Claimed by the Merciless CEO: The Pregnancy Contract

POV: Ivy The plastic felt cold against my palm. Too cold. I stared down at the two red lines on the pregnancy test. They looked like a pair of scars. I wanted to blink and make them disappear. I wanted to wake up in my own bed, in a world where my father wasn't a gambler, and I wasn't a pawn. But the lines didn't fade. They grew brighter. "One night," I whispered. My voice sounded hollow in the cramped, flickering light of the public restroom. "It was just supposed to be one night." I closed my eyes, and for a second, I was back there. The club was loud. The air was thick with the scent of expensive gin and desperation. I had gone there to forget. I had seen him standing at the end of the bar, a titan among men. Silas Vane. He didn't fit into that club. He was too big. Too powerful. He looked like he could snap the marble bar top in half with one hand. When his eyes met mine, I felt a spark of pure, unadulterated terror. And behind that terror? A hunger I couldn't explain. He had walked toward me, the crowd parting like the Red Sea. He didn't say a word. He just reached out, his massive hand cupping the back of my neck, his thumb grazing my jawline. “You,” he had growled. Just that one word. And I had followed him like a lamb to the slaughter. Now, that "slaughter" was growing inside me. A heavy, rhythmic thudding started at the door of the restroom. It wasn't a knock. It was a demand. "Ivy! Get out here!" My father’s voice. It was high-pitched, laced with the kind of frantic energy that only came when he owed someone money he didn't have. I shoved the test into my pocket and wiped my eyes. I couldn't let him see me like this. If he knew I was pregnant, he’d find a way to sell the baby before it was even born. I opened the door. My father, Arthur, was pacing the hallway of our decaying apartment. His suit was wrinkled, his hair a mess. He looked twenty years older than he was. "They're coming, Ivy," he panted, gripping my shoulders. His fingers dug into my skin. "They're coming for the money." "How much, Dad?" I asked, my voice flat. I was tired. So tired. "Three million," he choked out. The air left my lungs. "Three million? We don't even have three hundred dollars!" "I know, I know..." He looked toward the front door, his eyes wide with fear. "But I made a deal. I talked to him. He’s coming here to sign the papers." "Who is coming?" Before he could answer, the front door didn't just open—it exploded inward. The frame groaned as a shadow filled the entrance. It was him. Silas Vane stepped into our living room. He had to duck his head just to get through the doorway. He was wearing a black suit that cost more than this entire building. His shoulders were so broad they seemed to swallow the light. He didn't look at my father. He didn't look at the peeling wallpaper or the broken furniture. His dark, predatory eyes locked onto mine. "Mr. Vane," my father squeaked, scurrying over like a rat. "Thank you for coming. We have the agreement ready." Silas didn't move. He stood there like a mountain of cold granite. The power coming off him was suffocating. It was the same feeling I had in the club—the feeling of being hunted. "The girl," Silas said. His voice was a low, rumbling bass that vibrated on the floorboards. "Is she part of the deal?" "Yes, yes!" Arthur nodded frantically. "One year. A contract marriage. It clears the debt completely." My blood turned to ice. "What? Dad, you can't be serious." Silas finally moved. He took three long strides toward me. He was so tall I had to crane my neck back just to see his face. He smelled like cedar wood and something dangerous. He reached out, his large hand grabbing my chin. His skin was warm, but his touch was iron. He tilted my head back, inspecting me like a piece of property. "You're shaking, Little Mouse," he murmured. His thumb brushed over my lower lip. "I'm not an object," I spat, though my heart was hammering so hard against my ribs I thought it might break. "You can't buy a human being." A ghost of a smirk touched his lips. It wasn't a kind look. It was the look of a man who had never been told 'no' in his entire life. "I didn't buy you, Ivy," he whispered, leaning down, so his hot breath fanned my cheek. "I bought your father’s life. If you don't sign that paper, he dies tonight. Slow. Painful." He let go of my chin and pulled a gold pen from his pocket. He tossed a thick stack of papers onto the coffee table. "Sign it," he commanded. "Or watch him bleed." I looked at my father. He was trembling, tears streaming down his face. Then I looked at Silas. He was a giant. A monster. And I was carrying his child. If I signed this, I was his for a year. If I didn't, I lost everything. I walked to the table. My hand shook as I picked up the pen. Silas stood