Pregnant by mistake of the arrogant CEO

Violeta I rearranged the picture frame with my mother's photo on the fireplace mantel in the apartment I had bought a few months ago, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. It hadn't even been a year since her passing, and I still hadn't been able to overcome that loss. In the photo, my mother was smiling tenderly by my side, both of us hugging and happy during a vacation we took in Paris. Despite the serious problems we had at home, our happiness was so profound when we were together that we forgot about everything. How I miss you, Mom! After her death, staying in the cold Miller family mansion became impossible for me. I tried for a few more months, and then I gave up. Eventually, I made the decision to fight and get out of there, even against my father's will. Thank God, I succeeded. The only sad part was leaving my brother behind to deal with the despotic personality of the powerful Floyd Miller . Lenon was ten years older than me. Between us, my mother had a miscarriage long before I was born. My brother barely endured our father. Unfortunately, as the only male heir, he had to fulfill the role of being interested in the family's business, even though I knew his true calling was painting, just like me. I believed that Lenon had unquestionable talent, something I could never achieve with my paintings. Since I could never specialize, painting became an escape for me, a form of therapy, but for him, it was a true calling. As my father pushed me into the world of business, my mother had often spoken to him on my behalf. However, after her death, the situation had changed. My father started considering potential matches for me, men who desired a wealthy wife to increase their own wealth. The last thing I wanted was for my father to press me into accepting an unwanted suitor, like Adam Smith, the man he considered the perfect son-in-law. While my mother was alive, the two of us managed to avoid that tragedy, but after her death, my father didn't wait more than six months to start talking about marriage for me. Before the pressure became unbearable, I found this apartment with Lenon 's help and bought it with part of the money my mother had left behind. The following week, I announced my move. "Have you gone mad?" My father had yelled in anger. "You're not leaving this house, end of discussion!" "I'm free to leave," I reminded him as calmly as possible. "Are you going to lock me up?" "Of course, he won't," Lenon asserted, defending me and making it clear that he supported my decision. "You're of legal age, and you can live wherever you want." My father turned red with rage. "And how will you support yourself?" He asked, using his financial power over me. "I won't give you a single cent, let alone support you outside of this house." I knew that, and I mentally thanked my mother for thinking of me by opening that secret account. "I have some savings." "And they will last a lifetime?" He was sarcastic. "I will work to support myself." His laughter echoed through the large dining room where the three of us were having our meal. "You don't know how to do anything!" He taunted. "You'll need a lot of willingness to work as a waitress in bars and restaurants all night long." I didn't comment at the time, and he didn't push the issue any further. I exchanged a grateful look with Lenon for his support. The next day, I left home for good, hoping never to return. Now, lying in the cozy living room of my apartment, I felt free and happy to live life on my terms, without having to answer to anyone, especially not to a domineering man like my father. It was due to this paternal trauma that I decided to become a mother using an anonymous donor's sperm. The last thing I wanted for my child was to have a father like mine, devoid of emotions, focused solely on work, cold, calculating, and incapable of love. Lenon and I knew all too well what it was like to live with someone like that. For me, twenty-seven years of oppression had been more than enough. Too much, in fact. I had a controlling father and a brother who tried to stay aligned with him. I don't recall our home with smiles or warm hugs coming from my father; I remember only a businessman, always in his impeccable suit. I never saw him kiss my mother with affection or love, or heard him say that he loved her. Since my mother passed away, it seems the iceberg around our father has grown in size. And that's why, as I turned 20 – the same age my mother allowed me to take control of my share of her inheritance – I felt ready. Of course, a significant part was managed by my brother; I can't deny that I was privileged and never needed to get involved in paperwork and signatures. However, I no longer saw myself ensnared by my father's restraints, so I decided to buy an apartment. It wasn't like the imposing walls of the mansion where I was raised. Here, there were only two bedrooms and a kitchen. The living room wasn't very spacious, and my little corner for painting wasn't anything grand either. Yet, it was my sanctuary, and little by little, I was arranging it as I desired. I left the bag with the new materials I had bought for a new project on the counter and headed to the bedroom. It had been a month since my insemination, and almost three months since I left my father's house. He called insistently for me to return home, but I ignored him, knowing that the time to confront him would come. When I considered the insemination, it wasn't unexpected or a spur-of-the-moment decision. Since my mother passed away two years ago, I've felt that my life lost its color and purpose. Serving a small being like a baby would give me a new sense of purpose. I knew my father would lose it when he found out about the artificial insemination. He loved the idea of marrying me off to bankers and billionaires. I was his only daughter, and he felt the need to arrange a grand marriage, as he put it. The difference was, I disagreed, and we were in the 21st century. Despite the fact that my father wouldn't approve, I was pregnant, and I would raise my child with all the love in the world. I was already an adult, and he had no control over my life. I carefully placed the bag on the bed, feeling a mix of excitement and tranquility. The room was immaculately clean, with the furniture aligned and the minimalist decor exuding a sense of calm. I decided to indulge in a moment of relaxation and headed for the bathroom. Warm water cascaded down on me, soothing my tense muscles. I closed my eyes, absorbing the revitalizing sensation of the shower. As water droplets trickled down my body, my mind began to wander, thinking about what was to come, the new journey I was about to embark on. When I finally stepped out of the shower and wrapped myself in a plush towel, I noticed my phone blinking with several missed messages and calls. A sense of apprehension shot through my spine. Had something happened? I picked up the phone, swiping my finger across the screen to unlock it. Countless messages from the fertility clinic filled the screen. My heart started to beat faster as I scrolled through the texts. "Violeta, please get in touch urgently," read one message. Another said: "Important Call from the Fertility Clinic." My hands trembled slightly as I tried to comprehend what was going on. "Did something go wrong?" I thought, feeling the anxiety escalate. I quickly dialed the clinic's number and brought the phone to my ear, hoping someone would answer. Dark thoughts clouded my mind as the wait seemed to stretch on. Finally, a voice on the other end of the line responded. It was Dr. Lira, my doctor from the fertility clinic. "Violeta, I'm glad you returned our call. Everything is fine, please don't worry," she said, her gentle voice bringing a touch of relief to my tumultuous mind. I interrupted her, my anxiety evident in my voice. "But... why all these messages and calls? I was at the clinic two days ago, and Dr. Lira said everything was fine..." "It's alright," Dr. Lira reassured me. She had been recommended by my mother's doctor, Dr. Rose, who was now my obstetrician. "How can I help?" I asked with less urgency. "I need you to come to the clinic, dear. It's just for a routine exam, standard procedures." Even though her voice sounded calm, I felt that something was amiss. "Has something happened to my baby, please be honest, Dr.," I spoke anxiously. "No, dear, it's just a consultation exam. I will provide you with the scheduled date and time." Reluctantly, I scheduled the date. I no longer had any ties to the clinic; I had decided after the successful insemination that I would consult with Dr. Rose, who had been my mother's doctor and would now be mine. Even though there was no need to go to the clinic, I would go for the sake of my baby. And if possible, I would never set foot there again. I would make it clear that my obstetric needs were already being taken care of.