The CEO's Secret Heir

THE TEST

The pharmacy was only two blocks from her apartment. Seren timed her visit perfectly—she went right after the morning rush had cleared, but before the lunch crowd arrived. She paid with cash and avoided eye contact with the cashier. She tried to act like she was buying something completely ordinary, not something that was about to flip her entire world upside down.

The pregnancy test came in a pink box with two tests inside. It looked clinical and cold—the kind of item designed to deliver news that would either bring total relief or a complete disaster, depending on what you were hoping for.

Seren wasn't hoping for anything. She was just terrified.

Back at home, her mother was asleep in the living room. The TV was playing something gentle in the background, and her medicine bottles were lined up on the side table like a row of small, expensive soldiers. It had been a rough night.

The new treatment was making her nauseous, which meant Seren had been up with her until three in the morning, holding a basin and listening to her mother apologize over and over for being sick.

Seren locked herself in the bathroom and sat on the edge of the bathtub.

Two pink lines.

She stared at them for a long time. She didn't move, and she didn't think. She just stared, as if the lines might magically rearrange themselves if she waited long enough. She hoped the test might be wrong, or that she was somehow misreading what was right in front of her.

But she wasn't.

She set the test down on the sink and looked at herself in the mirror. She looked exactly the same as she had yesterday, which felt completely wrong. Her entire life had just been squeezed into two pink lines, yet her face hadn't changed at all.

Her hands started to shake. She forgot to take contraceptives.

She sat back down on the edge of the tub and just let them shake. The nausea she had blamed on stress suddenly made perfect sense. So did the deep exhaustion that sleep couldn't fix, and the way certain smells had started making her dizzy. Her body had known the truth before her brain caught up.

How long had it been? Two weeks? Three?

She thought back to that night at the gala. That was October. Now, it was late November. She had spent the last five weeks trying not to think about Callum Voss. She had forced herself to ignore the engagement announcement that hit the papers the day after she left his hotel suite. She had tried to forget the fact that she had slept with a man who had another woman waiting for him downstairs.

She had been very good at not thinking about it.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the bathroom door.

"Seren?" Her mother’s voice sounded thin and worried. "Is everything okay in there?"

Seren snatched the test, shoved it into the trash can, and buried it deep under some tissues and empty bandage wrappers. "I'm fine! Just feeling a little under the weather. I'll be out in a second."

She flushed the toilet to make some noise, washed her hands, and opened the door.

Her mother was standing there in her bathrobe. Her hair was messy on one side from sleeping. She looked so incredibly small. When had she gotten so small? When had Seren become the tall one, the strong one, the person who had to hold both of them up?

"You're pale," her mother noted.

"Did something happen?"

"No. I'm just tired."

Her mother didn't believe her; Seren could see it in the way her mouth tightened. But her mother was also sick and exhausted. She had learned months ago that pushing her daughter too hard only caused Seren to shut down completely.

"Do you want some tea?" her mother asked.

"Sure," Seren said. "That would be really nice."

She made the tea while her mother settled back onto the couch. Her mother moved carefully, as if her body were a fragile piece of glass that might break if she wasn't gentle. Seren brought her the cup and tucked a blanket around her shoulders. Her mother closed her eyes and leaned her head back.

"You're a good daughter," her mother whispered.

Seren couldn't find the words to answer. She just sat on the edge of the coffee table, watching her mother sip her tea. She thought about the test sitting in the trash can and felt her entire future shift beneath her like an earthquake.

Her phone buzzed. It was a text from Cleo: Are we still on for dinner tomorrow?

Seren stared at the screen. Cleo was her best friend, they had been close since they were sixteen. Cleo had been there when her father walked out, through college, and through every single hard time. Cleo would know instantly. She would take one look at Seren’s face and figure it out.

She texted back: Can we reschedule? I'm not feeling great.

The reply came a second later: The flu?

Maybe.

I'm coming over.

You really don't have to—

I'm coming over. 6 p.m. I'm bringing wine just so I can watch you find an excuse not to drink it.

Seren stared at the last message. Cleo was just teasing. She had absolutely no idea. And yet, the way best friends sometimes do, she had guessed exactly what was wrong without even knowing it.

Seren didn't reply. She set her phone down, sat with her mother, and tried to imagine a version of the next twenty-four hours where everything didn't fall apart.

She couldn't.

