Love me Or Ruin me

Chapter Seven

The hum of the old television set in the corner of our small living room was usually a comforting background noise, a sharp contrast to the suffocating, high-stakes silence of the 89th floor of Voss Tower. It was Saturday morning, the one day of the week where I wasn’t supposed to think about the ruthless billionaire who owned my nights and dictated my days.

I sat on our faded plush couch, my hands wrapped around a warm mug of chamomile tea. Every muscle in my body ached with a deep, throbbing reminder of Thursday night. My thighs were stiff, my hips bore the faint, darkening thumbprints of Arian’s possessive grip, and even the soft fabric of my oversized sweater irritated my hypersensitive n*****s. He had been particularly brutal before the weekend, taking me against the floor-to-ceiling glass of his penthouse while the city lights painted his dark, sweat-glistening back. He had forced me to stare at my own reflection, demanding I repeat the words that still haunted my conscience: I belong to you, Arian. Only you.

I closed my eyes, taking a slow sip of the tea to drown out the memory, but a sudden, sharp gasp from across the room shattered my brief moment of peace.

“Oh my god! Larissa, turn look at the TV right now!”

Camila practically bounded across the room, the remote control clutched in her hand as she aggressively cranked up the volume. She was still in her silk pajamas, her hair a messy bird's nest, but her eyes were wide with the manic excitement she only ever reserved for the highest echelons of the fashion industry. Camila worked hard as a waitress downtown, but her true passion was the glamorous, unreachable world of high couture.

“What is it, Cami?” I asked, forcing a tired smile, trying to mask the heavy exhaustion weighing down my bones.

“It’s her! The absolute queen of Paris fashion! She’s back!” Camila pointed dynamically at the screen.

My eyes drifted lazily to the television, but the moment the flashing bold graphics registered in my brain, the breath trapped itself in my throat. The warm ceramic mug suddenly felt like a block of ice against my palms.

“Breaking News in Veridian High Society,” the entertainment anchor gushed, her voice dripping with manufactured enthusiasm. “The prodigal queen of the runway has officially returned. International fashion icon Brittany Deus has just touched down at Veridian International Airport after a five-year hiatus in Paris to launch her highly anticipated luxury line, House of Deus.”

The screen cut to high-definition footage of a woman stepping out of a sleek black town car. Brittany Deus. She was blindingly beautiful—tall, ethereal, with sharp, aristocratic cheekbones and a cascade of flawless blonde hair that fell perfectly over a tailored cream trench coat. She moved with an innate, untouchable power, flashing a brilliant, calculated smile at the wall of flashing paparazzi cameras.

“Can you believe it?” Camila squealed, completely oblivious to the way the color was rapidly draining from my face. “She’s literally a goddess. Five years ago she just vanished from the city, went to Europe, and built a multi-million-dollar empire from nothing. She is goals, Larissa. Absolute goals. I would give my left kidney just to be a coat-checker at her launch party next week.”

I couldn’t answer. My jaw felt locked. The anchor’s voice faded into a distorted buzz as the historical gossip began to drop like a series of executioner's axes.

“But local elites are whispering about more than just fashion,” the reporter continued with a wicked smirk. “Sources wonder if this homecoming will reignite an old flame. Before her sudden departure to Paris, Brittany Deus was famously known as the only woman to ever hold the heart of Veridian City’s most ruthless, elusive billionaire—CEO Arian Voss. Rumors say he never truly moved on after their dramatic split. Will the ice king finally melt?”

The screen flashed an old, high-society photograph of a younger Arian Voss. He looked just as dark and dangerously handsome as he did now, but there was a rare, genuine softness in his eyes—a softness I had never, not once in two years of sharing his bed, seen directed at me. His arm was wrapped tightly around Brittany’s waist, pulling her flush against his chest like she was the center of his universe.

“Whoa,” Camila muttered, leaning closer to the screen. “Arian Voss? The monster CEO you work for? I didn’t know he was capable of dating a human being. He looks… actually happy in that picture. Imagine being so beautiful you make a literal demon smile.”

“Yeah,” I choked out, the word tasting like ash on my tongue. “Imagine.”

“Are you okay, babe? You look a little green,” Camila said, finally turning to look at me, her protective instincts kicking in.