right behind me, his massive presence hovering over me, claiming the very air I breathed. I signed my name. Ivy Miller. The second the ink dried, Silas’s hand was on my waist, pulling me back against his hard, unyielding body. "Mine," he growled into my hair. He didn't know about the two lines in my pocket. He didn 't know that this "deal" just became permanent. The weight of his hand on my waist felt like a brand. I was no longer Ivy Miller, the girl struggling to pay rent. I was a line item on a ledger. I was a possession. "Pack your things," Silas commanded. His voice didn't leave room for a debate. It was a stone wall. "Now?" I choked out, looking at the small, mismatched suitcases in the corner of my room. "I don't repeat myself, Little Mouse." He turned to my father, who was still sniveling on the sofa. Silas didn't even give him a second glance. To Silas, my father was already a ghost. "The debt is settled. If I see you near her, or if you ask for another cent, the deal is void. And you know what happens then." My father nodded frantically, not even looking at me as I was led away. The sting of his betrayal hurt worse than Silas's grip. He had sold me to save his own skin, and he wouldn't even say goodbye. Silas steered me out of the apartment. His touch was possessive, his large hand spanning nearly the entire width of my lower back. Every step I took felt like I was walking toward a cliff. Downstairs, a sleek, black SUV sat idling like a predatory beast. A man in a suit stood by the door, bowing slightly as we approached. "Sir," the driver said, opening the back door. Silas shoved me inside. The interior smelled of expensive leather and something sharp—like ozone before a storm. The door clicked shut, sealing out the sounds of the city, sealing me in with the giant. The car pulled away from the curb. I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, watching my old life disappear. I felt the pregnancy test in my pocket pressing against my thigh. It felt like it was glowing, screaming the truth through the fabric of my jeans. I am carrying his baby. The thought made my stomach flip. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to fight back the sudden wave of nausea. Was it morning sickness? Or was it just the sheer terror of sitting inches away from the man who now owned me? "You’re quiet," Silas said. I didn't turn around. "What do you want me to say? Thank you for buying me?" I heard the shift of fabric as he moved. Suddenly, he was closer. The space in the SUV was huge, but with Silas in it, there was no room for air. He reached out, his thick fingers catching a lock of my hair and tugging just enough to make me look at him. "I want you to understand the rules, Ivy," he whispered. His dark eyes were like twin abysses. "This isn't a fairy tale. You are here to play a part. You will attend the galas. You will smile for the cameras. You will be the perfect, devoted wife of Silas Vane." "And when the cameras are off?" I whispered. His gaze dropped to my lips. His thumb traced the line of my jaw, his touch heavy and deliberate. "When the cameras are off, you belong to me behind closed doors. You eat when I tell you. You sleep where I tell you. You do not leave the estate without my permission. Am I clear?" "You're a monster," I breathed. He didn't flinch. Instead, a dark, low chuckle rumbled in his chest. "I'm the monster that kept your father from having his throat slit in an alleyway. Remember that next time you want to play the victim." He let go of my hair and leaned back, pulling out a tablet to check stocks as if he hadn't just shattered my world. The drive took forty minutes. We left the city behind, climbing into the hills where the trees grew thick and the gates grew high. When we reached the Vane Estate, my jaw dropped despite my anger. It was a fortress of glass and black stone. It sat on the edge of a cliff, overlooking the ocean. It was beautiful. It was terrifying. It was my prison. The car stopped, and the driver opened the door. Silas stepped out first, his massive frame silhouetted against the moonlight. He looked like a king returning to his castle. He didn't wait for me. He knew I had nowhere else to go. I stepped out, my legs feeling like jelly. The salt air whipped my hair across my face. "Move," Silas barked from the top of the marble stairs. I followed him inside. The foyer was massive, with ceilings so high they disappeared into the shadows. A maid in a crisp uniform appeared, bowing her head. "Take her things to the Master Suite," Silas ordered. My heart stopped. "The Master Suite? I thought... I thought I’d have my own room." Silas stopped and turned. He walked back toward me, his heavy boots echoing on the marble floor. He didn't stop until he was inches away, forcing me to tilt my head back until my neck ached