Trapped By The CEO's Obsessive Love

Chloe pushed open the heavy glass door of the penthouse bathroom. A sudden, violent wave of nausea hit her. She lunged toward the marble sink, her hands gripping the cold edges as she gagged. Her stomach contracted sharply, forcing a bitter taste up her throat.

She leaned over the basin, gasping for air. When the spasms finally subsided, she slowly raised her head to look in the mirror. Her face was entirely drained of color. Her heart raced, hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.

Her hands shook as she reached out and pulled open the mirrored cabinet. She took out the familiar small plastic bottle of birth control pills. She unscrewed the cap and tipped a single white pill into her palm.

She brought it closer to her face. The faint, chalky, bitter smell she was accustomed to was gone. Instead, a sweet, artificial fruit scent drifted to her nose.

Her breathing stopped. The blood roared in her ears.

She turned away from the sink, clutching the bottle. She walked out of the bathroom, her bare feet silent on the hardwood floor of the hallway, and entered the bedroom. She grabbed her phone from the nightstand.

Her fingers slipped on the screen as she opened her medical consultation app. She typed in Dr. Reed's name, her chest tight with panic. The loading icon spun on the screen. She bit her lower lip hard enough to taste copper, twisting the hem of her silk pajamas with her free hand.

The doctor's status turned green. She snapped a clear photo of the pill in her palm and hit send. She typed a single sentence: What is this medication?

Her legs gave out. She sank onto the edge of the mattress, her knees weak. She stared at the screen, her thumb rubbing the edge of the phone case.

A notification popped up. Dr. Reed's reply was brief. It is a standard prenatal folic acid vitamin.

The phone slipped from her hand and landed softly on the duvet. Her pupils dilated. The air in the room felt too thin to breathe.

She stood up abruptly, a wave of dizziness forcing her to press her palm flat against the wall for support. A cold sweat broke out across her back. She remembered Julian standing in the doorway every single night, his dark eyes fixed on her, watching her swallow that pill. A violent chill ran down her spine.

She snatched the phone back up and opened her secure messaging app. Her fingers hovered over the screen for an agonizing second, her heart pounding against her ribs, before she texted her best friend, Paige: "I need three pregnancy tests. Drop them off with the concierge in a plain pastry box. Tell them it's from that bakery I like. Hurry."

Thirty minutes later, the sharp buzz of the intercom shattered the silence. Chloe jumped. She ran out of the bedroom and down the hall to the entryway. She checked the video monitor, saw the building's concierge holding a white pastry box, and yanked the door open. She grabbed the box from his hand without a word, offering a tight, forced smile.

She slammed the door shut. She did not bother to put on slippers. She ran back down the hall, her bare feet slapping the floor, and locked herself in the bathroom.

She tore the cardboard boxes open. Her hands trembled so violently that the plastic sticks clattered against the marble counter.

She followed the instructions, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. She laid the first test flat on the sink. She stared at the blank digital window.

The first red line appeared instantly. She squeezed her eyes shut, her fingernails digging into her palms, praying to a god she did not believe in to keep the second line away.

She opened her eyes. The second red line was stark, bright, and undeniable. Her last shred of hope vanished.

Driven by a frantic need to prove it wrong, she ripped open the other two boxes. She repeated the process. She lined them up next to the first one.

Six bright red lines stared back at her. They looked like fresh cuts against the white plastic.

Her knees buckled. She slid down the cold bathroom cabinet until she hit the floor. She pulled her knees to her chest, buried her face in her arms, and cried. No sound escaped her throat, but her shoulders shook with the force of her sobs.

She was carrying a child. She realized with absolute clarity that she was now permanently tethered to the predator who owned this penthouse.

She forced herself to take a deep breath. The cold air burned her lungs. She had to survive. She could not let Julian know she had discovered his trap.

She pushed herself off the floor. She gathered the three pregnancy tests and wrapped them in thick layers of toilet paper. She shoved the bundle deep into the inner pocket of her heavy winter coat hanging in the closet, planning to throw it away in a public trash bin the next time she was allowed to leave the apartment.

She picked up the bottle of vitamins, placed it exactly where it had been on the middle shelf of the cabinet, and wiped the counter clean of any water spots.

