Anabella Pov
The world comes back to me in disjointed fragments. First, a sterile, antiseptic smell. Then, a persistent, rhythmic beeping. I feel a soft, cool pillow beneath my head and a scratchy blanket over me.
My eyelids flutter open, and my vision slowly clears, revealing a muted gray ceiling with fluorescent lights that hum softly. I am lying in a bed. I can hear the hushed whispers of nurses in the hallway and the faint sounds of a hospital.
A wave of confusion washes over me. The last thing I remember is the furious rage in Killian Astor's eyes, the loud, garbled sound of his voice, and the dizzying, nauseous lurch of the room. I remember falling.
Did I faint? Did I hit my head? My mind is a blank slate after that. The door clicks open, and a young doctor with a clipboard and a surprisingly wide smile steps inside. I feel a flicker of relief.
But then, my gaze shifts. Standing in the corner, with his back to me and a phone pressed to his ear, is Killian Astor.
He's still dressed in his razor-sharp suit from this afternoon, but his jacket is unbuttoned, and his tie is loose. He stands rigid, staring out the window, his shoulders tense.
He looks like he's trying to disappear, like he wants nothing to do with this place or with me. A wave of humiliation washes over me. I fainted in front of him. After he fired me. What an absolute, complete failure.
The doctor clears his throat, and Killian ends his call, turning to look at me. His expression is unreadable, a blank look I can't decipher.
"Annabella Evans, is that right?" the doctor asks, his smile warm and reassuring. "How are you feeling?"
"I…I'm fine," I say, my voice raspy. "I think I just fainted. I've been a little stressed lately."
The doctor's smile widens as he scribbles something on his clipboard. "Well, your blood pressure spiked significantly. That's a classic response to overwhelming emotional distress. I am going to prescribe a mild sedative to help with the anxiety and a prenatal vitamin for the morning sickness."
My mind stalls on his last few words. Prenatal vitamin. My heart stops, and the persistent beeping of the machine beside me seems deafening. My eyes dart to Killian, who is now staring at me, his gaze unblinking. The doctor is still talking, oblivious to the bomb he has just dropped.
"...you also need to be very careful with your blood pressure. Emotional distress could jeopardize the baby's life. We need to do everything we can to protect the little one."
The words echo in my head, a terrifying, surreal pronouncement. Baby. Protect the little one. I hear Killian let out a sharp, audible intake of breath from the corner of the room.
The doctor's voice drones on about folic acid and iron, but I can't hear a word. The entire room feels like it's spinning. My gaze snaps back to the doctor. I stare at him, a sudden, wild laugh bubbling up in my chest. It starts as a small hiccup and then builds into a full-on, hysterical laugh that feels completely out of place in the silent, sterile hospital room.
"You're joking, right?" I ask, tears of laughter streaming down my face. It's too ridiculous. This has to be some kind of cosmic joke. "You must have the wrong person. The wrong patient. I'm Annabella Evans. I was just fired by my boss. I'm not... I can't be... pregnant."
The doctor's smile falters, replaced by a look of surprised sympathy. "I assure you, Ms. Evans, we have checked your records multiple times. Congratulations. You are about eight weeks along."
The laughter dies in my throat, replaced by a cold, numbing horror that spreads through my veins. The tears on my face are no longer from laughter, but from a raw, terrified disbelief.
My head pounds, and the entire world tilts again, but this time I am not going down. I am holding on, barely, to the truth that a single night has changed my life forever. I am not only fired, but I am pregnant.
The doctor turns to Killian, his voice lowering to a professional whisper. "Mr. Astor, her blood pressure is a significant concern. She needs to avoid all stress. I will be sending you both home with a detailed care plan. It is imperative that you both adhere to it to ensure a healthy pregnancy."
Killian simply nods, his gaze never leaving me. He looks stunned, almost as if he's heard the news for the first time. The doctor steps out, promising to return with paperwork.
