When A Marriage Of Convenience Sparks A Dangerous Passion

The world seemed to turn on its axis when I visited the gastroenterologist, expecting a straightforward remedy for my unsettled stomach. Instead, the doctor delivered a revelation that left me reeling.

"Miss Cathy Howard, you're pregnant," he announced.

Frozen in shock, I could barely move, my face contorting into a forced, bewildered smile after what felt like an eternity.

"Doc, are you certain? Is there any chance of a mistake?" I faltered, my voice a blend of disbelief and hope.

Perhaps accustomed to such disbelief, the doctor, unfazed, replied without a hint of doubt, "All your tests clearly indicate one thing-you're pregnant."

He continued, dispelling my confusion with clinical clarity, "The nausea and gagging that's been plaguing you? It's just morning sickness, unrelated to your digestive concerns."

As his words sank in, denial surged within me. "Impossible, how could I-how on earth could I be pregnant?"

Memories crashed over me like a tidal wave. The night flashed back-a whirl of intoxication and reckless abandon with Jaxton Saunders, our inhibitions drowned out by alcohol. In the haze that followed, the critical thought to take the morning-after pill had vanished, obliterated by the onslaught of urgent work commitments.

It was a single night, a fleeting lapse. How could it have led to this?

I left the hospital, the test results clutched in my trembling hands, my mind a storm of turmoil and incredulity.

I wasn't sure if I should tell him about the baby. I couldn't guess what he would say.

Jaxton was just a name to me, someone I'd met in a hazy, alcohol-fueled night at a bar six months ago.

Since then, we'd fallen into a pattern of casual encounters, nothing more substantial than fleeting moments of pleasure. All I really knew about him was his name and the fact that he hailed from a wealthy background. Beyond those scant details, he remained an enigma.

The thought of having a child with him seemed ludicrous.

Yet, considering my body's condition...

My thoughts were interrupted by the buzzing of my phone from the depths of my bag.

Digging it out, I saw Jaxton's name flashing on the screen.

With a hesitant swipe, I answered the call, and his deep, smooth voice filled the air. "I'm at our usual spot," he stated simply.

"Now?" I asked, puzzled. A midday rendezvous was hardly our norm.

"I'll be out of town for a little while," he added, somewhat hastily.

With a heart full of hope and nerves, I recognized this moment as the golden opportunity to discuss the baby. "Okay," I agreed with a determined nod.

After hanging up, I pressed the accelerator hard and sped toward what we affectionately dubbed "the usual spot."

Standing at the threshold, I nervously toyed with my bag, rehearsing my planned speech, before finally mustering the courage to knock.

The door flung open, and there he stood-towering, elegantly dressed, with a charisma that was simply magnetic.

"Hey..." I stammered, my well-prepared words dissolving into thin air.

Before I could gather my thoughts, he seized my wrist with a swift tug and pulled me inside, his actions brisk and forceful.

Without a moment's pause, he maneuvered us both, his movements decisive, until we collapsed together onto the living room sofa.

Ordinarily, his assertive presence would sweep me off my feet.

His stunning features were mesmerizing, and his undeniable charm in the bedroom had been the hook since our first, hazy encounter-a reason strong enough to keep the flames of our sporadic encounters alive.

Yet, this time, I resisted, pushing against his chest firmly, sitting up straight, and clutching my shirt closed as I caught my breath. "Hold on a second..."

He paused momentarily, and then fixed a perplexed frown on me, clearly displeased by my sudden halt.

Normally, I epitomized the reckless, unrestrained spirit, so this abrupt shift likely baffled him.

After half a year of casual encounters, this was the inaugural moment his gaze bored into me with such intensity. It wasn't quite the murderous look one would have feared, yet it sent a shiver down my spine.

The uneasy scrutiny combining disdain and doubt was not to my liking, so I met his frosty demeanor and blurted out, "I'm pregnant."

I anticipated a flicker of astonishment, but instead, he responded with a snide, cold laugh that scraped at my patience.

That sparked a surge of anger in me, prompting me to shoot him a sharp, sidelong glare and retort, "Is this some kind of joke to you?"

"Cathy, I've always seen you as the cool, drama-free type," he remarked.

"What are you implying?" I challenged.

"We're both adults here-everything was fine, no commitments, just enjoyment," he answered. "But resorting to tricks and deceptions? That's low."

His face became as unyielding as stone, and his voice was devoid of any warmth.