She reached into the glass shower enclosure and turned the handle. The hot water blasted from the showerhead, filling the room with steam. She needed the noise to cover her panic.

Over the sound of the rushing water, a distinct mechanical click echoed through the apartment. The electronic lock on the front door was turning.

Chloe froze. Her heart leaped into her throat. She reached out and twisted the shower handle off.

The sudden silence in the bathroom was deafening. Chloe grabbed a large white towel from the rack. She pulled open the bathroom door and ran down the short hallway into the master bedroom.

She threw the towel onto a chair, scrambled into the massive bed, and pulled the heavy duvet up to her chin. She squeezed her eyes shut and forced her chest to rise and fall in a slow, even rhythm.

The heavy front door of the penthouse swung open. Julian Kensington III stepped into the entryway, bringing the cold, sharp energy of a Wall Street boardroom with him. He reached up, loosened his silk tie, and tossed it onto the leather sofa. His dark eyes swept across the empty living room. A deep crease formed between his brows.

He pulled his phone from his suit pocket. The screen was blank. Chloe had not replied to the message he sent three hours ago.

A familiar, dark irritation flared in his chest. He adjusted his cuffs, his jaw tightening. He walked down the hallway, his leather shoes sinking into the thick carpet, muting his heavy footsteps.

He pushed open the double doors of the master bedroom. The room was dim, the curtains drawn. He saw the small lump under the covers in the center of the bed.

The rigid line of his jaw relaxed slightly. He walked to the side of the bed and stood over her, his tall frame casting a long shadow.

Chloe felt the mattress dip under his weight. The scent of expensive cedar cologne mixed with faint cigar smoke washed over her. Her stomach churned.

She gripped the edge of the duvet under the covers, her knuckles turning white, fighting the urge to tremble.

Julian reached out. His long, cool fingers brushed a strand of blonde hair away from her cheek.

The sudden contact sent a shock of cold through her skin. Chloe flinched, her shoulders shrinking away from his hand.

Julian's hand paused in mid-air. His eyes narrowed. He leaned down, his face inches from hers. His breath, warm and smelling of mint, brushed her ear.

"Sweetheart," he said, his voice low and testing.

Chloe knew she could not pretend anymore. She fluttered her eyelashes and opened her eyes, blinking as if disoriented. "Julian?" she murmured, keeping her voice hoarse.

Julian did not smile. He pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her face up. His gaze was sharp, dissecting her expression. "Why didn't you answer my text?"

Chloe swallowed the dry lump in her throat. "I was dizzy. I didn't feel well. I've been sleeping."

At the words 'didn't feel well', a dark, intense light flared in Julian's eyes. His gaze dropped from her face to the thick duvet covering her stomach.

He released her chin. His large hand moved down, resting flat against her abdomen through the blankets. He rubbed his thumb in a slow, deliberate circle. The gesture was terrifyingly possessive.

The nausea hit Chloe again, violent and sudden. She shoved his hand away and bolted upright, scrambling back against the headboard.

Julian's hand hung in the empty space. The temperature in the room plummeted. His face turned to stone, his eyes turning black with immediate, cold fury.

Chloe realized her mistake. She clamped both hands over her mouth. "Acid reflux," she gasped through her fingers. "My stomach is burning."

Julian stared at her for a long, suffocating moment. The muscle in his jaw ticked. He slowly lowered his hand and turned away, walking toward the walk-in closet.

Chloe let out a shaky breath, her chest heaving. A thin layer of cold sweat coated her forehead.

A few minutes later, Julian emerged wearing dark cashmere loungewear. He stopped at the foot of the bed. "Get up. Go to the dining room. It is time for dinner."

Chloe shook her head, pressing her back harder against the headboard. "I really don't have an appetite. I just want to sleep."

Julian did not move. His voice dropped an octave, carrying a quiet, absolute authority. "Do not make me angry tonight, Chloe."

The threat hung in the air, heavy and real. Chloe's defiance crumbled. She slowly pushed the covers aside and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Her limbs felt like lead.

The corner of Julian's mouth lifted in a cold smile. He closed the distance between them, wrapped his arm tightly around her waist, and pulled her against his side. Her body was stiff as a board, but he ignored it, steering her out of the bedroom.

They walked down the hallway together. The silence between them was thick, vibrating with unspoken tension.

