PREGNANT BY THE WRONG BILLIONAIRE

MISTAKES

Evelyn didn't cry when she packed her bags.

She didn't slam doors, tear up photos, or throw wine glasses at the wall. When she walked into Daniel's apartment on his thirty-second birthday and overheard his quiet, familiar laugh drifting out from behind the half-closed bedroom door accompanied by the soft, giggling purr of his senior associate, something inside her simply unplugged.

Three years of quiet sacrifices, cold dinners, and soft excuses evaporated in a single evening. She laid the key on the entryway console next to the unopened birthday cake, turned on her heel, and walked back out into the rain.

Love, she decided over the three agonizing months that followed, was a terrible investment. It was an unpredictable stock with zero guaranteed return, reliant entirely on the fragile integrity of another human being. She was done gambling her happiness on men.

She wasn't, however, done with the idea of a family.

"Take a deep breath, Miss Hart," Dr. Vance said, her voice steady and practiced as the sterile lights of the procedure room hummed overhead. "You'll feel a slight pressure, and then we're all done."

Evelyn stared up at the acoustical ceiling tiles, focusing on the rhythmic click of the medical instruments. She was thirty-one, financially stable, and completely alone by choice. She had spent two weeks meticulously browsing the clinic's anonymous donor registry, filtering for non-smokers, college degrees, and a complete absence of hereditary heart disease. She wanted a simple life for her child. No drama. No tangled custody battles. No men.

When the procedure was over, Evelyn walked out of the clinic into the crisp afternoon air, placing a protective hand over her lower stomach. She took a deep breath and her chest felt light.

Just you and me, she thought, smiling softly into the breeze. No lies. No secrets.

Four days later, Evelyn's world collapsed a second time.

Her phone didn't just ring; it was buzzing incessantly against her desk, vibrating so hard it rattled her coffee cup. The caller ID displayed the primary contact number for the Aegis Reproductive Institute.

"Miss Hart?"

The voice on the line wasn't the warm, reassuring tone Dr. Vance usually wore. It was tight, breathless, and thin with panic.

"This is Evelyn."

"We need you to come in immediately," Dr. Vance said, dropping all preambles. Background noise bled through the speaker, shuffled papers, raised voices, and the distinct, furious clip of dress shoes against polished marble. "Please. Leave whatever you are doing and come to the clinic right now."

"What's wrong?" Evelyn stood up so fast her office chair rolled backward into the filing cabinet. Her heart slammed into her ribs. "Is it the implantation? Am I having a complication?"

"Not a medical complication, no. But there has been... an administrative oversight of the highest order. We need you here. And Now.

The line cut out.

Evelyn didn't even grab her coat. She practically sprinted to the parking garage, her hands trembling so violently on the steering wheel that she nearly ran two red lights on the drive downtown. By the time she pushed through the frosted glass doors of Aegis Reproductive, her pulse was hammering in her ears.

The reception area, usually silent and bathed in soft ambient music, was in complete chaos. Two security guards stood near the elevators, looking stiff and uncomfortable. The receptionist avoided Evelyn's eyes the moment she stepped through the door.

"Dr. Vance," Evelyn started, stepping up to the desk.

Before the receptionist could answer, the heavy double doors to the executive wing burst open.

Dr. Vance emerged first, her face flushed red, clutching a thick medical folder like a shield. But Evelyn's eyes barely registered with the doctor. They were immediately pulled toward the man walking half a step behind her.

He was towering, draped in a bespoke charcoal suit so tailored it made the clinic's sleek interior look cheap by comparison. His dark hair was swept back, framing sharp, striking features carved with absolute ruthlessness. Broad shoulders, a broad chest, and an aura so heavy and cold that the temperature in the lobby seemed to drop five degrees the moment he entered.

Evelyn knew that face. Everyone in the financial district did.

Julian Vance. CEO of Vance International.

He was a man who brought rival corporations to their knees before breakfast. A man who avoided public media like the plague, known only for his terrifying efficiency, boundless wealth, and legendary coldness.

What was a billionaire doing in an anonymous fertility clinic?

"Miss Hart," Dr. Vance stammered, stepping between them with visibly shaking hands. "Please, step into my office. There has been... a cataclysmic mix-up with cryogenic storage coding. Sample 408B was mislabeled during yesterday's routine maintenance..."

Evelyn felt the blood drain entirely from her face. "Mislabeled? What are you saying?"

"The donor sample you received," Dr. Vance whispered, looking like she might faint. "It was not the anonymous profile you selected."

"Then whose..." Evelyn's voice trailed off.

Slowly, her gaze shifted past the doctor.

Julian Vance wasn't listening to the doctor's frantic explanations. He wasn't looking at the panic-stricken staff.

His piercing gray eyes were locked entirely on Evelyn.

He took a slow, deliberate step forward. The security guards didn't move to stop him; they actively stepped out of his way. As he closed the distance between them, Evelyn felt a strange, magnetic pressure roll over her skin—an intense, instinctual gravity that made her breath catch in her throat.

He stopped less than two feet away. He was so tall she had to tilt her head back just to meet his gaze.

Julian leaned down slightly. His nostrils flared, taking a long, deep, quiet breath of the air between them.

Evelyn froze.

A strange heat flickered in his ice-cold eyes, a sudden, feral intensity that vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by terrifying absolute certainty.

"Cancel the lawsuit, Doctor," Julian said. His voice was a deep, low baritone that vibrated straight down Evelyn's spine. "And clear her records from your database."

"Mr. Vance?" Dr. Vance squeaked. "We can arrange an immediate termination procedure"

No.

The single word cut through the room like a steel blade.

Julian didn't look at the doctor. His eyes remained fixed on Evelyn's face, tracking the rise and fall of her chest, before dropping briefly to her lower abdomen.

"She carries my heir," Julian stated smoothly, reaching out to wrap a long, warm hand gently but undeniably around her wrist. "Pack your things, Miss Hart. You're coming home with me."