Instantly grasping his insinuation, I fixed my gaze on his exasperatingly perfect visage, pausing momentarily before erupting into hearty laughter. "Mr. Saunders, you're drowning in your own paranoia. Yes, I'm pregnant-but when did I ever hint that you were the father?"

His response was swift, his eyes becoming thin slits of suspicion. "It had better not be mine," he snapped, tension vibrating in his tone. "And even if by some fluke it is, don't count on me to make any kind of commitment."

I laughed coldly, the sound sharp in the air. "Honestly, if I didn't know you had some money, I'd tell you to stop acting like someone important. Do you really think a woman like me-who has no reservations about casual flings, with a history longer than a drugstore receipt-cares one bit about your so-called commitment? Come on, Mr. Saunders, you're not naive; acting like you are just makes you look foolish."

Despite my harsh words, a strange pang of disappointment washed over me.

We were nothing more than casual flings-there was no room for sweet sentiments or expectations-yet, was it too much to ask for a normal conversation devoid of this nonsense?

"If that's the case, then let's just end this here. If you're going to play games, at least have the decency to follow the rules." Jaxton's expression hardened further as he leaned in, his movements deliberate. He reached for his suit jacket hanging on the coat hook, retrieved his wallet with a swift gesture, and flung a bank card toward me. "You've been entwined with me for months; I've had my share of fun. Consider this some allowance for the child."

The card felt piercingly cold, the impact against my cheek sharp-like a searing slap that resonated deep within.

A wave of humiliation engulfed me, and despite my resilience, a sharp pang of hurt resonated within my chest.

Rage simmered beneath my calm exterior, yet I couldn't suppress a bitter laugh. I picked up the card between my fingers, holding it aloft. "What's the limit on this?"

"Two hundred thousand," he replied curtly.

"Just two hundred thousand? And you toss it at me without a shred of shame?" I retorted with disdain. Directly in his view, I snapped the card in two and flung the pieces aside. Then I delved into my own bag, extracted a different card, and sauntered up to him. Slipping the card into his shirt collar, I flashed him a defiant smirk. "This one holds half a million. Consider it your 'service charges' for the past six months."

His eyes blazed with fury at that.

I maintained my composure, offering him a brilliantly insincere smile.

If he insisted on initiating a battle of shames, I was fully equipped to serve it back with interest.

Before he could muster up a defense, I nonchalantly tapped his chest and delivered my barb with a smirk. "Should finances ever tighten, remember my number-I've always appreciated your prowess behind closed doors. I'd gladly invest in that pleasure again."

Brushing past him with a dismissive flick of my wrist, I walked away with my head held high.

Once I entered the elevator, the facade crumbled. I leaned heavily against the cold metal wall, allowing myself a moment of weakness.

Humiliation of this magnitude hadn't scarred me in years.

I fought my way up from rock bottom-devouring textbooks in college, chasing certifications through sleepless nights, and embracing my career with a fervor that bordered on madness, all to get where I was.

This journey was about cleansing the deep-seated stains life had spitefully cast upon me.

I, Cathy Howard, had sworn to blaze so fiercely that the shadows of my past would dare not encroach upon my light again.

I aimed to turn the tables on every hater and doubter-those who once saw me as nothing more than filth would one day strain their necks in vain as they tried to catch a glimpse of my stratosphere.

Jaxton was nothing but a trivial fling, a blip not worthy of further thought.

Regarding the baby...

My pregnancy was turning out to be an unending migraine.

Rationally, holding on to this child seemed ill-advised.

As a single mother, both my child and I were bound to be the target of relentless societal scrutiny.

Born out of wedlock myself, I was intimately familiar with the sting of sharp tongues-I couldn't fathom subjecting my child to the same relentless cruelty that had haunted my own footsteps.

Yet, the thought of parting with the child gnawed at me; it could have very well dashed my sole chance at motherhood into the rocks.

Flashback to my thirteenth year: my first period arrived in the middle of a brutal winter, unleashing snowstorms fierce enough to cripple the city. Amidst that chilling cold, I was cruelly thrust into an icy lake, a traumatic event that inflicted a chronic ailment upon me.

Years down the line, at my first medical exam with the company, the doctor delivered a grim prognosis: my chances of conceiving were slim.

That was why I was staggered by disbelief when the doctor from earlier revealed that I was pregnant.

It was akin to snagging a miraculous, one-in-a-million lottery ticket-a stroke of fate so rare it was almost mythical.

