Secrets of The Penthouse

I scrubbed a stubborn wine stain on the white marble floor of Kieran Storm's living room. Kieran Storm's party guests had trashed his penthouse again. Rich people. What is wrong with them? The smell of stale champagne and expensive cigars clung to the silk curtains. My back ached. My hands were red from the lemon-scented cleaning fluid. He had hosted a gala last night. Men in three-piece suits and women in dresses that cost more than my life had filled this space. Now, it was just a graveyard of glass and gold. I hated this place. I hated him. Kieran Storm was a name whispered with fear in the city. He was the CEO of Storm Tech, a man made of ice and sharp edges. To him, I was just the girl who emptied his bins. I was the ghost who replaced his silk sheets and made sure his coffee was exactly one hundred and eighty degrees. He didn't know I used to paint. He didn't know that at sixteen, my parents sold my art for a debt they couldn't pay. Now, I'm twenty-four and scrubbing his floors. I moved toward his office. It was a room I was usually f*******n from entering while he was home. The door was slightly open. My heart was beating so fast in my chest. I shouldn't be in here, but the trash can was overflowing with shredded documents and a small, white box. I bent down. My vision became unclear for a second. Lately, I have been feeling weak and dizzy. I blamed the lack of sleep. I blamed the stress of living paycheck to paycheck. I pulled a crushed piece of paper from the bin. It was a lab slip. It was from a private clinic uptown. I inhaled sharply. Kieran’s name was printed at the top in bold, black letters. But underneath it, in the results section, the word was clear. Positive. Attached to the slip with a paperclip was a digital pregnancy test. Two solid pink lines stared back at me. "No," I whispered. My voice sounded weak. I dropped the paper as if it had burned me. My mind instantly recalled. Six weeks. I was six weeks late. I had told myself it was just the stress of the job. I had convinced myself that my body was reacting to the cold air of the penthouse. But I remembered that night. The gala six weeks ago. It was a shimmer of flashing lights and heavy bass. I remember the taste of a drink I shouldn't have taken. It tasted like copper and berries. I remember a room. I remember Kieran. His eyes weren't cold that night. They were burning. He had looked at me not as a maid, but as someone precious. Then, there was the heat. The touch of his hands on my waist. The way he growled my name. And then, nothing. I had woken up in my own bed the next morning with no memory of how I got there. Kieran had treated me like a stranger the next day. He had ignored me. He had looked right through me. "I'm pregnant," I said to the empty room. The realization hit me like a heavy physical blow. I clutched my stomach. I was carrying the child of a man who didn't even know my last name. A man who was haunted by a dead fiancée. The sound of footsteps made me jump. I tried to shove the lab slip back into the trash, but my fingers were shaking too hard. "Aria?" I spun around. Liam Storm stood in the doorway. He was younger than Kieran, with softer eyes and a smile that actually reached them. He was the VP of the company, but he treated me like a human being. "Liam," I gasped. I tried to hide the trash can with my body. He frowned, stepping into the room. He was wearing a casual grey sweater. He looked like comfort. Kieran always looked like a storm. "You look like you've seen a ghost," Liam said softly. "Are you okay? You're pale." "I'm fine," I lied. "Just tired. The party was a lot to clean up." "Kieran shouldn't have had it here," Liam sighed, looking around the office. "He's been on edge lately. He pushes everyone too hard. Especially you." I felt a tear prick my eye. I tried to blink it away. Not here. Not in front of him. "Please, don't start," I whispered. The words came out unintentionally. "I just need to finish this." Liam walked closer. He didn't touch me. He knew the rules. Kieran didn't like people touching his staff, and Liam was always respectful. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a clean, linen handkerchief. He held it out. "Take it, Aria. You’re crying." "I'm not," I snapped, even as a sob broke from my throat. I took the tissue. My hand brushed his hand for a fraction of a second. I pulled back instantly. "Is it my brother?" Liam asked, his voice hardening. "Did he say something to you?" "No," I said, wiping my eyes. "He doesn't say anything to me. That’s the problem. I’m just a piece of furniture to him." "You’re more than that to me," Liam said. Silence. The air in the room changed. It felt heavy. Liam looked at me with an intensity that made me want to run. He was kind, but I couldn't tell him this. I couldn't tell anyone. "Liam, you should go," I said. "If Kieran finds you in here talking to me, he’ll get angry." "Let him be angry," Liam said. "He doesn't own you." "He pays my rent," I reminded him. "He owns my time. That’s enough." Liam stepped back, his expression hurt. "I just want to help. You look like you’re carrying the weight of the world." I looked down at the trash can. The lab slip was still visible. If he looked down, he would see it. "I'm just