Accidentally Pregnant With The Billionaire Heir

*** BEATRICE ***

Blood is supposedly thicker than water, but in the Wolfe family, it just means the knives sink in much deeper.

I tap the red button on my phone screen, ending the call with Naya Zone. I shove the sleek device into my emerald-green leather clutch. The heavy air conditioning of the Lumiere restaurant chills the bare skin of my neck, yet my blood runs incredibly hot with lingering indignation.

I stare at the expensive, patterned carpet lining the hallway. Every time I close my eyes, I smell the stale, suffocating air of that windowless meditation room. Alistair locked me inside that concrete box for seven agonizing days. The complete sensory deprivation nearly fractured my mind. I lost all concept of day and night. I sat on the hard floor, listening to the horrifying silence, paying the brutal price for a plan that should have been entirely flawless.

It all started over that child. Three years ago, a staged plane crash tore Arthur and Yvette away from our empire, leaving their orphaned daughter behind. Lily instantly became the untouchable taboo of the Wolfe family. The golden child. I merely utilized the girl as a temporary pawn. I orchestrated the kidnapping to expose Emily’s utter incompetence as a caretaker. The strategy was perfect. Or at least it was supposed to be.

Then Alistair outplayed me. He bluffed about tracing a burner phone, pushing me into a panicked, humiliating confession right in front of the entire family.

My coward of a husband immediately booked a flight to Europe. He fabricated an emergency business trip to dodge the social fallout, leaving me isolated to face the executioners alone. When I finally walked out of that dark room, I expected the family to move past the incident. Instead, Celia Wolfe looked right through my chest. She instructed the head butler to permanently remove my chair from the main dining table. The sheer, unadulterated disrespect drove me to pack my vintage trunks and retreat to my parents’ country estate for a week.

Today marks my official return to the social chessboard. My niece recently secured a highly coveted admission to Etland Medical University. I booked the most expensive private dining room at Lumiere to host the university deans. Pouring expensive wine for academics is the fastest way to buy my way back into high society.

I step away from the velvet-lined wall, preparing to rejoin the banquet.

Heavy, rhythmic footsteps approach from the far end of the hallway. I freeze. I recognize the broad shoulders and pitch-black tactical gear instantly. Leo. Alistair’s loyal attack dog.

My gaze shifts slightly. Walking right beside the giant is the girl who ruined my entire life. Emily Vance wears simple, cheap clothing, looking completely out of place against the rich mahogany paneling of the restaurant.

She is not alone. Silas Hunt matches her stride. The notorious syndicate thug gestures animatedly, speaking to Emily like an old, trusted business associate.

Emily begins to turn her head in my direction.

I lunge sideways. I press my back flush against a thick, decorative marble pillar. I hold my breath, gripping my leather clutch so tightly the metal clasp digs painfully into my palm. I wait in the shadows, my pulse pounding a frantic, erratic rhythm against my ribs.

*** EMILY ***

I stop walking. My heavy boots plant firmly against the thick red carpet.

A sharp, icy prickle erupts across the back of my neck. I spin around, scanning the long, dimly lit corridor. The elegant mahogany doors lining the walls remain completely shut. A few large marble pillars offer massive blind spots, but the hallway appears entirely deserted.

I squint, trying to pierce the low, moody lighting. I strongly suspect someone is standing just out of sight, glaring at me with violent intent. The hostile energy in the air feels heavy and thick, pressing down on my shoulders like a physical weight. The expensive scent of floral perfume suddenly cuts through the heavy aroma of roasted garlic and truffle oil drifting from the kitchens.

Zoe bumps into my arm, pulling my attention back.

"What is wrong?" Zoe asks. She probably feels I am losing my nerve over the intense lease negotiation we just concluded. She looks nervously between me and the empty hallway, clearly anxious to get off her feet.

I take one last look at the thick marble pillar near the end of the hall. I know exactly what I felt, but chasing ghosts down a restaurant corridor is a massive waste of time.

"It is nothing," I say, forcing my rigid posture to relax. "The air conditioning in this building is just freezing. Let’s get inside."

Silas pushes open a heavy wooden door to our left, gesturing for us to enter. I step into the private dining room, leaving the empty hallway behind.

*** BEATRICE ***

The heavy door clicks shut.

I step out from behind the cold marble pillar. I smooth the front of my emerald-green designer suit, forcing my breathing to slow down to a steady, controlled pace. My dark eyes lock onto the closed door where Emily just disappeared.

A vicious, boiling anger rises rapidly in my throat. I remember the absolute humiliation in the estate living room. I remember falling to my knees, begging Celia for mercy, while Emily stood there watching with quiet, arrogant satisfaction. I spent the last two weeks desperate for a way to exact revenge. I never dared to strike back openly. Alistair’s protection over the girl is entirely too dangerous to challenge directly.

But this specific encounter changes the landscape completely.

Why is the sheltered, heavily guarded wife of the Wolfe empire CEO walking into a private restaurant room with a known street criminal? Silas Hunt runs extortion rackets and illegal gambling dens. He is a monster who operates in the dirt. Emily holding a casual, private conversation with him is a massive, highly suspicious vulnerability.

I turn my head. My personal bodyguard, Daniel, stands silently in the dark alcove near the restrooms. He steps forward immediately, bowing his head in deference.

"Did you see them?" I ask, my voice dropping to a harsh, demanding whisper.

"Yes, Madam," Daniel replies smoothly. "That was Emily Vance and Silas Hunt."

I stare at the closed mahogany door. A slow, cruel smile stretches across my perfectly painted lips. The ideal weapon just fell right into my lap. Emily thinks she is untouchable because she carries Alistair’s heir, but consorting with the criminal underworld will destroy her pristine reputation instantly.

"I want a complete, exhaustive investigation," I instruct him. I grip my leather clutch, my knuckles white with anticipation. "I want to know exactly how those two met. I want to know why they are sharing private dining rooms, and I want every single piece of dirt you can dig up on their relationship. Spare absolutely no expense."

Daniel nods once, pulling a sleek black phone from his suit pocket. "I will handle it immediately."

I turn away, walking briskly back toward my own private room to rejoin the university deans. My previous humiliation no longer burns so brightly. I finally hold a loose thread, and I intend to pull it until Emily’s entire world unravels.