Who was I to make such a monumental decision about a life burgeoning within me?

The dilemma of whether to keep the child loomed large.

But before I could untangle my conflicted feelings, an avalanche of work assignments descended upon me, demanding immediate attention.

As a diligent worker in the advertising industry, I was perpetually at the beck and call of clients who reveled in wearing me down.

Oddly enough, amidst the turmoil of morning sickness and sidestepping client meltdowns, I clung to the advice that a pregnant woman ought to nibble on small meals throughout the day and shun late-night work.

Somewhere within me, perhaps, I had already decided to keep the child.

Jaxton? He was merely the contributor of genetic material, compensated for his role and nothing more. Regardless of whether I decided to go through with the pregnancy, he had no part in it.

Following our intense final confrontation, I had blocked his number, severing ties with him definitively.

I endured another grueling month of endless demands, and upon completing all the proposals, a wave of relief washed over me.

By that point, my decision was firm: I would have this child and dedicate myself entirely to its upbringing.

I knew quelling the gossip train was a lost cause, yet I resolved to stand firm as a mother, shielding my child from the whispers just as someone had once shielded me.

With my professional commitments momentarily paused, I savored a rare moment of peace in my office, poised to search for parenting advice, when my boss, Benny Gill, burst through the door.

"Cathy, there's a dinner engagement tonight, and you're joining me," he declared emphatically.

The mere mention of dinner conjured images of cocktails and clinking glasses, prompting me to unconsciously caress my stomach. "Benny, I'm really not up for drinks at the moment. Perhaps you could..."

"Who's talking about drinking? Just grace us with your presence; I'll manage the drinking part for both of us," Benny interjected, pounding his chest with a confident thump.

I paused, aware that these gatherings usually turned into smoke-filled rooms.

Benny, sensing my reluctance, sweetened the deal. "It's a significant client we're meeting tonight. Seal this deal, and you might just land a bonus that'll have six figures in it by year's end," he promised.

That potential bonus tugged at my conscience.

Yes, I had once defiantly hurled half a million in that scoundrel's face, feeling every bit the hero, but that had depleted most of my reserves, leaving a bitter taste.

I had scraped together every cent through unwavering grit and determination, unlike those silver-spoon-fed trust fund babies who knew nothing of toil.

And with a child on the way, the stakes were higher. I had made up my mind to keep the child, aiming to provide a life of more than mere scraps.

Firming my resolve, I agreed, "Alright, Benny, you've got yourself a deal."

He beamed. "That's my girl! Head home, doll yourself up, dab on some glamor, and slip into something stunning. We're meeting at the Prestige Club, Room 401, by six-thirty sharp."

The stakes were evidently high, as Benny had graciously allotted me half the afternoon to prepare myself.

I didn't waste a moment-darting into my car, I made a swift detour to the spa for a brisk but transformative touch-up, and then retreated to my home for a meticulous makeup session. By the stroke of six-thirty, I was pulling into the opulent driveway of the Prestige Club.

Upon tapping lightly on the polished door of Room 401 and stepping through, I was thrust into a buzzing atmosphere, the room brimming with an assortment of personalities. As soon as I made my entrance, all eyes snapped to me, their gazes alight with a curious intensity as though I was the star attraction of their gathering.

Benny was already weaving through the crowd, his eyes brightening as he spotted me. He clasped my shoulder with warm familiarity. "Cathy, you've arrived just in time! Allow me to introduce you-this gentleman here is Carl Reed from Light Media. Carl, meet the star of our team, Cathy Howard, our creative director."

Carl extended his hand with an engaging smile, his eyes twinkling with admiration. "The tales of your prowess in advertising are legendary, Miss Howard. It's clear to me now they barely captured the full picture."

As our handshake lingered, Carl's fingers teased mine with an unsettling caress, his glance sliding toward a disquieting smirk that sent a ripple of discomfort coursing through me.

Blissfully unaware of or choosing to ignore my discomfort, Benny cheerfully ushered me to Carl's side. "Cathy, do keep Carl entertained tonight-share a drink or two with him, won't you?"

My heart skipped a beat. Hadn't Benny assured me that drinking was off the table?

What game was this-had he decided to trade my comfort for convenience?

Carl's face lit up with excitement as he thrust a glass brimming with potent liquor toward me. "I've heard about your legendary tolerance, Cathy. Come on, down this glass and show me your capacity for drinking," he said with a grin.

