Pregnant with the Enemy’s Heir

2

“I knew it. He was arrogant.” I shrugged off the encounter with Donovan and pushed his thoughts to the back of my mind. Heading to my locker, I grabbed my swimming suit and stuffed my books inside, preparing for practice. With my bag slung over my shoulder, I worked on securing my hair with a ponytail holder, the familiar ritual of getting ready helping me shake off the lingering annoyance.

“What was Bliss thinking?” I wondered. Despite my resolve to forget about him, Donovan kept creeping back into my thoughts. His tattoos—what did they signify? I couldn’t quite decipher their meaning, but I couldn’t shake the curiosity about whether they covered his entire back or were confined to his arms. It was an inexplicable thought that settled in my mind, lingering for no apparent reason.

In the locker room, I changed into my swimsuit, feeling the snug fabric contour to my body with gratifying precision. I examined my reflection, allowing a trace of pride to surface. The suit highlighted the results of my parents’ best genes—a rounded chest, a cinched waist, and strong, toned thighs. I knew I looked good, maybe even a little conceited. Born into wealth, blessed with striking looks and a vibrant personality, I often saw myself as one of life’s favorites.

With those thoughts weighing on my mind, I adjusted my swim cap and stepped toward the pool. After a brief warm-up, I dove in, the water rushing over me in a cool embrace. I submerged myself fully, letting the coldness wash over me before I began to swim. Each stroke was smooth, my arms cutting through the water, propelling me forward. It was pure joy—the kind that made my heart beat with a rare lightness. I felt alive.

I lingered in the water for a long time, sometimes swimming with purpose, other times floating aimlessly, letting my thoughts drift. My fingers had begun to prune when I felt a gentle hand slide beneath my waist, pulling me close. A low chuckle escaped my lips as I opened my eyes, seeing Leo floating beside me, his striking green eyes watching me with a familiar intensity.

"I knew you'd be here," he said softly, his voice low and affectionate.

Of course, I would be, I thought to myself. It was my haven, the one place I could find peace. Without saying a word, I reached up, slipping my arms around his neck, and pressed my lips to his in a soft kiss.

"Not here," Leo murmured, shaking his head, though a playful smile tugged at his lips.

"You want to go to my car?" I teased with a wink. He was my boyfriend of eight years—practically my husband by now. Our marriage had been arranged when we were just twelve, and over time, we both accepted that we were made for each other. There was no other way this could work. A soft blush crept across his cheeks as his hand slid up, tracing the inside of my thigh.

"You can’t wait, can you?" I whispered, letting my hand roam over his bare chest, feeling the tension in his muscles. He groaned softly at my touch, his usual restraint faltering. I never gave him the satisfaction of hearing me moan, but I always succeeded in making him blush.

"I think we should get out of here," he suggested, his voice rougher now, his hand pressing more firmly against my thigh. In one swift motion, he lifted me out of the water, carrying me toward the locker room.

We had done this just yesterday, but lately, Leo had become more demanding, his desire for me growing with an almost frantic urgency. I often teased him about it, telling him that the way he kept coming to me could get me pregnant long before our wedding.

Inside the locker room’s shower, the heat of the water mingled with the heat between us. I peeled off my swimsuit and helped him out of his. He always carried his condoms around, so he peeled it and started his deed. Our movements become automatic after years of knowing each other’s bodies. But as we touched and kissed, as we gave in to what had become our routine, a nagging thought tugged at the back of my mind.

No matter how many times I tried to lose myself in these moments with him, something always felt... off. Wasn’t this supposed to be enjoyable? Satisfying? It felt like it should be, but it never was.

Was something wrong with me? Or was it that Leo wasn’t the one I truly craved?

As he sought his release, I remained silent, letting him take his pleasure. But when he finally stepped out of the shower, I was left feeling empty, unsatisfied, and hollow. Something was missing, something vital that had yet to be touched within me. And no matter how many times we repeated this act, the void only seemed to deepen.