By evening, she had taken the second test. It was also positive. She wrapped both tests in paper towels and went outside to bury them deep in the big trash can so her mother wouldn't see them. Then she made dinner, pasta sauce that took two full hours to cook. The repetitive motion of chopping vegetables was the only thing keeping her from screaming out loud.

Her mother ate quietly and asked again if Seren was sure she was okay. Seren lied smoothly, with the practiced ease of someone who had been protecting her family for years.

At 5:45 p.m., she showered and changed her clothes. She looked at herself in the mirror, trying to figure out how to tell her best friend that she had made a massive mistake a month ago, and now had to figure out how to live with the consequences.

Cleo arrived right on time with Chinese food, wine, and her usual loud, funny, high-energy attitude. She dumped everything on the kitchen counter and pulled Seren into a long, tight hug.

"Okay, spill it," Cleo said, pulling back. "You look like you're about to throw up."

"I might," Seren admitted.

Cleo’s playful look vanished.

"You're not actually sick, are you? Like, seriously sick?"

"No. Not exactly."

They moved over to the couch. Cleo curled up against the armrest and waited. She was good at waiting. She didn't feel the need to fill the quiet air with useless noise like other people did.

Seren opened her mouth to just say it. To blurt out the words: I'm pregnant, I have no idea what to do, and I can't tell him because he's engaged and I promised I wouldn't ruin his life.

But instead, what came out was: "What would you do if you made a choice that felt right at the time, but it ended up having massive consequences you never saw coming?"

Cleo paused. "Are we talking hypothetically, or is this real life?"

"It's real."

"Like, really bad consequences, or just super complicated?"

Seren didn't answer. She couldn't bring herself to say the word yet. If she said it out loud, it would become real in a way the pink lines hadn't quite managed. If she told Cleo, it became official. Then she would actually have to make a choice.

"Is this about that guy?" Cleo asked softly. "The one you won't tell me about? The one from the gala night who you said you were just going to forget?"

Seren felt her throat tighten up completely.

"Oh my God," Cleo whispered. "Seren. Tell me you didn't."

"I didn't tell him. I haven't called him. I haven't done anything except..." Her voice broke.

"Except what?"

"Except get pregnant."

The words hit the room like a heavy weight. Cleo froze. She just sat there, completely still, letting the news sink in.

"How far along are you?" Cleo finally asked.

"Five weeks. Maybe six. I don't really know. I took a test today."

"Just one?"

"Two. They were both positive."

Cleo immediately leaned forward and pulled Seren into a hug. Seren held herself stiffly for a second, but then she totally broke down. She cried against her friend’s shoulder, finally letting herself feel how terrifying this situation really was.

"Okay," Cleo said gently, rubbing her back. "Okay. We are going to figure this out."

"There is nothing to figure out. I can't have a baby right now. I can't afford it. My mom is sick, I don't have a job, and I have no—" She couldn't even finish the sentence.

"You have me," Cleo interrupted. "And we are going to sit right here, eat this entire container of noodles, and talk about what you actually want to do—not just what you think you're forced to do."

Seren wiped her face and looked at her friend. "What I want doesn't matter, Cleo. Look at my life. The reality is what matters."

"The reality is awful," Cleo agreed. "But that's not what I asked. What do you want?"

Seren closed her eyes. She could feel the reality of the baby now—not physically yet, but the sheer weight of it.

"I want to keep it," she whispered.

"Which is completely insane and impossible, and I have no clue how I'd ever pull it off."

"Okay," Cleo said. "Then we figure out a way. But first, you have to tell him."

"No." The word came out sharp and final. "Absolutely not."

"Seren—"

"He's engaged, Cleo. His entire life is already planned out. I am not going to wreck his future just because of a choice I made."

"A choice that he made with you, remember."

"I don't care." And she truly meant it. "This is my body. This is my choice. I don't need his permission, I don't want his guilt, and I don't want him helping just because he feels forced to."

Cleo was silent for a long time. Then she said, "You're going to regret keeping this a secret."

"Maybe. But I'll regret that a lot less than becoming a problem that ruins someone else's life."

Cleo started to argue, but then she changed her mind. Instead, she just pulled Seren close again and held her while she cried, letting her friend just be afraid without judging her.

That night, after Cleo went home, Seren lay awake in bed. The weight of her choice settled over her like heavy concrete. She was going to have this baby. She was going to raise it all by herself. She would find a way to make it work, because she always found a way.

And tomorrow, she would start figuring out exactly how.