"Mr. Reed, I..." I began, attempting to retreat while casting a pleading glance at Benny for assistance. Unfortunately, Benny played the traitor, pretending not to notice my distress.

He even encouraged me, saying, "One glass is not enough to show your capacity, Cathy. How about you take three shots to impress our VIPs here?" His suggestion trumped Carl's, escalating to three shots.

Observing my hesitation, Carl grew more audacious, lining up more drinks for me with a challenging look in his eyes.

Internally, I was fuming, yet I restrained my anger. Maintaining my job and my standing in the industry meant I had to grin and bear it.

Benny, knowing full well my predicament, had set this trap deliberately.

Alcohol was absolutely out of the question-any drink could endanger the child, especially something this strong. I couldn't risk it.

Yet, opting out required a plausible excuse.

As I desperately searched for an escape, the door burst open once more, and a formidable figure entered, altering the dynamics of the room.

Immediately, Carl, who had almost raised the glass to my lips, withdrew it.

I released a sigh of relief, and then cautiously turned to see who had entered.

At just one look, I froze solid.

Fate really had a way of mixing things up, didn't it?

Jaxton-my former shady fling whom I'd unceremoniously ditched with a hefty half a million over a month ago-strode into the room with an air of confidence that bordered on arrogance.

At that moment, I felt utterly doomed.

To my left, there was Carl, a man who resembled a devious opportunist, eager to pull me into his sordid plans. To my right, Jaxton, the man I had scorned and who likely harbored fantasies of vengeance. It was as if the universe itself was conspiring against me, its cold hand of fate pressing against my back.

Jaxton cut an imposing figure in a sharp navy suit, his expression cold, emitting a palpable aura of "back off" as he entered without so much as a glance to the side.

Observing his composed demeanor, I couldn't help but ponder how someone could seamlessly transition from a wild lion in bed to a polished, controlled gentleman.

And now, this menacingly elegant man was cutting through the crowd straight toward me, like a knife through silk. It didn't take a genius to realize that he was here to stir up trouble.

Tightening my grip into fists, I steeled myself, preparing to face whatever storm was about to break.

I was convinced I could feel Jaxton's furious, resentful gaze piercing me.

Yet, when I mustered the courage to look up at him, he was looking elsewhere.

No way-did I really just hallucinate that?

Without acknowledging my presence, he marched over with a purposeful stride, his cold gaze locking onto Carl, who was uncomfortably close by. That stare was so cold, it sent shivers down my spine.

Silence engulfed the room the moment he entered; everyone was visibly stunned by his appearance.

Carl, masking his surprise with a contrived smile, rose eagerly, his tone dripping with flattery. "Mr. Saunders, your presence here is unexpected."

I was taken aback by his reaction. Moments before, Carl had commanded the room, unchallenged.

Now, he seemed to recoil, as if desperately seeking Jaxton's approval, his expression riddled with fear.

Who was Jaxton, really?

All I knew was his name and that his lavish attire hinted at immense wealth. Beyond that, he remained an enigma.

It was undeniable-I had completely underestimated him.

"Mr. Reed, I understand your company is representing a promising book, and you're interested in discussing a potential film adaptation with my company," Jaxton stated, his voice devoid of emotion.

Carl's grin widened further. "Oh, you really didn't have to come all this way for such a trivial matter," he said eagerly. "Please, Mr. Saunders, take a seat. What would you like? I can have it brought over right away."

Sitting close to Carl, I rose to give Jaxton space and found myself directly in his imposing presence.

Perhaps it was the difference in our heights, but he towered over me like a looming thundercloud.

"And this must be... your secretary, Mr. Reed?" Jaxton inquired, scrutinizing me as if I were a complete stranger, his smirk broadening. "You have a keen eye for a pretty little bimbo, Mr. Reed."

His barb was clear to all; subtlety was not his forte.

Carl chuckled awkwardly, quick to set the record straight. "Actually, this is Miss Howard from United Media. She's here to finalize details of an advertising partnership."

"Oh? So this is the legendary director I've heard so much about," Jaxton sneered sarcastically, stretching the word "legendary" as if it was part of a worn-out joke.

I was no stranger to the rumors-they labeled me merely a decorative piece, an empty vessel, while my team carried the workload and I basked in unearned acclaim.

Benny had a habit of dragging me to every client dinner he attended, and as a result, whispers circulated that I had advanced my career by underhanded means for each contract United Media secured.

Jaxton's comment felt like a deliberate sting, echoing those demeaning rumors.