stressed, Liam. Please. Just let me work." "Fine," he said softly. "But if you need anything...anything at all, you call me. Now, dry those eyes before he sees you." I nodded, forcing a small smile. "Thank you, Liam." He turned to leave, but he stopped. He looked at the desk, then at me. "Kieran is a complicated man, Aria. He thinks he’s a monster because of what happened to Lila. He doesn't think he deserves anything good. Don't let his coldness freeze you out." "It's too late for that," I whispered. He left the room, his footsteps echoing down the hallway. I collapsed into Kieran’s leather chair. It smelled like him. Sandalwood and power. I looked at the test again. Six weeks. I had to leave. I had to get out of this penthouse before my pregnancy started to show. Before the "secret art prodigy" becomes the "pregnant maid." I stood up, grabbing my cleaning tools. I needed to finish the master bedroom. I needed to act like everything was normal. I walked out of the office and straight into a wall of solid muscle. A hand gripped my upper arm. It wasn't gentle. "What were you doing in there?" Kieran’s voice was a low growl. He was standing right there. He was wearing a black suit, his tie loosened at his neck. His dark hair was messy, and his eyes were bloodshot. He looked like he hadn't slept in a week. "I was cleaning, Mr. Storm," I said, my voice trembling. His grip tightened. He looked past me into the office, then back at me. His eyes moved to my face. They narrowed. "You’ve been crying," he stated. "It's the cleaning fumes," I said. "Don't lie to me," he snapped. "I saw Liam leaving. I saw the way he was looking at you." "He was just being nice," I said. Kieran let out a harsh, dry laugh. It was a sound devoid of any joy. He pulled me closer. I could feel the heat radiating off him. My stomach did a nervous flip. The baby. His baby. "Nice?" Kieran hissed. "My brother isn't 'nice' to a maid unless he wants something. What did he give you, Aria? What did you give him?" "Nothing! We were just talking." "In my office? Behind a closed door?" "The door was open!" He shoved me back slightly, his eyes searching mine. He looked like he wanted to break something. He looked like he wanted to break me. "I know how you look at him," Kieran said. "I see the way you smile when he walks into a room. You never smile for me." "You never give me a reason to," I whispered. His jaw clenched. A vein pulsed in his forehead. He looked down at my hands. I was still clutching the handkerchief Liam had given me. Kieran snatched it from my fingers. He looked at the initials embroidered in the corner. L.S. He crushed the fabric in his fist. "He’s my brother, Aria. Stay away from him." "I work here, Kieran. I see who I see." "You’ll see who I tell you to see," he said angrily. He stepped into my personal space, forcing me back against the wall. He was so close I could see the gold flecks in his dark irises. This was the man who had held me six weeks ago. This was the man who had ruined my life without even remembering it. "Why are you so upset?" I asked, my heart beating fast. "You don't even like me." "It's not about liking you," he said. "It's about what belongs to me. This penthouse. This company. Everything in it." "I am not a thing," I said, my voice gaining strength. "I am a person." "Are you?" he asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. He looked down at my waist. His eyes stayed there for a second too long. My heart stopped. Did he know? Could he tell? "You’ve put on weight," he said. It wasn't a compliment. It was an observation. "I...I’ve been eating better," I stammered. "Or maybe you’ve been eating more," he suggested. "With Liam’s money? Is he taking you out to dinner while I’m at the office?" "No! Liam has never taken me anywhere." "Then why were you in my office trash, Aria?" My blood turned to ice. He had seen me. "I was emptying it," I said. "You were reading my mail," he countered. "You were looking at my private records." "I wasn't" "I saw you on the security feed from my phone," he said, pulling his device from his pocket. "I saw you pick up that slip. I saw you look at that test." I couldn't breathe. The walls were closing in. "It's not what you think," I whispered. "Oh, I think I know exactly what it is," Kieran said. He grabbed my wrist, his fingers like iron bands. He pulled me toward him, his face inches from mine. The scent of his cologne was overwhelming. It was a mix of leather and cold rain. "I know about the gala," he said. "I know someone was in my bed. I thought it was a dream. I thought the drugs Lila gave me were playing tricks on my mind." "Kieran, let go," I pleaded. "No," he said. "You were there. Weren't you? You were the one in the red mask." I didn't answer. I couldn't. "And now I find you crying in my office with my brother’s handkerchief," he sneered. "After finding a positive test result." "It's not Liam's!" I shouted. Kieran’s eyes turned black with rage. He yanked me closer, his chest pressing against mine. I could feel the frantic beat of his heart. Or maybe it was mine. "So you admit it's yours?" he asked. I looked away. "Look at me, Aria!" I looked up. His face was a mask of cold fury. "So you’re spreading your legs for my brother now?" he spat. "Is his baby too?"