Accidentally Pregnant With The Billionaire Heir

The rich, heavy aroma of dark roasted espresso beans completely fails to mask the bitter taste of my current reality.

I sit at a small, circular glass table on the quiet second floor of the upscale café. My niece, Melissa, sits directly across from me. She happily stirs a massively oversized, heavily sweetened iced latte, the ice cubes clinking loudly against the plastic cup. She chatters endlessly about her recent admission to Vanguard Medical University, listing her future dorm arrangements and her extensive back-to-school shopping list. I nod along with a tight, polite smile, pretending to care about her academic future while checking my gold wristwatch for the fourth time.

Heavy, aggressive footsteps echo on the wooden spiral staircase.

I turn my head toward the noise. Naya Zone marches onto the upper floor of the café. She wears a skin-tight crimson designer dress that hugs her figure ruthlessly, paired with stiletto heels that stab the wooden floorboards with every step. Her blonde hair is styled into flawless, voluminous waves. She carries a limited-edition leather handbag hooked over her forearm. Her bright blue eyes scan the sparsely populated room, locking directly onto my table.

I reach across the glass surface and place my hand firmly over Melissa’s wrist.

"Take my credit card," I instruct my niece quietly. I slide a heavy, solid black metal card across the tabletop. "Go down to the luxury boutiques on the next block and buy yourself a congratulatory gift. Naya and I need to discuss a highly private matter. Do not rush back."

Melissa takes the card with a bright, incredibly greedy smile. She grabs her designer purse from the floor and scurries away immediately. She passes Naya near the top of the staircase without offering a single word of greeting, entirely focused on the incoming shopping spree.

Naya reaches the table and pulls out the empty chair. She sits down heavily, dropping her expensive handbag onto the adjacent seat. The suffocating, overly sweet scent of her fruity perfume washes over the small space, completely overpowering the smell of the roasted coffee.

I drop my flawless, stoic facade the exact second she sits down.

I deliberately slump my shoulders forward, letting my rigid posture cave inward. I left my under-eye concealer remarkably thin this morning. The dark, bruised circles from my week of isolated exile are clearly visible against my pale skin. I press a crisp white cloth napkin against the corners of my eyes, forcing a wet, ragged breath into my lungs.

"Aunt Beatrice," Naya says. Her voice pitches up with immediate, desperate concern. She reaches across the table and grabs my free hand. Her manicured acrylic nails press sharply into my skin. "You look absolutely exhausted. What is going on? Your voice on the phone sounded terrible."

I let a single, highly calculated tear slip down my cheek. It ruins a tiny fraction of my mascara, leaving a faint dark smudge on the white napkin.

"I have nowhere else to turn, Naya," I whisper, forcing my voice to crack perfectly. "I am entirely alone."

"Tell me everything," Naya demands. She leans closer, her blue eyes wide with eager anticipation. "My father is going to be the president. We have endless resources. Who did this to you?"

"It is about Alistair’s new marriage," I say softly. I look down at my half-empty porcelain teacup, playing the role of the broken, defeated matriarch with absolute precision. "He brought a complete nobody into the estate. Her name is Emily Vance. She turned the entire Wolfe family against me."

Naya scoffs loudly, a harsh sound of pure disbelief. "How could a common street rat do that to you? She is nothing. She comes from absolute dirt."

"She is a deeply calculating, treacherous snake," I correct her. I inject real, venomous hatred into my tone, remembering the cold, arrogant look on Emily’s face back at the estate. "She hides behind a soft, innocent face, but she plans every single breath she takes. She is incredibly malicious. She orchestrated a massive, humiliating lie to make me look like a threat to the family hierarchy. Alistair believed her completely."

I pause, letting a fresh sob escape my throat.

"He locked me in a dark concrete meditation room for seven days, Naya," I continue, letting the genuine trauma of that pitch-black cell bleed into my words. "I sat in absolute silence for a week. Celia refuses to even look in my direction now. My own husband fled to Europe to avoid the social fallout. I am an ostracized ghost in my own home, and it is entirely her fault."

