Pregnant by My Boss After One Night

The two pink lines were staring back at me, and for a full minute I couldn't breathe. I counted again. One. Two. Still two. I turned the plastic stick sideways, then upside down, as if the angle would change the result. It didn't. My hands were shaking so hard I dropped the test on the cold bathroom tile of my tiny apartment in São Paulo. It clattered, spun, and landed face-up. Still positive. Six weeks. I did the math in my head for the hundredth time that night. Six weeks since the company anniversary party at Costa Group. Six weeks since I woke up in a bed that wasn't mine, wearing a man's oversized white shirt, my dress folded neatly on a chair I didn't recognize. Six weeks since I snuck out of that penthouse at 5 AM with no memory of how I got there, my head pounding and my phone full of missed calls from my best friend Camila. Rafael Costa. My boss. The billionaire CEO who hadn't looked at me twice in the two years I'd worked as his junior marketing analyst. The man famous in every business magazine for being cold, untouchable, allergic to scandals. The same man who had carried me out of that party, according to the whispers on Monday, because I was too drunk to walk. I sat on the edge of my bathtub, my cheap uniform from my second job still on. My father knocked on the bathroom door. "Sofia? You okay in there? You've been in there twenty minutes." "Yeah, pai! Stomach bug!" I lied, shoving the two tests into my makeup bag. My heart was hammering so loud I was sure he could hear it. My father, Seu Jorge, was 62 and drowning in debt after his small bakery closed. I was working two jobs to keep our apartment. Losing my job at Costa Group was not an option. Being pregnant by the CEO was a death sentence. I flushed the toilet to pretend, washed my hands, and stared at myself in the cracked mirror. Dark circles, pale skin. I looked like a ghost. Then my phone buzzed on the sink. Unknown number. My stomach dropped. I almost didn't open it. [I know whose baby that is, Sofia. And if you don't tell him, I will.] My blood turned to ice. My fingers went numb. How? I hadn't told anyone. I bought the tests with cash at a pharmacy three blocks away. I hadn't even told Camila. Before I could think, another message came. A photo. I opened it with trembling hands. Me. Asleep in that penthouse bed. Wearing his white shirt, hair spread over his dark pillow. My mouth slightly open, completely unconscious. Timestamp in the corner: 2:47 AM. I never took that photo. I never posed for it. Someone else was in that room that night. Someone watched us. Someone watched me. A wave of nausea hit me so hard I had to grip the sink. Was I drugged? Did Rafael... No. The rumors said he was a bastard in business, but not that kind of man. Or was he? I deleted the photo, but it was already burned in my brain. Then I typed back with shaking fingers: [Who is this? What do you want?] Three dots. Typing. Then: [You will find out soon. Tell Costa, or I will send this to HR first.] The bathroom door rattled. "Sofia?" I shoved the phone in my pocket, opened the door, and tried to smile at my dad. He was holding a bowl of soup. "You look pale, filha. Are you eating right?" I wanted to cry on his shoulder like when I was seven. Instead I said, "Just tired, pai. Big presentation tomorrow." That night I didn't sleep. I lay in my narrow bed staring at the ceiling, one hand on my flat stomach. There was a life in there. A tiny life that could destroy everything I'd built. At 3:12 AM, my phone buzzed again. Same unknown number. This time, no text. Just a video thumbnail. 12 seconds long. My thumb hovered over play. I was terrified to watch. I was terrified not to. I pressed play. Dark room. The penthouse. I could see myself on the bed, not moving. A shadow moved in the corner — a man? A woman? I couldn't tell. Then a whisper, so low I had to turn the volume up: "She won't remember a thing." The video ended. I sat up, gasping, sweat cold on my neck. Someone had planned this. Someone drugged me that night. And now they were using my pregnancy to control me. I looked at the second test still in my bag. Two pink lines. No mistake. Tomorrow, I would have to face Rafael Costa. My boss. The possible father of my child. The man who told everyone nothing happened. But something did happen. And someone recorded it.