Pregnant With My Enemy`s Child

Chapter Four

The Mistake

"I'm not signing it."

I pushed the contract back across Damian's polished desk, watching his expression for any flicker of surprise. There wasn't one. Instead, he just studied me, steady and unreadable.

"You came here to say that?" he asked quietly.

"I came here to return it." My voice was flat, but my hand trembled slightly as I let go of the papers.

He picked up the contract, flipping through the pages as if I might have missed something.

"You read everything?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"And I don't want to work for you."

He leaned forward, his elbows on the desk. "You need the deal, Amelia."

"I know."

"Your father needs it."

"I know that too."

"So why are you refusing?"

I met his eyes, refusing to look away. "Because I don't want to wake up every morning knowing the only reason my family's company survived is because I agreed to spend a year working for the man who bought his way into our lives."

His jaw clenched, his voice growing tight. "I didn't buy my way into anything."

"You're buying control," I shot back.

"There's a difference."

"Not from where I'm standing."

He set the contract down, running a hand through his hair. "You think this is easy for me?"

I almost laughed at that. "You're sitting in your office, Damian. Your company is thriving. My family is the one about to lose everything."

"You think I don't know that?"

"Then why are you making me choose?"

"I'm not," he said, standing abruptly and moving around the desk. "Your father has a choice."

"And you know exactly how impossible that choice is for him."

He exhaled, frustrated. "I gave him an option."

"You gave him a deadline," I replied, folding my arms.

"Because the bank gave me one," he countered.

"So what happens if I say no?"

He looked at me, his face softening for the first time. "Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"You walk out."

"And my father?"

"He keeps fighting."

I stared at him, feeling the weight of it all. "You make it sound so simple."

"It isn't," he admitted, his voice a shade more gentle. "I know."

I looked away, feeling exhaustion settle into my bones. "Then what do you want from me?"

He hesitated, searching my face. "I want you to stop assuming the worst about me."

"Give me one reason."

He paused, then said, "I don't want your father's company."

I frowned, skeptical. "Then why are you doing this?"

He glanced away. "Because someone else does."

"Who?"

He shook his head. "I can't tell you. Not yet."

I felt my patience snap. "That isn't good enough, Damian."

"I know," he said quietly.

"Then we're done here." I picked up my bag and crossed to the door. He didn't move to stop me.

"Amelia," he called just as I reached the threshold.

I turned, waiting.

"If you walk away tonight, I won't ask you again."

I held his gaze, feeling something shift between us. "Good."

And then I left.

By nine that evening, I was sitting alone at the hotel bar, my untouched drink in front of me. I hadn't planned to end up here. After leaving Damian's office, I'd driven aimlessly for almost an hour, unable to face my father with empty hands and no solutions. The hotel was familiar, anonymous, and just busy enough to make me feel invisible.

My phone rang. Sarah.

"Hi," I said, trying to sound normal.

"Where are you?"

"Out."

"That doesn't answer the question."

I hesitated. "At the hotel."

She paused. "Which hotel?"

I told her, and heard her sigh. "Amelia, are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"You sound terrible."

"Thanks," I said, a small laugh escaping.

"You know what I mean."

I looked down at my drink. "I just need some time, Sarah."

"Don't drink too much," she warned.

"I won't."

"And call me when you get home."

"I will. Promise."

We hung up. I stared at the glass, watching condensation drip down its side.

"Running away?"

I looked up, startled. Damian stood beside the empty chair next to me. I closed my eyes, letting out a slow breath.

"Do you follow people for a living?"

He shook his head. "No."

"Then why are you here?"

He nodded behind me. "Dinner. I have a meeting." I glanced over my shoulder. Two people sat at a table, checking their watches.

"Then go," I said.

"I will," he replied, but he didn't move.

I sighed. "You're making this difficult."

"I've been told," he said with a half-smile.

I studied him. "Do you ever stop appearing everywhere I go?"

He grinned. "You're the one sitting in my hotel."

"Your hotel?"

"I own part of it," he said, shrugging.