The door clicks shut, sealing the two of us in a suffocating silence. Killian's eyes, which were a stone mask a moment ago, now blaze with a furious, unreadable intensity. The shock on his face is gone, replaced by a raw, consuming anger. He takes a single step toward the bed, a predator closing the distance.
"What were you thinking?" he asks, his voice a low, dangerous growl. The question sounds more like an accusation.
"Thinking? I don't know what you're talking about," I whisper back, my voice trembling. I'm still trying to process the news myself.
"I just found out what's wrong with me. You're the one who was yelling at me, accusing me of a mistake I didn't make. And for what? For a financial scandal I had nothing to do?"
He scoffs, the sound sharp and humorless. "I was yelling at you because you disappeared. You walked out of that hotel room as if you were running from a crime scene, without so much as a word. For an entire month, you have avoided me like the plague. Every time I tried to talk to you, to see you, to figure out what was going on, you ran away."
"Ran away? So that's what all these is about?" I repeat the absurdity of his words, making my voice rise.
"I was terrified! You're Killian Astor. The man who is a whirlwind of fury. What was I supposed to do? Call you the next morning and ask you for a date? It was a one-night stand, a moment of drunken recklessness! I took my shame and ran!"
"And what about me?" he asks, his voice rising, a dangerous edge to his words.
"Do you think I wanted this to happen? Do you think I'm happy about this? I have had my eyes on you ever since that night. I've been watching you, waiting for you to make a move, to give me a sign. But you just acted like nothing happened. You just went on with your little life, pretending that you didn't spend the night with me. You're a coward!"
The word hits me like a slap. My heart is pounding, and my vision is blurring again, but this time it's from a combination of rage and a burning, searing pain. He's been watching me. All this time, I thought I was free, and he's been watching me like some kind of stalker.
"You're right. I'm a coward," I say, my voice trembling but firm.
"I was scared! And you're nothing but a cruel, heartless monster! You fired me for a mistake you know I didn't make, all while you were watching me. Did you find it funny? Is this all a game to you?"
He takes another step forward, his eyes blazing. "You're wrong," he says, his voice a low, dangerous growl.
"I fired you because I don't want you working for me. I don't want you in my company. I want you in my life. And I have every intention of keeping you there. You will be staying with me now."
A defiant fire ignites in my chest, a small ember of pride in the overwhelming fear. I'm not his employee anymore. He doesn't own me. "No," I say, the word sharp and clear.
"I'm not your employee anymore, Mr. Astor. You don't get to tell me what to do. I'll go home to my own apartment. You can't command me."
A corner of his mouth twitches, but there's no humor in it. "You're right," he says, his voice dangerously soft.
"You can't command me. I'm not going anywhere with you. I'm not your problem now. And you're not the only person who was there that night. You can't be sure it's even yours."
The words hang in the air between us like a poisoned dart. His eyes narrow, the coldness replaced by a raw, consuming fury.
He takes another step forward, closing the remaining distance until he is looming over my bed, his body a wall of intimidating presence. His hand slams down on the mattress beside my hip, his gaze locking with mine.
"You are my problem," he says, his voice a deep, guttural sound that vibrates through me. He doesn't touch me, but his proximity, his overwhelming presence, is a more powerful assertion of dominance than any physical contact could be.
"You are not going to leave my sight again. Not with my child."
"You should be staying with me now. A scandal will come out. The media will attack you.The stress won't be good for your health, I will give you three days to pack all your stuffs and move in with me."
My heart is pounding, but a different kind of shock consumes me now. He's still here. He was supposed to have left. After he fired me. After I fainted.
A normal person, a cold, ruthless CEO, would have simply sent a car and an invoice for the hospital stay. But he's still here. And the look in his eyes...it's not just rage. It's possessive. It's primal.
The full reality of my situation is just beginning to sink in, and it's so much bigger, so much more terrifying, than I could have ever imagined.