I maintained a facade of politeness, my smile fixed, as I responded with a veneer of graciousness, "I appreciate the compliment, Mr. Saunders." My voice was silky smooth.

I was on the verge of excusing myself to Benny when Carl, brimming with undue enthusiasm, cut in. "It's rare for a woman to catch Mr. Saunders' eye. Why don't you join him for a drink, Cathy?"

The constant insinuations were exhausting. Was there no respite from their expectations to socialize over drinks?

Benny's excitement was palpable; he seized two glasses and nudged me. "Come on, don't just stand there. Serve Mr. Saunders a drink," he urged.

I whirled around and gave him a look so fierce it could stop a heartbeat.

I'd worked myself to the bone for this company-hell, I once drank so much I nearly wrecked my stomach, all to sign a major client for him.

And yet, after all my efforts, Benny was willing to exploit me as if I were merely a commodity.

He was the epitome of a mercenary businessman, his eyes only registering profit, devoid of any human empathy.

Perhaps feeling a bit awkward because of my severe glare, Benny hastily picked up a bottle of wine and brought it over to me.

But the damn bottle meant nothing to me-I just wanted to get out of there.

"Seems you aren't exactly thrilled, Miss Howard," Jaxton observed, his voice smooth and nonchalant. "In that case, let's forget it."

He attempted to appear unfazed, yet anyone with a hint of insight could see he was irritated.

Oh, give me a break-he was irritated? I was seething!

He was well aware that I was pregnant and couldn't drink, yet he insisted. It was an utterly insensitive gesture.

Benny's expression shifted immediately. "Mr. Saunders, please don't misunderstand-Cathy's all in," he asserted, tripping over his words. "It's just that she's not feeling her best today."

Then he leaned closer, his voice a harsh whisper in my ear. "Do you realize who this man is? If you upset him, it's not just your problem-I'm in deep trouble too. Come on, it's just one drink. If you can win him over, forget the six-figure bonus-I'll make sure you get whatever you want."

That was the moment everything clicked.

The surname Saunders, Carl's eager discussion about a film deal, Benny's visible nerves-it could only be one person in Gruixtin.

The giant of the entertainment industry, the CEO of Saunders Group.

I could hardly believe that the man I'd been seeing casually for half a year-the same one I'd paid off with half a million to keep quiet-was actually him.

His motives for humiliating me now made perfect sense.

Yet, honestly, what did it matter?

So he was the titan behind the entertainment industry? The formidable Mr. Saunders? Why would I care one bit?

These arrogant fools assumed they could launch insults freely, but the moment someone retaliated, they recoiled as though mortally offended.

What gave them the audacity to parade around like they owned the world?

Frustrated and seething, I slapped the bottle from Benny's clasp, sending it crashing to the floor where it exploded with a resounding shatter. "I don't want to," I hissed, punctuating each syllable with fierce resolve.

A chilling silence enveloped the room. The weight of Carl's despair was almost palpable, suffocating the space with its intensity, yet it left me unfazed.

The only clarity in that moment was my own resolve: despite appearing insignificant or powerless, my dignity was a line drawn in the sand-absolute and unyielding.

"I am no one's puppet, nor am I a plaything for hire. If you wish to indulge in such loathsome, degrading escapades, count me out-I'm finished."

As I stood there, the remnants of my pride were the only fortress I had left. I couldn't muster the energy to care about anything else.

Leaving seemed like my only option. Worst case scenario, I'd abandon this nightmare and rebuild my life somewhere new, somewhere far from here.

Maybe the shock of my breakdown had left them all too stunned to react, because not a soul attempted to halt my exit as I stormed out of the room. I navigated my escape from that toxic space without any resistance.

However, as soon as I stepped into the hallway, the pent-up turmoil inside me erupted like a tsunami, violently churning my stomach.

I clamped a hand over my mouth, staggered into the restroom, and retched miserably into the sink.

As I vomited, a wave of profound injustice overwhelmed me.

I had poured my soul into my job, sacrificed countless nights to craft innovative pitches and proposals, only to be dismissed and belittled by these corporate predators.

Why? Was it just my pretty face to blame?

These arrogant fools thought they could undermine my hard work and reduce me to a mere object for their amusement.

The weight of what went down in that room crashed over me, and I couldn't keep it together anymore.

Tears streamed down my face, a salty cascade of hurt and frustration, as the stinging in my nose announced the onset of an uncontrollable cry.