Accidentally Pregnant With The Billionaire Heir

**[ALISTAIR]**

Charity galas are nothing more than expensive breeding grounds for hypocrisy.

I stand near a towering pillar of white marble inside the grand ballroom of the Plaza Hotel. The air is completely suffocating. It reeks of imported vanilla perfume, roasted duck, and desperate ambition. Hundreds of wealthy socialites in heavily beaded gowns and stiff black tuxedos crowd the floor. They drink incredibly expensive champagne and pretend to care about wildlife conservation. I despise every single second of this absolute farce.

I adjust the cuffs of my tailored black tuxedo. I scan the room for the nearest exit.

My phone vibrates sharply inside my jacket pocket.

I pull the device out and unlock the screen. A new message waits in my encrypted inbox. The sender is Warren Sinclair. He rarely initiates contact unless he has secured significant leverage or has a business deal to propose.

I tap the notification. A high-resolution photograph loads instantly.

The background of the image is dark and moody. Heavy velvet curtains frame a polished mahogany table. I recognize the private dining booth at Bordeaux 101 immediately.

Emily sits on the left side of the frame. She wears a simple black blazer. Her dark hair falls in a smooth, elegant wave over her shoulder. She looks completely entirely in her element. She is reaching across the wooden table, holding hands with a man in a sharp silver-gray suit.

I zoom in on the man’s face.

It does not look like a polite, corporate handshake. The man is looking directly into Emily’s eyes. His expression is completely devoid of standard professional courtesy. He looks at her with pure, unadulterated admiration. It is the specific, intense look of a man who has just discovered a priceless treasure and intends to claim it for himself. He looks like he recognizes her brilliance. He is utterly captivated.

A sudden, freezing wave of absolute fury crashes through my veins. The ambient noise of the crowded ballroom completely disappears from my awareness. The glass of champagne in my right hand suddenly feels incredibly fragile. I grip the crystal stem tightly. I want to crush it into a fine powder.

Warren included a brief text below the image.

*Your stray cat found a new best friend. You might want to leash her.*

**[NAYA]**

Alistair Wolfe is the only man in this entire ballroom worth my time.

I stand near the extravagant ice sculpture in the center of the room. I slowly sip my sparkling water. I wear a custom emerald silk gown. The deep green fabric clings perfectly to my curves. A small fortune in diamonds rests heavily against my collarbone. Dozens of wealthy executives have tried to start a conversation with me tonight. I ignored every single one of them.

My eyes remain entirely fixed on Alistair.

He stands alone near a marble pillar. He looks incredibly handsome in his classic black tuxedo. His broad shoulders and sharp jawline make the other men in the room look like clumsy children. He belongs to me. He is the only man powerful enough to match my family legacy.

I watch him pull his phone from his pocket. He stares at the glowing screen. His posture goes completely rigid. A terrifying, icy darkness falls over his handsome features.

I set my water glass down on a passing waiter’s silver tray. I walk smoothly across the crowded ballroom floor. My silk dress flows elegantly around my legs. I need to break his intense concentration. I need him to look at me.

I step directly into his personal space. The scent of his crisp, expensive cologne wraps around me.

"You look far too serious for a party, Alistair," I say with a playful, teasing laugh.

I reach out quickly. I pluck the black smartphone right out of his large hand before he can react.

I expect to see a boring stock market fluctuation or a tedious corporate email. I glance down at the illuminated screen.

My playful smile dies instantly.

It is a photograph of a woman. She sits in a dimly lit restaurant booth. She wears a plain, boring black blazer. She wears absolutely zero jewelry. Her dark hair is styled simply. She looks completely cheap and entirely unremarkable. Yet, this plain, pathetic creature has completely captured Alistair’s undivided attention.

A violent, burning spike of pure jealousy pierces straight through my gut.

Who is this woman? Why is the most powerful CEO in the country staring at a picture of a nobody? The green-eyed monster claws fiercely at the inside of my throat. I want to smash the expensive phone directly against the marble floor.

**[ALISTAIR]**

I snatch the device out of Naya’s manicured fingers.

I do not bother being polite. I do not care about her family connections or her delicate sensibilities.

"Do not ever touch my property again," I state. My voice is a low, lethal whisper.

Naya takes a sudden step backward. Her face goes completely pale. The diamonds around her neck tremble as she swallows hard. She recognizes the genuine violence lurking just beneath my calm exterior.

I turn my back on her and stride directly toward the main exit. The heavy mahogany double doors swing open as I approach. I leave the suffocating charity gala behind. The cool night air of the city hits my face, but it does absolutely nothing to extinguish the burning rage in my blood.

Jackson, my assistant, stands dutifully beside the glossy black Bentley parked at the curb. He opens the rear passenger door for me.

"Get in," I order him sharply.

I slide onto the plush leather seat. Jackson shuts the door and quickly climbs into the driver’s seat. He starts the powerful engine.

"Pull the security footage from Bordeaux 101 immediately," I instruct him. I stare at the dark privacy partition separating the front and rear cabins. "Find out exactly who is sitting across from Emily at Table Number One. I want a full dossier on him in five minutes."

"Right away, sir," Jackson replies. I hear the rapid tapping of his fingers on his encrypted tablet.

The Bentley glides smoothly away from the curb. We merge into the sparse late-night traffic of the financial district.

I lean back against the headrest. The dark interior of the luxury vehicle offers no comfort. The image of that silver-suited man looking at my wife repeats relentlessly in my mind. He looked at her like she was the center of his universe.

A cold, heavy dread settles deep into my bones. It is not just anger. It is absolute panic.

The feeling mirrors the exact same terror I experienced a year ago.

Ever since the medical diagnosis I got and discovered the compatibility of Emily, I kept a close watch on her.

A year ago, Emily disappeared from my surveillance network for exactly forty-eight hours. She vanished into the city without a single trace. I mobilized every private security team on my payroll. I tore the city apart searching for her. The sheer lack of control nearly drove me completely insane. I spent two days pacing my office, entirely consumed by the terrifying possibility that someone else had taken her. I found her eventually, but the visceral fear of losing my grip on her never fully faded.

She is building her own empire now. She is actively securing power outside of my influence. If she aligns herself with an ambitious, capable man who admires her, she will not need me anymore. She will walk out the front door of the estate and never return.

I clench my fists. I refuse to let another man claim her brilliance.

The intercom speaker crackles softly.

"I have the identity, sir," Jackson announces. His professional tone is clipped and serious. "The man sitting with Miss Vance is Victor Sterling. He is the President of Sterling Pharmaceuticals."

I narrow my eyes at the dark partition. Sterling Pharmaceuticals is a mid-tier player. They possess decent manufacturing infrastructure, but they do not wield enough capital to warrant Emily’s undivided attention.

"Why is she negotiating with him?" I ask.

"He is highly ambitious," Jackson explains. "But he carries a massive liability. Victor Sterling is currently engaged in an aggressive, highly public blood feud with the Monroe family."

The information hits me like a physical blow.

The Monroe family. One of the three untouchable legacy families of the Republic. They control the political machinery and the military contracts of the entire state. They annihilate their corporate rivals with terrifying precision.

Emily did not just find a new business partner. She knowingly aligned herself with a man fighting a suicidal war against the most dangerous predators in the country. She tied herself directly to a sinking ship packed with explosives.