. She did not take it.

"Your name wasn't on the original guest list," Jaye added. Her smile widened. "But I made sure they added you. It must be so hard, always feeling like an outsider."

Corrin took the gold-foiled envelope from Jaye's hand. Her fingers barely brushed the thick cardstock.

She walked past Jaye and stepped into the elevator. Brooklynn followed closely. The doors slid shut, cutting off Jaye's triumphant smile.

Minutes later, Corrin walked into the underground parking garage. She opened the back door of the bulletproof SUV and got in.

Brooklynn got into the driver's seat. She started the engine. She glanced at the rearview mirror, watching Corrin's pale face.

Corrin tossed the invitation onto the empty leather seat beside her. She closed her eyes.

"Drive straight to the penthouse," Corrin said.

The SUV pulled out of the garage and merged into the heavy Manhattan traffic. Corrin leaned her head against the cool glass of the window. Her stomach rolled with every stop and start of the vehicle.

Her phone vibrated in her hand. The screen lit up with an internal email from the Carlisle Group. It was an urgent personnel transfer request from Lachlan Carlisle.

Corrin opened the email. She scanned the text. Lachlan was trying to place three of his loyalists into the finance department right before the upcoming family trust dinner.

A cold smirk touched Corrin's lips. Her thumbs moved rapidly over the screen. She typed a single word: Denied.

She hit send.

The SUV pulled into the private underground garage of the Carlisle estate's luxury high-rise. The car stopped smoothly.

Brooklynn got out and opened the rear door. She reached out a hand.

Corrin ignored the hand. She stepped out of the car, her heels clicking on the concrete. She walked straight to the private elevator.

The elevator doors opened directly into the penthouse. The massive living room was filled with cold, modern art pieces and sharp-edged furniture.

Ivan Nieves, the loyal butler, walked out of the kitchen. He carried a bone china tray.

He saw Corrin's exhausted posture. He set the tray down on the console table and took her coat.

"Ms. Mcknight," Ivan said. Deep lines of worry creased his forehead. "Did the clinic find the cause of your stomach pains?"

Corrin looked at the older man. She kept her face completely blank.

"It's an ovarian cyst, Ivan. Nothing serious."

Ivan sighed. "You are losing too much weight. And Mr. Carlisle will be late again tonight. Another business dinner."

At the mention of Grayson, Corrin's hand twitched. She pressed her palm flat against her stomach.

Ivan picked up the tray and carried it to the long dining table. He lifted the silver dome.

A bowl of steaming French consommé sat underneath.

The rich, heavy scent of boiled meat and marrow hit the air.

Corrin's throat seized.

She spun around, turning her back to the table. She bit down hard on her lower lip. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth, fighting the urge to vomit.

"Is something wrong?" Ivan asked. He took a step toward her.

Corrin took a slow, deep breath through her nose. She forced the nausea down. She turned back around and gave Ivan a stiff nod.

"I'm fine."

She walked to the table. She pulled out a heavy wooden chair and sat down. She picked up the silver spoon.

Ivan stood nearby. "Lachlan Carlisle has been making a lot of moves regarding the family trust fund lately. The board is getting anxious."

Corrin dipped the spoon into the broth. She brought it to her lips and swallowed. The hot liquid hit her stomach like a stone.

She put the spoon down. "As long as I am here, Lachlan will not touch a single cent of the group's money."

Ivan looked at her. His eyes held a deep, quiet pity. He knew she was fighting a war for a man who did not love her.

Corrin picked up the spoon again. She forced down three more mouthfuls. The nausea clawed at her throat.

She stood up abruptly. "I have work to do."

She walked quickly to the study. She stepped inside and locked the heavy oak door behind her.

She walked straight into the attached bathroom. She dropped to her knees in front of the toilet.

She threw up everything she had just forced down.

When her stomach was completely empty, Corrin sat back on the cold tile floor. She leaned against the wall. She looked up at the mirror.

Her face was ashen. Her eyes were red.

She placed both hands over her flat stomach. Her fingers dug into the fabric of her skirt. Her eyes hardened into dark, sharp glass.

At 1:00 AM, Corrin sat behind the mahogany desk in the study. She closed the final file on the merger acquisition.

She rubbed the back of her stiff neck. She stood up, turned off the desk lamp, and walked out into the dark hallway toward the master bedroom.

The heavy bedroom door pushed open. Heavy footsteps sounded on the hardwood floor.

Grayson Carlisle walked in.

In the dim light from the hallway, Corrin saw him pull at his silk tie, loosening it from his collar. Deep lines of exhaustion framed his mouth.

He took off his custom-tailored suit jacket and tossed it onto the velvet sofa.

A scent drifted through the air. It was the sharp smell of alcohol mixed with his signature cedarwood cologne.

But underneath the cedarwood, Corrin smelled something else.

It was a faint, distinct note of Swiss rose absolute.

It was Jaye Beaumont's custom perfume.

Corrin's heart dropped. The floor beneath her feet felt like ice.

She stood perfectly still in the shadows. She watched Grayson walk to the minibar and pour two fingers of whiskey into a crystal glass.

He threw the liquor back in one swallow. He turned around and finally saw Corrin standing there.

Grayson put the glass down. He walked toward her. His long strides closed the distance in seconds. He boxed her in, placing his hands on the wall on either side of her head.

He looked down at her pale face. He frowned. "Why are you still awake? You look terrible."

The smell of the rose perfume was stronger now. It mixed with the alcohol on his breath. Corrin's stomach rolled, but she locked her jaw. She did not step back.

"I was dealing with Lachlan's garbage personnel proposals," Corrin said. Her voice was flat.

At the sound of Lachlan's name, Grayson's eyes turned sharp. The exhaustion vanished, replaced by predatory aggression.

He lifted a hand. His rough thumb brushed against her jawline. The touch was intimate, but completely devoid of warmth.

"The Patriarch's birthday banquet is coming up," Grayson muttered. "Lachlan is lobbying the board like a desperate dog."

Corrin looked straight into his gray eyes. "I will handle it. I will cut off Lachlan's reach in the External Affairs Department tomorrow."

Grayson stared at her. A low, dark chuckle vibrated in his chest. "You are always so ruthless, Corrin."

The word pierced her chest. To him, she was just a machine. A weapon to be pointed at his enemies.

Grayson lowered his head. He buried his face in the crook of her neck. He took a deep breath, as if drawing energy from her skin.

His body heat and heavy breathing washed over her. Corrin's fingers curled into tight fists at her sides.

She closed her eyes. "The new partnership smells... uniquely sweet," Corrin said, her voice a perfectly smooth, icy blade. She tilted her head slightly away from him, a subtle but unmistakable gesture of disgust. "Overly so."

Grayson's body went rigid. The arm resting against the wall flexed.

He straightened up. He looked away from her, his eyes fixing on the dark window.

"It was a standard business dinner," Grayson said. His voice was perfectly even. "Some of the partners brought female companions."

Corrin looked at his perfect profile. She knew he was lying.

She swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth. She said nothing.

Grayson turned and walked toward the bathroom. "The family dynamics are getting too complicated. I don't want you getting in too deep."

Corrin stared at his back. "I've been in the center of it for five years. It's a little late to tell me to step back."

The bathroom door shut. The sound of running water filled the room, cutting off the conversation.

Corrin stood alone in the middle of the bedroom. She looked at the suit jacket lying on the sofa. The jacket that carried another woman's scent.

Her eyes turned to ice.

She walked over to the sofa. She pinched the fabric of the jacket between two fingers. She lifted it and dropped it straight into the laundry hamper in the corner.