Naya gasps loudly. Her grip on my hand tightens painfully. "Alistair is brilliant. He is the most powerful CEO in Vanguard City. He would never fall for a cheap, manipulative gold digger. Why would he ever marry a girl like that? It makes absolutely no logical sense."

I look directly into her wide blue eyes. I prepare to deliver the lethal blow.

"He did not marry her for love," I state clearly. I wipe my face, letting the sorrow harden into bitter resentment. "He married her because she is pregnant."

The color drains entirely from Naya’s face in a fraction of a second. Her jaw drops open. She sits completely frozen, absorbing the devastating reality of the situation. Her pristine, obsessive fantasy of a perfect corporate marriage with Alistair shatters into a million jagged pieces right in front of me.

The heavy silence stretches across the table. The soft jazz music playing from the café speakers feels entirely out of place.

Then, the shock morphs rapidly into absolute, unadulterated fury.

Her skin flushes a deep, mottled red. She rips her hand away from mine and slams her palms flat against the glass table. The porcelain teacups rattle violently against their saucers. Her chest heaves with rapid, shallow breaths.

"She trapped him," Naya snarls. Her voice shakes with intense, blinding jealousy and raw hatred. "That disgusting, manipulative tramp stopped taking her pills and deliberately got pregnant to force a legal marriage. She used a baby to steal the position that rightfully belongs to me! She planned this entire thing!"

"Keep your voice down," I caution her gently. I reach out and pat her shaking hands, playing the voice of reason. I need to guide her anger, not suppress it. "You must not provoke her, Naya. She is incredibly dangerous. She has Alistair entirely under her spell. He assigned his elite security operatives to guard her around the clock. If you try to hurt her, she will simply run crying to Alistair, and he will destroy you."

I watch her facial expressions carefully. Telling a spoiled, arrogant politician’s daughter to stand down is the exact right way to guarantee she attacks. Her rebellious streak is massive. She despises taking orders, especially from a woman she considers completely inferior.

Naya scoffs again, pulling her hands out of my reach. She leans back in her chair, crossing her arms tightly over her crimson dress. A cold, murderous calculation replaces the manic anger in her blue eyes.

"He is only protecting her because of the heir," Naya whispers. Her tone turns remarkably chilling. The gears turn rapidly inside her head, calculating the exact logistics of the situation. "Alistair is a businessman. He protects his assets. The baby is the only asset she actually possesses. If she loses the child, she loses her entire safety net. Alistair will have absolutely no reason to keep a worthless, empty vessel around. He will throw her directly into the gutter where she belongs."

A thrill of dark, immense victory runs straight down my spine.

I sip my cold black tea to hide the highly satisfied smile pulling at the corners of my mouth. Naya connected the dots exactly as I intended. She is fully prepared to orchestrate a severe tragedy. She will target the unborn child, and she will likely target Emily’s life in the process. My hands will remain entirely clean while this foolish, jealous girl does all the dirty work.

I set my teacup down. I turn my head slightly, looking out the large floor-to-ceiling windows. The Vanguard City streetlights illuminate the bustling commercial avenue below, casting long shadows across the pavement.

The heavy glass door of the dusty, vacant double-decker brick building directly across the street swings open.

A small group of four people steps out onto the sidewalk. Leo stands incredibly tall in his pitch-black tactical gear, his head on a constant swivel. Emily walks right beside him, wearing plain denim jeans and a simple shirt, completely unaware of the lethal crosshairs currently resting squarely on her back.

I raise my hand and cover my mouth. I let out a sharp, highly exaggerated gasp.

"What is it?" Naya demands, startled by my sudden physical reaction.

I point a trembling finger toward the street below. "Look."

Naya turns her head quickly. She tracks my pointing finger and spots the small group standing outside the vacant storefront. Her blue eyes lock instantly onto Emily.

The sheer, venomous hatred radiating from Naya is a beautiful, terrifying thing to witness. Her jaw clenches so tightly the muscles in her neck stand out. The weapon is fully loaded, the safety is completely off, and she is aiming directly at the target. Emily Vance is officially out of time.