“I know you’re pregnant for my son,” Mr. Reginald says to me, completely knocking the air out of my lungs.

We’re both in Demetri’s office. He’s seated where his son usually sits, the high-backed leather chair giving him an air of absolute control. I’m standing before him, my arms rigid at my sides, my eyes wide as saucers.

“Sir, I don’t know what you’re talking about—” I try to explain, my voice uneven, but he cuts me off.

“You’re not in any trouble, Miss Ruiz. You don’t have to worry,” he tells me in a smooth and reassuring voice that, for the briefest second, I almost believe him.

But my mind is racing. How does he know? I only found out myself a few hours ago, and I haven’t told a soul. Not Demetri. Not my best friend. No one.

The knowledge sits heavily between us, suffocating me.

“The truth is, I set you up with my son.”

His confession is so casual and effortless, that it takes me a moment to process.

Demetri wouldn’t know a potential partner if she slapped him across his face, so I decided to give him… a little nudge, if you will,” Mr. Reginald continues, completely unmoved by the horror spreading through me.

I feel my airways constrict. “I’m sorry, what do you mean?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

“That night at the company dinner.” He exhales, almost as if he’s reminiscing about a fond memory. “You both found yourselves locked up in one of the hotel rooms, conveniently drunk enough not to notice the doors were magically opened the next morning. I arranged all of that.”

My body locks up. I can’t breathe.

He keeps talking, like he hasn’t just shattered my reality.

“I’ve seen the way you two look at each other,” he says simply. “There’s something there. Something real. But for whatever reason, one thing or another kept stopping you both from pursuing your emotions. I just decided to help.”

Help?

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. My throat is dry, my head spinning.

He did this. He trapped us in that room. Manipulated us like puppets.

My hands curl into fists at my sides, my nails biting into my palms as I fight the urge to scream.

“I knew from the moment I met you that you’d make a good wife for my son,” Mr. Reginald continues, as if he’s bestowing me with some grand honor. “You’re strong, unafraid to state your opinions. You stood up to him. That’s what he needs. Not the bloodsucking women constantly surrounding him, only interested in his money.”

I let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “How dare you,” I spit, my voice shaking. “How dare you try to dictate my life. I may not have as much money as your family, but I have control over my own damn choices.”

I expect him to flinch at my anger, but he remains perfectly composed, watching me like I’m some stubborn child throwing a tantrum.

“There’s no need to feel insulted,” he says smoothly. “All I’ve ever wanted was to help you.”

Help me? The way he keeps throwing around those words make me sick to my stomach.

Without another word, he reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out a crisp white envelope. He slides a piece of paper across the desk toward me.

“Take it,” he says.

I don’t move.

A chill runs down my spine as I stare at the paper, my stomach twisting. I already know whatever is written there will ruin me.

Tears burn in my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. I force myself to step forward, to pick up the paper with shaking fingers.

I scan the document once, twice. My breath hitches.

It’s a contract.

A marriage contract.

Between Demetri and me.

The words are clear, undeniable. Our marriage would be binding, and within five years, we’re expected to produce two children.

Two children. That would be including the one I’m currently carrying.

My stomach churns.

I let out a hollow scoff, shaking my head in disbelief.

“You think I’m going to agree to this?” I say, my voice hoarse.

Mr. Reginald simply clasps his hands together on the desk, unfazed. “It’s your best option.”

I can’t help but laugh bitterly. “You mean my only option.”

He leans forward slightly, his gaze steady. “I’m not forcing you to do anything, Miss Ruiz. I just need your signature when you’ve given it proper thought.”

He says this as though this is some minor decision?

I shake my head again, my chest aching, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“I can’t believe this,” I whisper.

He gestures toward the contract. “Take it with you. Think it over.”

I meet his gaze, my hands tightening into fists around the paper.

I don’t trust myself to speak.

I turn on my heel and walk out, my vision blurred with unshed tears.