PREGNANT FOR MY RUTHLESS BOSS

CHAPTER 2: MORNING AFTER THE WRONG MAN

I woke up knowing something was wrong.

Not slowly , not gently.

It hit me all at once.

The silence felt like a warning I had ignored too late.

My eyes snapped open.

The ceiling above me wasn’t mine.

Too high. Too white. Too… expensive.

And then I felt it.

Warmth.

Right beside me.

I froze.

Every nerve in my body tightened as my gaze shifted—slowly, carefully—until I saw him.

A man.

Sleeping next to me.

Too close.

Too real to be a dream.

My breath caught.

No.

No, no, no.

Fragments of last night crashed into my head, broken and out of order.

The party.

Vanessa.

The drink.

The dizziness.

The room.

Darkness.

A voice.

My stomach twisted.

I pushed myself up too fast, the room tilting before it steadied again.

The sheets slipped.

Reality hit harder.

I wasn’t just in the wrong room.

I was in the wrong bed.

With the wrong man.

Panic set in.

I scrambled back, nearly falling off the bed, my hands shaking so badly I couldn’t control them.

“Get up,” I whispered to myself. “Just get up and leave.”

But my body hesitated.

Because he moved.

Slowly.

Like someone who never rushed for anything.

My heart slammed against my ribs as his eyes opened.

Dark.

Sharp.

Fully awake in seconds.

And then they locked on me.

No surprise.

Just cold.

“Done staring?”

His voice was low, rough with sleep—but there was something underneath it. Something dangerous.

I swallowed. “I didn’t mean to be here.”

Silence.

He sat up, running a hand through his hair like this was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

Like I was nothing more than a mistake he’d already decided to forget.

“Then explain why you are.”

No curiosity.

Just expectation.

My throat tightened. “I was at a party. I felt dizzy. I think someone

“Enough.”

The word sliced through everything.

Like my explanation didn’t matter.

Because to him, it didn’t.

He reached for his phone, glanced at it briefly, then tossed it aside without looking at me again.

“Whatever story you come with, keep it,” he said flatly.

I stared at him. “It’s not a story.”

That made him look at me again.

Really look this time.

His gaze moved over me slowly, like he was assessing something he already didn’t care about.

“Everyone who ends up in this room has a reason,” he said. “Yours isn’t special.”

The words hit harder than they should have.

“I didn’t choose this,” I shot back, my voice shaking—but not breaking.

A pause.

Something flickered in his eyes.

Gone just as quickly.

“Choice is irrelevant,” he said. “You’re here. That’s enough.”

My hands clenched. “I was drugged.”

Another pause.

Longer this time.

But when he spoke again, nothing had changed.

“Not my problem.”

That did it.

Something inside me snapped.

“Of course it isn’t,” I said, a bitter laugh escaping.

“Why would it be?”

He didn’t respond.

Didn’t argue.

Didn’t even react.

Instead, he stood.

And suddenly the room felt smaller.

Like everything in it belonged to him.

Even the air I was breathing.

He walked past me, picked up his jacket, and pulled something from the inside pocket.

Money.

A lot of it.

I stared at it, my chest tightening.

He placed it on the bed between us.

“For your time.”

Time.

The word hit like a slap.

I looked at the money, then back at him, my vision still slightly blurred.

“You think that’s what this was?”

No answer.

He didn’t need to say anything.

The silence said enough.

I shook my head, stepping back like the money might burn me. “Keep it.”

A faint crease appeared between his brows.

The first real reaction.

“I don’t need your charity,” I added, my voice breaking despite everything I was doing to hold it together.

“It’s not charity.”

“Then what is it?”

A pause.

“Compensation.”

That one hurt the most.

Something inside my chest cracked.

“Keep it,” I repeated, sharper now. “I’m not taking anything from you.”

For a moment, it looked like he might say something else.

But he didn’t.

He just watched me.

Like I had already stopped mattering.

And somehow, that hurt more than everything else.

I don’t remember getting dressed.

Or finding my shoes.

Or fixing my hair.

All I remember is needing to leave.

Now.

Before I completely fell apart.

I reached the door, my hand trembling as I grabbed the handle.

“Wait.”

His voice stopped me.

I didn’t turn.

I couldn’t.

“What?” I asked quietly.

A pause.

Then.

“Don’t come back.

Calm.

Certain.

Like a rule he never expected to be broken.

A small, broken laugh left my lips.

“Trust me,” I said. “I won’t.”

And I walked out.

The hallway felt colder than before.

Or maybe it was just me.

Each step echoed louder than it should have, like the night was still following me.

Watching.

Mocking.

I reached the elevator and pressed the button, staring at my reflection in the mirrored doors.

I barely recognized myself.

Pale.

Empty.

The doors slid open and I stepped inside.

And that’s when it hit me.

My hand moved to my temple instinctively.

Something wasn’t right.

My memory…

It felt off.

Incomplete.

My stomach dropped.

Because suddenly.

This didn’t feel like a mistake.

It felt planned.

The elevator doors slid shut.

And for the first time since I woke up.

I realized something was very, very wrong.