They entered the dining room. The butler stood quietly in the corner. The long mahogany table was set. The silver cutlery gleamed under the crystal chandelier.

Julian pulled out the heavy mahogany chair at the side of the table. He looked at Chloe, a silent command in his eyes.

Chloe moved stiffly. She sat down. The butler lifted the silver cloche in front of her. The rich, heavy scent of garlic butter escargot and thick cream of mushroom soup hit her face. Her stomach seized in a violent cramp.

Julian took his seat at the head of the table. He picked up his crystal wine glass, took a slow sip of the dark red liquid, and watched her. He waited for her to lean over and offer the customary kiss of gratitude.

Chloe kept her head down. The smell of the cream was suffocating. She gripped the handle of her silver fork until her fingers ached, staring at the white tablecloth.

Julian lowered his glass. He set it down on the table with a sharp, hard crack.

Chloe jumped in her seat. She looked up, her eyes wide, meeting his dark, furious stare.

"Have you forgotten how to please me?" Julian asked, his voice like ice.

Chloe bit the inside of her cheek. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I really can't eat this. I have no appetite."

Julian pushed his chair back. He stood up, his tall frame casting a long shadow over the table. He walked slowly around the edge until he stood directly behind her chair.

He placed both hands on the back of her chair, leaning over her. His presence was a physical weight pressing down on her shoulders.

He reached over her shoulder and picked up her silver soup spoon. He dipped it into the bowl, scooping up a thick portion of the mushroom cream. He held it right in front of her lips.

The smell of dairy and earth filled her nose. Chloe turned her face away, pressing her lips tightly together.

Julian's left hand shot out. He gripped her jaw, his fingers digging into her skin, and forced her head back to face forward.

"Eat it," he said softly, his breath hot against her temple. "Or tomorrow morning, the funds in your father's medical account will be frozen."

The threat hit her like a physical blow. Her father was lying in a facility, dependent on that money to survive. Chloe's eyes instantly filled with tears. Her resistance shattered.

Her lips trembled as she opened her mouth. She took the spoonful of soup.

The thick, rich liquid slid onto her tongue. Her gag reflex kicked in immediately. She slapped her hand over her mouth, tears spilling down her cheeks, and forced herself to swallow. It felt like swallowing poison.

Julian released her jaw. He walked back to his seat and sat down. "Finish the bowl."

Chloe picked up her spoon. Her movements were robotic. She scooped the soup, brought it to her mouth, and swallowed. Tears dripped off her chin and landed silently on her lap. Every bite was torture.

Julian watched her eat. The tight lines of anger around his mouth slowly smoothed out. A dark, twisted satisfaction settled in his eyes as he watched her submit.

Halfway through the bowl, her stomach violently rebelled. Chloe dropped the spoon. It clattered against the bowl. She clamped both hands over her mouth, shoved her chair back, and ran toward the hallway bathroom.

She fell to her knees in front of the toilet and vomited. Everything she had just forced down came back up.

Julian strode into the bathroom a moment later. He stood in the doorway, his brow deeply furrowed as he watched her heave.

He walked to the sink, filled a glass with warm water, and crouched beside her. He held the glass out. "What is wrong with you?" he asked, a tight edge of genuine tension in his voice.

Chloe took the glass with shaking hands. She rinsed her mouth and spit. She leaned her head back against the cool tile wall. "I think the seafood from lunch was bad," she lied, her voice weak.

Julian's eyes narrowed. He did not believe her. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He tapped the screen.

Chloe saw the contact name. Dr. Thorne. Panic surged through her. She lunged forward and grabbed his wrist. "No. Please. Don't call him. I just need to lie down. Don't make a fuss."

Julian looked down at her hand wrapped around his wrist. Her skin was freezing cold and trembling violently. He turned his hand over and gripped her wrist, his thumb pressing into her racing pulse.

He stared into her pale face for a long second. He locked his phone and shoved it back into his pocket. He bent down, slid one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, and lifted her into the air.

He carried her down the hall and into the bedroom. He laid her on the mattress and pulled the duvet up to her chin.

He turned and walked into the master bathroom. Chloe heard the water turn on in the sink. She closed her eyes, the darkness offering no comfort. She knew the lie would not hold much longer.