Accidentally Pregnant With The Billionaire Heir

A sudden shiver runs straight down my spine. The lingering heat from my bath instantly vanishes, replaced by a deep chill. My throat goes completely dry. I swallow hard and force myself to maintain eye contact.

"Is something wrong?" I ask.

The silence in the room feels heavy enough to crack the marble tiles beneath my bare feet.

Alistair sits perfectly still on the dark leather sofa. His unbuttoned white dress shirt reveals the strong, tense lines of his collarbone. He stares at my face with an icy intensity that freezes the warm lavender scent lingering on my damp skin.

He acts like he didn’t hear my question and then turns his head slowly. He shifts his dark gaze away from me and locks it onto the small mahogany nightstand across the room.

At first, I think he’s going to ignore me but now that I see what he’s looking at, I realize that he’s trying to make a point

On the nightstand, a black paper bag sits exactly where I left it this afternoon.

"Why are you not wearing the gloves I gave you?" Alistair asks. His baritone voice is sharp and completely devoid of warmth.

I clutch the overlapping edges of my white cotton robe. I pull the fabric tighter around my waist. The source of his tightly contained fury suddenly makes perfect sense. He gave me a gift. I tossed it in a drawer.

"I can’t wear them, Alistair," I say candidly. I take a step closer to the sofa. "I know exactly what is inside that bag. Leo told me. Those gloves are a genuine masterpiece crafted by Adolf. They are completely priceless. I am just a beginner shooting paper targets in a cellar. I am terrified of damaging something so incredibly valuable."

Alistair blinks.

The rigid tension in his shoulders falters for a fraction of a second. He is visibly taken aback. He clearly expected me to be completely ignorant of the underground weapons market. He realizes Leo compromised the secret.

He brings a large hand up to his face. He pinches the bridge of his nose and massages his temples like a man fighting off a sudden, massive headache.

"I must be under some kind of ridiculous spell," Alistair mutters to himself. He drops his hand and stares directly into my eyes. "Listen to me very carefully, Emily. Custom equipment designed by Adolf does not come with a return policy. The transaction is final. If you refuse to accept them, there’s nothing we can do about it. So take the bag and throw it in the garbage."

My mouth drops open in sheer shock. "You want me to throw a multi-million dollar masterpiece into the trash?"

"If you will not use them for their intended purpose, they are completely useless to me."

He leans back against the leather cushions. He crosses his arms over his chest. "Furthermore, your training is officially suspended."

Panic spikes instantly in my chest. "You can’t do that. I need to practice."

"I absolutely can do that, Emily," he replies. His tone leaves zero room for negotiation. "You destroyed your palms yesterday. Until the skin on your hands has completely and fully healed, you will not touch a firearm. I strictly forbid you from wearing any rough, coarse tactical gloves from the armory. You would either wear the custom leather, or you do not shoot at all."

I stand frozen on the plush carpet. I desperately need to continue my self-defense training. I refuse to be helpless again. But accepting a gift of such astronomical value fundamentally shifts the power dynamic between us. I refuse to remain so deeply indebted to a billionaire I am contractually bound to leave.

I turn on my heel. I march quickly past the sofa and head straight into the massive walk-in closet.

I bypass the rows of designer clothes that Alistair asked Greyson to bring for me and open my personal toiletry case sitting on the vanity counter. I rummage through my medical supplies. My fingers close around a small, dark brown glass bottle. I grab it and walk briskly back into the bedroom.

Alistair watches me approach. I stop right in front of him and hold the small amber bottle out.

"What is this?" he asks. He looks at the glass vial but does not reach for it.

"It is a custom essential oil blend," I explain. I keep my hand steady. "I personally extracted the compounds in a laboratory. It contains pure valerian root, cedarwood, and concentrated chamomile. It is a highly potent, one-of-a-kind formula designed to instantly relieve severe stress and promote deep sleep."

Alistair narrows his eyes slightly. He reaches out and takes the small brown bottle from my fingers. He holds it up to the warm light of the bedside lamp.

"Are we negotiating a trade?" he asks. "Is it truly necessary for us to keep things so strictly balanced between us?"

"Yes, it is necessary," I reply with absolute composure. "Those gloves are far too valuable. I possess absolutely no material gift of equivalent monetary worth to offer you in return. My medical expertise is the only valuable thing I own. This custom bottle of essential oil is the only suitable offering I have to give you."

Alistair studies my face. The icy fury in his expression slowly melts into something much more complex and unreadable.

"Are you genuinely worried I have ulterior motives for you?" he interrupts. "Do you think I am trying to buy your compliance with expensive leather?"

A loud, genuine laugh escapes my throat. The sheer absurdity of the question shatters the heavy tension in the room.

"Just how narcissistic are you?" I ask. A wide smile breaks across my face. I shake my head in disbelief. "You are the CEO of a global empire. You have women throwing themselves at your feet on a daily basis. I am fully aware you do not need to bribe a pregnant medical student for favors. I just prefer to pay my own debts."

My smile lingers. The tense lines around Alistair’s mouth soften completely. He stares at the curve of my lips. A strange, restless energy suddenly radiates from his large frame. The air between us grows incredibly thick and hot.

He stands up from the sofa in one fluid, sudden motion.

He towers over me. His chest is inches from my face. He reaches out to fully accept the brown glass bottle.

The knuckles of his right hand brush directly against my damp fingers.

A sharp, intense jolt of electricity snaps between our skin. The shock travels straight up my arm and settles heavily in my chest. My breath hitches audibly.

Alistair goes perfectly rigid. His dark eyes darken to pitch black. He grips the small bottle tightly in his fist. He steps around me without saying a single word and walks briskly toward the walk-in closet.

I stand in the center of the bedroom. My skin tingles wildly where he touched me. I shake my head to clear the strange fog settling over my brain. I am completely oblivious to whatever internal crisis he is currently fighting.

I walk over to the nightstand and open the bottom drawer. I pull out the sleek black paper bag. I reach inside and extract the priceless gloves.

I slide the left glove onto my hand. The exotic lizard skin glides effortlessly over the thick white bandages protecting my raw palms. The material stretches and contours perfectly to my fingers. I slide the right glove on next. The fit is absolutely flawless. The dark leather feels incredibly comfortable and undeniably stylish.

I turn toward the full-length mirror leaning against the far wall. I raise my fists into a proper boxing guard. I admire the sleek, lethal look of the black scales against my white cotton robe.

I throw a fast, hard practice jab at my own reflection.

A massive, violent spike of pain shoots directly through my right shoulder joint.

I gasp sharply. I drop my arms instantly. I clutch my right shoulder with my left hand. The intense recoil from the heavy training pistol this afternoon completely shredded my upper back muscles. My arms are entirely useless.

I groan softly. I strip the beautiful gloves off and place them carefully on the nightstand. I crawl into the massive bed and pull the heavy down comforter over my aching shoulders. The soft mattress welcomes my exhausted body. My eyes slide shut before my head even settles fully into the plush pillow