Accidentally Pregnant With The Billionaire Heir

*** EMILY ***

Respect is a currency far more stable than the cash sitting in my corporate bank account.

I stand in the plush, softly lit corridor of the Lumiere restaurant, watching the exact moment Leo fully processes my strategy. The massive security operative stares down at me, his dark eyes reflecting a profound, quiet understanding. He is a man who relies on physical strength and tactical dominance to survive. I rely on financial autonomy. The methods differ, but the ultimate goal of absolute self-reliance is exactly the same.

Leo offers a slow, distinct nod of his head. The rigid, military tension in his broad shoulders softens considerably. He looks at me not just as his employer’s contractual wife, but as a strategist building a formidable empire from the ground up. He sees the massive potential of EZ Tea. He believes I am going to achieve extraordinary things in the very near future. Earning the genuine admiration of a lethal special forces veteran is an incredibly validating victory.

"We should get back to the table," I tell him, keeping my voice steady. "The food is getting cold."

We step back into the private dining room. The heavy mahogany door shuts behind us, completely sealing out the rest of the expensive establishment. Zoe and Fiona are already attacking the remaining plates of food with intense dedication.

Fiona looks up from a plate of creamy truffle risotto. Her auburn ponytail bounces cheerfully. Her warm brown eyes shine with pure, unadulterated excitement.

"Zoe just told me the final number," Fiona says. She points her silver fork directly at me, grinning widely. "Forty-five thousand dollars a month for a flagship double-decker unit right across from the medical university. That is absolutely incredible, Emily. You basically stole that property right out from under him."

I walk over to the round oak table and take my seat. I pull a fresh linen napkin onto my lap. "I had a very persuasive argument. He owed a mutual associate a massive favor. We simply capitalized on the situation."

Fiona buys the excuse completely. She takes another large bite of her food, entirely oblivious to the dangerous syndicate politics actually backing the transaction. Her innocent joy is highly infectious.

"We still have a massive financial hurdle," Zoe interjects. She sets her crystal water glass down on a paper coaster. Her sharp dark bob frames her serious, analytical expression. "I transferred two hundred and seventy thousand dollars to Silas for the six-month lease advance. Subtracting that from your initial five hundred thousand dollar deposit leaves us with exactly two hundred and thirty thousand dollars in the primary account."

I pick up my fork and cut a small piece of seared steak. "That is a very solid remaining budget."

"It has to cover absolutely everything," Zoe warns, pulling her notepad from her canvas purse. She taps her plastic pen against the paper. "We have to gut the interior of that building. We need commercial plumbing, custom lighting, premium furniture, and all the high-end espresso and tea brewing hardware. Then we have to pay for the initial marketing campaign to attract the university students. Two hundred and thirty thousand dollars will vanish in a matter of weeks if we are not incredibly careful. We need to save money wherever humanly possible."

"The interior design fees are usually the biggest trap," Fiona observes. She wipes her mouth with a napkin. "Corporate design firms charge astronomical hourly rates just to draw up a basic floor plan."

Zoe snaps her fingers, her dark eyes lighting up with a sudden, brilliant idea. "I know exactly how we bypass the corporate design fees."

She grabs her phone from the table and scrolls rapidly through her contacts. "I have a close friend named Jessie. We took a few general elective courses together last year. She is currently a senior majoring in commercial interior design. She is incredibly talented, and she desperately needs a portfolio project to secure her graduation credits. She will draft the blueprints for a fraction of the cost of a professional firm."

"Call her right now," I instruct.

Zoe hits the dial button and lifts the phone to her ear. A brief, rapid conversation follows. Zoe explains the massive square footage and the premium aesthetic we require. She nods enthusiastically a few times before ending the call.

"We are in luck," Zoe announces. She slides the phone back into her purse. "Jessie is actually studying at a coffee shop just three blocks away from here. I invited her over for an immediate design consultation. She agreed to meet us at the vacant property to take the initial measurements."

"Perfect," I say. I finish the last bite of my steak and place my silver cutlery neatly on the empty porcelain plate. "Let’s go meet our new designer."

We gather our belongings and exit the private dining room. The Asuir City sun has completely vanished by the time we step out of the air-conditioned restaurant. The dark night sky hangs heavily over the bustling commercial district. Bright neon signs and tall streetlamps wash the concrete sidewalks in vibrant pools of artificial light.

We walk two blocks down the avenue and approach a narrow side street. Fiona stops in front of a heavily dented, faded blue sedan. The paint on the hood is chipping off in large flakes, and the rear bumper hangs slightly askew.

"It is not exactly a luxury ride," Fiona says, unlocking the doors with a manual metal key. "But it runs."