"Of course you do."

"Can I sit?"

I hesitated, then nodded. "Five minutes."

He sat, and for a moment neither of us spoke. The waiter approached. "Mr. Blackwood, your guests are ready."

"I'll be there shortly," Damian said.

When the waiter left, I looked at him. "You should go."

"I should," he agreed, but he stayed.

I took a sip of my drink. "Why aren't you?"

He looked at me, his voice softer. "Because you look like you need someone to sit with you."

I laughed quietly. "I don't need saving."

"I didn't say you did."

The silence between us was heavier than before. It wasn't angry or awkward, just charged, like something unspoken hovered between us.

"You really don't want the company?" I asked finally.

"No."

"Then what?"

He traced the rim of his glass with his thumb. "My father started the feud with yours," he said, almost to himself.

I blinked. "What?"

"He made a decision years ago. One that cost your family a lot."

"Then why doesn't my father tell me?"

"Because he thinks you'll hate him."

"Why?"

"Because he was involved too."

I stared at him. "You're telling me our fathers caused all of this?"

He nodded. "There's more to the story, Amelia."

"And you know it?"

"Yes."

"Then tell me."

He shook his head. "It isn't my secret to share."

I looked away, suddenly tired of secrets and lies. "I'm tired of all of this."

"So am I," he admitted.

His phone buzzed. He looked at the screen, then silenced it.

"You should answer."

"No."

"Why?"

"Because I'm tired of everyone wanting something from me."

His eyes met mine. "You're the only person tonight who hasn't asked me for anything."

I smiled, small and genuine. "Maybe I'm just not that clever."

He shook his head. "I don't believe that."

We sat in silence. I felt his gaze, steady and warm.

"Don't," I whispered.

"Don't what?"

"Look at me like you know what I'm thinking."

"Do you want me to stop?"

I didn't answer. He leaned back, giving me space.

"Damian," I said softly.

"Yeah?"

"Don't."

He didn't move. I didn't, either. The world felt very small just the two of us, the hum of the bar, the electric charge in the air.

He reached for my hand, slowly, giving me every chance to pull away. I didn't. His fingers closed gently around mine.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured.

I looked at our hands, then at him. "I don't want you to."

He moved closer. I should have thought of my father, the company, the consequences. Instead, I kissed him.

For a moment, we were lost. Then his hand moved up to my face, and I pulled away, breathless.

"This is a bad idea."

"Yes."

"We should stop."

"Yes."

Neither of us moved.

I laughed, slightly breathless. "We're terrible at listening to ourselves."

He smiled. "Apparently."

I kissed him again, and this time, neither of us held back.

The hotel room door clicked shut behind us. I stood with my back against it, heart racing. Damian looked at me, searching my face.

"We can still stop," he said.

I nodded. "I know."

"Amelia—"

"I know."

He waited, but I reached for his hand. That was my answer.

What happened next wasn't planned. There were no promises, no talk of tomorrow. Just two people, tired of fighting what they felt, giving in for one night.

Morning came too soon. I woke before him, sunlight filtering through the curtains. For a moment, I didn't remember where I was. Then I saw Damian, still asleep, and everything rushed back.

I sat up, pressing my hands to my face. "Oh God."

He stirred. "Amelia?"

I looked at him. He sat up, his hair tousled, his eyes searching mine. "Are you okay?"

I nodded. "Yes."

"You don't look okay."

"I am."

He ran a hand through his hair. "About last night"

"Don't," I said quickly.

He stopped. I got up, pulling on my clothes.

"Amelia."

"I don't want to talk about it. Not now."

He watched me dress. "You're leaving?"

"Yes."

"Can I drive you?"

"No."

He stood, but I was already at the door.

"Then at least let me"

"I said no," I snapped.

He stopped, watching me.

At the door, I hesitated, looking back at him. "Do you regret it?" he asked quietly.

My hand tightened on the handle. I met his eyes. "I don't know."

And then I left.

Neither of us knew then that the night we agreed to forget would follow us long after the sun came up.