Accidentally Pregnant With The Billionaire Heir

[ EMILY ]

A sharp, grating laugh bursts from Naya Zone’s brightly painted lips.

The sound is entirely devoid of genuine humor. It is a cruel, highly manufactured sound designed specifically to belittle and humiliate. She looks at me as if I am a piece of chewing gum stuck to the bottom of her designer stiletto.

"You actually think you have power," Naya sneers, taking a slow, predatory step closer to me. The heavy gold bracelets on her wrist clink loudly against each other. "You think a piece of signed paper makes you his equal? The entire city knows the truth, Emily. You only secured that ring and your pathetic little title as the Wolfe matriarch because you stopped taking your pills. You trapped him with a pregnancy. You are nothing but a biological incubator."

I stand perfectly still. I do not flinch. I let her hurl the accusations, my expression remaining completely serene and unaffected. I know the truth about my contractual arrangement with Alistair, and I am more than happy to let her operate on entirely false, delusional assumptions.

But my silence only seems to infuriate her more.

"In my world, high society marriages are not built on cheap, accidental romance," Naya lectures me, her voice ringing out through the quiet bistro lobby. The wealthy patrons standing near the bar have completely stopped their conversations to watch the spectacle. "Marriages at our level are corporate mergers. They are forged in mutual interests, massive political alliances, and generational wealth. Do you honestly think the Wolfe board of directors will ever accept a girl who crawled out of a gutter? You possess absolutely no background. You bring zero leverage to his empire. You are a temporary, highly embarrassing stain on his legacy."

She tilts her head, her blue eyes narrowing into venomous, hateful slits. She decides to go for the absolute lowest possible blow.

"And look at your disgusting pedigree," Naya spits, her upper lip curling in pure revulsion. "Your father is Arthur Vance, a degenerate gambling addict swimming in mafia debt. And your mother? Some pathetic, low-class nobody who couldn’t even keep a man. She was probably absolute trash, passing down her filthy, manipulative genetics to a daughter who—"

The ambient noise in the restaurant cuts out instantly.

The blood roaring in my ears completely drowns out the rest of her sentence. The temperature in the bistro lobby feels like it plummets thirty degrees in a fraction of a second.

I can tolerate a massive amount of abuse. I survived years of starvation, psychological torment, and physical isolation locked inside the Vance family’s dark storerooms. I can stand here and let this spoiled socialite mock my clothes, my bank account, and my marriage all day long without blinking.

But my mother is the absolute, uncompromising red line.

My mother, who worked her fingers to the bone to protect me. My mother, who died in a freezing, rain-soaked alleyway in Asuir City, bleeding out on the concrete while a man in a plastic clown mask held a gun to my head.

A sudden, white-hot, blinding rage detonates directly inside my chest. It is a terrifying, lethal kind of anger—the kind that completely bypasses logic and operates on pure, violent instinct. My fingernails bite so deeply into the palms of my hands they nearly draw blood. Every single muscle in my body locks down, coiled as tight as a steel spring.

Leo senses the massive, volatile shift in my demeanor instantly.

The towering security operative shifts his weight, stepping slightly closer to my shoulder. He doesn’t draw a weapon, but the fabric of his tactical uniform rustles as his entire posture shifts from defensive observation to active threat mitigation. He knows I am a fraction of a second away from doing something irreversible.

I do not yell. I do not raise my hand. I simply go completely, terrifyingly still.

I tear my gaze away from Naya’s perfectly contoured face. I look directly at the terrified hostess cowering behind the polished mahogany podium. My eyes are so dark and devoid of warmth that the young woman visibly flinches backward, bumping into the wall behind her.

"I am going to state this one final time," I tell the hostess. My voice is deadly quiet, lacking even a single ounce of hesitation. "I am taking the private room. If you attempt to give it to her, I will buy this bistro by the end of the business day, and I will personally ensure you never work in hospitality in Asuir City again. Show me to my table."

Naya gasps loudly. The sheer audacity of my threat leaves her momentarily breathless. Her flawless face twists into an ugly mask of pure, unadulterated outrage.

She cannot fathom that a girl in cheap denim is actively ignoring her authority. She expects the entire world to bow when she enters a room, and my absolute refusal to yield shatters her fragile, arrogant ego.

"You are not worthy of competing with me!" Naya shrieks, her carefully constructed high-society poise completely breaking down into a childish, vicious tantrum. She steps aggressively into my personal space, pointing a shaking, manicured finger directly at my face. "Do you have any idea who you are talking to? I can have you erased! I can ruin your entire miserable life with a single phone call!"

Leo leans down. His massive frame blocks the bright light from the crystal chandelier above us. He lowers his head, placing his mouth inches from my ear to deliver a rapid, highly classified tactical briefing.

"She is not making an empty threat, Emily," Leo’s deep voice rumbles quietly against my ear. "Her father is Congressman Mark Zone. Current national polling places him as the definitive frontrunner for the upcoming presidential election. He possesses immense, unfettered federal power. She commands the kind of resources that can bypass standard legal channels."

I absorb the intelligence briefing without breaking eye contact with the furious blonde woman standing in front of me.

The next president.

The title carries massive, terrifying weight. It means Naya Zone isn’t just a wealthy socialite; she is practically political royalty. She possesses the power to mobilize federal agencies, manipulate the press, and destroy a civilian’s life with absolute impunity. Alistair’s corporate empire is vast, but directly engaging in a public war with a presidential candidate is a highly dangerous, volatile chess move.

A rational, self-preserving person would lower their head, apologize, and walk out the front door to avoid the catastrophic political fallout.

But I am not a rational person today. I am a daughter defending the memory of the only woman who ever truly loved me.

I step forward, completely closing the physical distance between Naya and myself. I am slightly shorter than her in her towering stilettos, but I hold my spine so rigidly straight I command the space entirely.

"Your father," I say softly, the words dripping with absolute, freezing contempt.

I look her up and down, systematically stripping away her designer armor with my eyes.

"Your sense of superiority is entirely borrowed, Naya," I tell her, my voice carrying clearly through the silent lobby. "You stand here screaming about worth and pedigree, but what exactly have you achieved? You wear your father’s money. You wield your father’s political name. You threaten people with your father’s federal resources. Strip away Mark Zone’s bank accounts and his political campaign, and what is left?"

Naya’s blue eyes widen in sheer shock. No one has ever dared to speak to her like this.

"Nothing," I answer my own question, delivering the psychological blow with surgical precision. "You are absolutely nothing but an empty dress throwing a pathetic tantrum in a restaurant lobby because you cannot fathom a world where you don’t get exactly what you want."

I lean in slightly closer, my dark eyes locking fiercely onto hers. I refuse to give her a single inch of ground.

"Even if your father is sworn into the Oval Office tomorrow," I whisper, my tone laced with unyielding iron, "it does not give his spoiled, unaccomplished daughter the right to indiscriminately cut in line. You do not own me. You do not intimidate me. And if you ever mention my mother’s name again, you will find out exactly what I am capable of."

I hold her gaze for three agonizing seconds, ensuring the absolute certainty of my threat registers in her mind.

Then, I turn my back on her completely. I look at the trembling hostess.

"The room," I command. "Now."