I climb into the cramped backseat next to Zoe. The fabric upholstery smells faintly of old vanilla air freshener and dust. Leo squeezes his massive frame into the front passenger seat. His broad shoulders press tightly against the door panel, and his knees practically touch the dashboard. He does not utter a single word of complaint. He simply keeps his dark eyes focused on the street outside.

Fiona turns the ignition. The engine sputters violently for a few seconds before roaring to life with a loud, unhealthy rattle. She pulls the rusty blue sedan away from the curb, merging slowly into the heavy nighttime traffic. We head back toward the vacant storefront to meet Jessie and officially begin building our empire.

*** BEATRICE ***

The interior of the custom black town car smells strongly of expensive leather conditioning and absolute silence.

I sit in the spacious backseat, my posture completely rigid. The tinted windows shield me from the chaotic, filthy streets of Asuir City. I stare at the rusty, pathetic blue sedan driving three car lengths ahead of us in the dense traffic. The exhaust pipe on their hideous vehicle rattles loosely, emitting a thin stream of dark smoke.

"Keep a safe distance, Daniel," I instruct my driver. My voice is sharp and entirely devoid of patience. "I do not want them spotting us."

Daniel grips the leather steering wheel tightly. He wears a simple gray suit, acting as both my personal chauffeur and my primary security asset. "I am maintaining visual contact, Madam. They are heading back toward the Etland Medical University district."

I grip my emerald-green leather clutch. The sharp edges of my diamond earrings brush against my jawline as I turn my head. I spent the entire evening suffering through a tedious, utterly boring banquet with pretentious university academics. My only saving grace was stepping into that restaurant corridor and catching Emily Vance conspiring with a violent street thug.

"Give me the full report," I demand. "You have been tracking their movements for the past two hours. Tell me exactly what my niece-in-law is doing with Silas Hunt."

Daniel checks his rearview mirror briefly before answering. "I utilized a few local informants in the commercial district, Madam. Silas Hunt owns a vacant double-decker retail property near the campus gates. Emily Vance just signed a commercial lease for that specific building. She is officially his tenant."

I process the information slowly. The puzzle pieces do not fit together perfectly.

"A commercial lease," I repeat, my brow furrowing in deep concentration. "Why is a girl who lives in the lap of the Wolfe estate renting a dusty building from a syndicate boss? What exactly is she planning to do with the property?"

"I do not have that information," Daniel admits. His voice drops slightly in volume. "The legal paperwork was drafted in extreme privacy. The local informants do not know what kind of business she intends to open. The details are currently completely sealed."

A fierce, boiling wave of anger rushes through my chest.

"You are entirely useless," I snap. The venom in my tone causes Daniel to flinch visibly in the driver’s seat. "I pay you an exorbitant salary to gather actionable intelligence. Telling me you do not know her business plan is unacceptable. I need leverage, Daniel. I need concrete proof of her illicit activities so I can drag her reputation through the mud and toss her out of my family."

I look back out the tinted window. The rusty blue sedan turns a sharp corner, disappearing behind a row of tall brick buildings.

Emily thinks she is incredibly clever. She is hiding a secret business venture, keeping it entirely isolated from Alistair and the rest of the Wolfe family. Doing business with a dangerous, unpredictable man like Silas Hunt is a massive vulnerability. It is only a matter of time before the thug demands more money, turns violent, or completely ruins her operation.

But waiting for Silas to inevitably destroy her is far too passive. I refuse to sit on the sidelines and watch. I want to actively orchestrate her downfall. I want to be the architect of her misery.

I cannot intervene directly. Alistair will trace any obvious sabotage straight back to me, and I refuse to spend another single second inside that pitch-black meditation room. I need an intermediary. I need someone reckless, wealthy, and entirely desperate to get rid of Emily Vance. I need a pawn to do the dirty work while my hands remain completely clean.

A slow, cruel smile stretches across my painted lips. The perfect candidate exists.

Naya Zone hates Emily with a burning, obsessive passion. The spoiled daughter of the presidential candidate is utterly convinced she belongs on Alistair’s arm. Naya views Emily as nothing more than a temporary, illegitimate obstacle standing in the way of her grand corporate marriage. Naya possesses the financial resources and the sheer, unhinged jealousy required to execute a flawless sabotage campaign.

I open my emerald-green clutch and pull out my sleek phone. The bright screen illuminates the dark interior of the town car. I tap the contacts application and scroll rapidly through the alphabetical list.

My manicured finger stops directly over Naya Zone’s private number.

I press the green dial button, bringing the phone up to my ear. I listen to the steady, rhythmic ringing tone, preparing the exact sequence of poisonous lies I need to manipulate the girl into doing my bidding. Emily wants to build a secret empire. I am going to make absolutely certain she loses everything before she even opens the front doors.