“I’m fine,” I lied smoothly, the mask of the perfect secretary automatically slipping over my features. “Just a little standard corporate burnout. And my stomach has been acting up all morning.”

“Well, you need to rest. I’m heading out for my double shift at the bar in twenty minutes, so promise me you’ll just stay on this couch and sleep,” she ordered, fiercely shaking her finger at me before rushing back to her room to get dressed.

The moment the front door clicked shut behind Camila twenty minutes later, the fragile composure I held snapped. I set the tea mug down on the table, my hands trembling so violently that a few amber drops splashed onto the wood.

Brittany Deus was back.

The ghost that haunted every corner of Voss Tower, the woman who had broken Arian so thoroughly that he swore off love and turned people into disposable corporate assets, had returned to claim her throne. I remembered the whispers among the senior executives when I first started as his secretary—how Arian used to be different, how a blonde socialite had ripped his heart out and left him a merciless savage.

A sudden, violent wave of nausea hit me, forcing me to slap my hand over my mouth. I stumbled up from the couch, rushing into our cramped bathroom and collapsing over the toilet, dry-heaving until my ribs ached. I leaned my head against the cool porcelain, panting, sweat dampening my hairline.

My stomach had been doing this for a week. I had blamed it on the stress of managing Arian’s impossible schedule. I had blamed it on the late-night corporate travel. I had blamed it on the emotional toll of secretly running Vale Industries from the shadows while acting like a submissive nobody by day.

But as I sat on the cold tile floor, a terrifying, hyper-specific realization crept into my mind. I pulled out my phone with a shaking thumb, opening my calendar app. I tracked the days.

One week late. Two weeks late.

Three weeks.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I stood up on unsteady legs, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps. I opened the medicine cabinet behind the mirror, my fingers clawing past boxes of aspirin until they wrapped around a small, cardboard box I had bought in a fit of paranoia a month ago and buried at the back.

A pregnancy test.

My hands shook so badly I almost dropped the plastic stick as I unwrapped it. The silence of the apartment became a suffocating weight, pressing down on my chest until I could barely draw air.

Arian never used protection. He was too dominant, too reckless, too possessed by the need to claim every single inch of me to care about the consequences. And I, hopelessly, desperately in love with a monster, had let him. I had convinced myself that absorbing his darkness was enough to keep him close.

I took the test. Then, I sat on the edge of the bathtub, staring at the digital timer on my phone.

Three minutes. It felt like a three-year sentencing in a subterranean cell.

Images flashed behind my eyelids. Arian’s cold, unreadable dark eyes. The way he threw a multi-million-dollar contract in a rival's face without blinking. The way he growled my name into the crook of my neck when he came, his fingers bruising my skin. “You’re mine, Larissa. Nobody else gets to look at you.” Was it just an obsession? Was it just an addiction to a useful body?

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The timer went off.

I swallowed hard, my mouth completely dry. I forced myself to look down at the plastic stick resting on the counter.

Two bright, thick, undeniable pink lines.

Positive.

I gasped, a sob ripping from my throat as I covered my mouth with both hands. Tears overflowed, hot and fast, scalding my cheeks. I was pregnant. I was carrying the child of Arian Voss—the man who thought people were either useful or disposable. The man whose billionaire first love had just returned to the city.

Terror threatened to swallow me whole, but as I sat there, gripping the test against my chest, a different emotion began to bleed through the fear. It was a fierce, dangerous, tragic spark of hope.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror. I wasn't just Larissa Miller, the submissive secretary. I was Larissa Vale, the hidden titan of Vale Industries. I had the power to protect this child, but looking at those pink lines, I wanted something else. I wanted him to be a father. I wanted the vulnerability I knew was buried deep beneath his icy exterior.

Arian loved ownership. He loved legacy. Surely, his own flesh and blood would be the breakthrough I had been praying for. This baby would finally make him soften. It would make him see me as a woman worthy of being loved, not just a secret to be kept in his penthouse.

Brittany Deus might have his past, and she might have the city’s attention. But I stood in this bathroom holding his future.

I squeezed the test tightly, drying my tears with a newfound resolve. Monday morning. The moment I got to Voss Tower, I would walk into his office, drop the professional mask, and tell him the truth. We were going to be a family.