"Tsk!" I clicked my tongue in annoyance, wiping away the remnants of Leo’s touch before hurriedly slipping on my skirt. The uncomfortable sensation after the rushed s*x left my steps a bit uneasy, thanks to Leo taking his time and leaving marks—bites on my thighs and a few... elsewhere. Walking was proving to be more problematic than usual, but I brushed it off, already used to this routine.

I made my way to my car, unlocked it, and tossed my things inside before settling into the driver’s seat. But as I turned the key, the engine didn’t start. "What the hell?" I muttered under my breath, frustration rising as I slammed my hand against the steering wheel. "Of all times to break down, now?"

Annoyed, I pulled out my phone and quickly dialed a number. As I sat there, the aching in my thighs intensified, making me question what was happening to me—why I felt so... empty.

“Yes, my lady?” my uncle’s voice answered on the other end.

“My car broke down on campus. Send me a driver,” I ordered, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice.

"Right away," he replied calmly.

"Hm," I muttered, ending the call. I glanced down at the bruises on my thigh and sighed. "Should I tell him to stop biting me like that?" I wondered aloud before resting my head back against the seat, frowning deeply. My eyes drifted outside, mostly out of boredom, when I suddenly spotted a familiar figure crouched by the pavement.

“Donovan?” I muttered under my breath. What was he doing here? My gaze narrowed as I focused on him, noticing how his tattoos caught the light—those intricate designs were far from ordinary. He wasn’t someone you could easily forget.

But it wasn’t just Donovan that caught my eye. He was gently stroking something, and after a moment, I realized it was a pair of kittens nestled under his large hands. His touch was soft, tender, completely at odds with his rough exterior. "What the..." I tilted my head, intrigued by the sight. Without thinking, I stepped out of the car. It wasn't so much Donovan that drew me closer but the sight of those tiny, vulnerable creatures.

I approached cautiously, trying not to disturb them. But, of course, my foot managed to land on a dried leaf, causing it to crunch loudly under my weight. The kittens looked up, startled, before scurrying off into a nearby bush.

“No, wait!” Donovan's voice held a surprising note of desperation, and his frown deepened as he watched the kittens hide. Frustration marred his features, and he turned around, only to find me standing behind him with an awkward, guilty expression.

“Sorry,” I mumbled. “I didn’t mean to scare them.”

"You didn't mean to, but you did," he said stiffly, his tone clipped. He looked away, clearly irritated. "What’s sorry gonna change?"

"Well, at least you know I’m apologetic," I replied, trying to sound sincere.

He huffed, dismissing my words. "I don’t care about apologies without substance."

I watched as he reached out towards the bush again, his sleeve slipping back slightly. That’s when I noticed the delicate tattoo of a butterfly on his forearm. My eyes lingered on it, captivated by its intricate design. Butterflies had always been a soft spot for me, and the unexpected beauty of the ink made me want to trace it with my fingers.

Unconsciously, I crouched beside him, peering into the bush where the kittens were hiding, meowing softly. “Psst! Come out!” I whispered to them. “I’ll give you a treat if you come out.”

Donovan glanced at me from the corner of his eye, his gaze devoid of emotion. “You’re lying to it,” he said, his tone cold.

"So what? It doesn’t know that,” I shot back, smirking.

“So you’re lying,” he repeated, his voice steady, unnervingly deep.

“Technically, for now,” I admitted. “But I’ll give it a treat once I take it home.”

His lips quirked slightly, a faint chuckle escaping him. It wasn’t harsh, though—it was almost amused, as if he found the whole situation unexpectedly funny. “Interesting... Missy,” he said, the nickname rolling off his tongue just like before.

Then he turned back towards the bush, crouching lower. "Well then," he murmured, "I guess I’ll lure them out with a little lie. As long as the purpose is served, right?"

Hearing my own words echoed back at me, only now spoken with his rich, baritone voice, made them feel heavier, more meaningful. There was something deeper in his tone—a sense of mystery that wrapped around him like a shroud.