The Boss Obsession

Chapter Ten - Swirling Around

Liana

I wasn't okay. Not even close.

Vance's cruelty still echoed in my head, every cold word replaying like a song I couldn't turn off. And the pregnancy hormones made everything worse. My emotions rose and crashed without warning. My body felt heavy, foreign, like it belonged to someone else.

I lay curled on the bed, the sheets damp against my skin, sneezing, whimpering, and staring at nothing. My throat ached from holding back tears. My hand rested on my stomach, as if I could shield the tiny life inside from everything that had hurt me.

Eric had gone to work, but he called every time he got a break. His voice came warm through the phone, steady and gentle, and each time I felt guilty for how much I needed it.

Natasha never left my side. She tucked the blanket around my shoulders, pressed a cool cloth to my forehead, and set a cup of tea by the bed. The steam curled up and faded, forgotten.

At some point, she sat down beside me. The mattress dipped. I could feel her watching me, and I could feel the question coming before she spoke.

"Aren't you going to tell him the child is his?"

The words cut across my chest like a blade. My breath caught. For a second, I couldn't feel anything but the ache blooming under my ribs.

What if I told him?

I pictured his face. The hard jaw. The cold eyes. What if he said I was desperate? What if he said I wanted to ruin his life? What if he looked at me, then at my stomach, and turned away?

And even if he didn't, there was her. The brunette I had seen at the mansion, with her perfect smile and her hand resting on his arm. I couldn't stand the thought of her becoming a stepmother to my child. Of her tucking him into bed. Of her being called mom in any way.

No. I would raise him myself.

"I won't," I whispered, staring down at my lap. My fingers twisted the edge of the blanket until my knuckles turned white.

Natasha didn't like Vance, but she knew the truth. I didn't love Eric. I couldn't. And hiding this from Vance was wrong. I knew it. It sat in my chest like a stone.

But I was scared. So scared of making the wrong choice that I couldn't make any choice at all.

"Vance deserves to know he's going to be a father..."

"I know, Natasha." I turned to her too fast, and the room tilted. My voice cracked. "But I don't want to tell him. He wants nothing to do with me. What if I tell him and he rejects my baby?"

"Your relationship with him has nothing to do with the two of you being parents," she said softly. "You have to tell him."

I shook my head, tears spilling hot down my cheeks. "I'm not telling him. I won't."

She studied me for a long moment. Then she sighed, and some of the fight left her shoulders.

"Alright. I won't pressure you." She stood and smoothed the blanket one last time. "But when he finds out, and he will, don't cry over something that could have been fixed today."

She walked out. The door clicked shut.

The silence she left behind was almost unbearable. I bowed my head and pressed my palm harder against my stomach, feeling the faint, fragile promise of life beneath it.

I never wanted it to be like this. I only wanted a good life for my little one.

But everything was closing in, tighter and tighter, until I could barely breathe.

And somehow, in all of it, I was the one who looked like the villain.

***

Vance

I stood on the balcony, gripping the cold railing, and let the city swallow my gaze.

New York glittered below me. Headlights streamed through the streets like rivers of gold. Skyscrapers burned with light, thousands of windows glowing against the dark. The wind brushed my face, cool and sharp, carrying the distant hum of traffic.

None of it reached me.

I knew I had hurt Liana. I had been harsh. Too harsh. I remembered the way her eyes had shone when I turned on her, the way her lips trembled before she looked away.

But I wouldn't apologize.

I refused to.

I didn't want anything to do with her ever again.

That was what I told myself.

Yet my chest tightened every time her name crossed my mind. My hands still remembered the warmth of her skin. I could still hear her laugh, soft and breathless, and I could still smell the faint sweetness of her hair, as if she had left a ghost of herself in the air around me.

I missed her. God, I missed her.

What am I doing?

It had been less than three months since I met her, and she had already turned me into a man I barely recognized. A man who lost sleep. A man who snapped at everyone. A man who stood alone in the dark, aching for someone who might not want him at all.

And then there was the image I couldn't erase. Her, kissing Eric.

It burned behind my eyes every time I blinked. The sharp sting of it, the betrayal, went deeper than I wanted to admit.

What if I was just the middleman? What if the two of them already had something I couldn't see?

My jaw clenched. I closed my eyes and breathed in.

"Put your head in the game, Vance," I muttered into the night. "She belongs to you."

"What are you thinking about, Doofus?"

That arrogant voice. I didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

Clark strolled up beside me, a glass of wine in his hand, his smirk already in place. I hissed and looked away, too tired to fight him.

"Someone's giving me a hard time," I said on an exhale.

Clark chuckled. The man had a talent for finding the worst possible moment to annoy me.

"You're lucky you're my friend," I said flatly, "or I'd blow your head off."

"Who's giving you a hard time?" The laughter faded from his voice. He stepped closer, serious now, watching me.

I opened my mouth to answer.

Then the door burst open.

"Honey!"

Heels clicked fast across the floor, and before I could react, Rachel threw her arms around me, the scent of her perfume wrapping around me, too sweet, too heavy. She pulled back and thrust her hand toward my face, her diamond ring flashing under the city lights.

"Look at my engagement ring!" she squealed, her smile stretched wide.

My stomach dropped. My arms hung stiff at my sides. Her touch felt like a weight I didn't know how to carry.

Over her shoulder, I met Clark's eyes. He leaned against the railing, calmly sipping his drink, watching us with one eyebrow raised.

I looked away, and my gaze slid back to the glittering city, to the lights that suddenly seemed so far away.

This wasn't how I had imagined things would turn out.

Not even close.