A Night With The Ruthless Billionaire

Days turn into a blur of fear and uncertainty after the ambulance rushes my mother to the hospital.

I spent hours in the waiting room, my heart pounding with every tick of the clock, dreading the news the doctors might bring. 

When the doctor finally approaches, her expression is unreadable, and I brace myself for the worst.

"Miss. Emma Parker, your mother had a severe heart attack, " she says, her tone professional, but there's a softness in her eyes. "We've stabilized her for now, but she'll need to stay here for observation. Her condition is critical."

The floor seemed to shift under me, and I clutched the edge of the chair to steady myself. "Can I see her?" I managed to ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

The doctor nodded. "She's resting now, but you can sit with her."

I followed the doctor down the sterile corridor, my mind racing. The secret my mother was about to reveal before she collapsed played on repeat in my head. 

What was she trying to tell me about the Cardwells?What could be so important that it triggered a heart attack?

When I stepped into her room, the sight of her lying so still, hooked up to machines, broke something deep inside me. I sat beside her bed, gently taking her hand, careful not to disturb the IV lines.

"Mom," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I'm here. Please, wake up. Please tell me what you were going to say."

But there was no response, just the steady beep of the heart monitor and the faint sound of her breathing. I sat there for hours, watching her chest rise and fall, trying to push back the fear gnawing at me.

Finally, exhaustion overwhelmed me, and I drifted into a fitful sleep, haunted by nightmares of the night with Alex.

When I woke, the first light of dawn filtered through the window. My mother remained unconscious, and the hospital was quiet. I kissed her hand, whispering a promise to return, and I left to change clothes at home.

The Journey back was a blur, my thoughts tangled with worry about my mother, and the secret she never get to share. 

As I stepped into the apartment, the silence was deafening.

I headed straight to the bedroom, grabbing fresh clothes, but a wave of nausea hit me so suddenly that I barely made it to the bathroom. I knelt by the toilet, gripping the sides as I struggled to catch my breath.

What's wrong with me?

The question echoed in my mind as I rested my head against the cool porcelain, my stomach still churning.

Panic swelled inside me and I fumbled  for my phone, dialing the doctor's office with trembling fingers.

"I need an appointment." I managed to say, my voice cracking. "As soon as possible."

The hours dragged until I was sitting in the doctor's office, the sterile smell making my stomach churn even more. The tests feel like a formality, a confirmation of what I'd been dreading.

When the doctor returned, her expression was unreadable, a professional mask that offered no comfort.

"Miss. Parker," she began, her voice gentle. "The tests came back positive. You're pregnant."

The words hit me like a physical blow, and for a moment, I couldn't breathe. Pregnant. The room spun around me, and I clutched the edge of the chair, trying to comfort myself with reality.

"Are you sure?" I whispered, though I already knew the answer.

The doctor nodded, "yes, you're six weeks along."

The reality settled in, suffocating me. "I'm pregnant with Alex Cardwell's child", I muttered to myself.

I left the office in a daze, my mind racing with questions that I had no answers for. How am I supposed to handle this? What am I going to do?

Back at the apartment, the silence felt like a tomb. I collapsed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts spinning in endless circles. 

I knew I couldn't keep this to myself. Alex had to know. But how would he react? Would he even believe me?

That evening, I sat at the kitchen table, a blank sheet of paper in front of me. I couldn't bring myself to call him, so I wrote instead, pouring my heart into the letter. I explained everything. 

My hand shook as I wrote, tears blurring my vision. But I finished, sealing the letter, and sending it the next day, my stomach churning with anxiety.

Days passed in agonizing silence, Each one stretched longer than the last. I began to wonder if he even cared - if he'd read it at all.

Then, one evening, there was a knock at the door. 

My heart leaped into my throat when I opened it, Alex stood on the other side, his expression unreadable, his eyes shadowed with something I couldn't explain.

He stepped inside without a word. My pulse quickened, his presence overwhelming. His gaze swept over me, lingering on my body.

For a moment, I saw something in his eyes - a flash of desire.

He stepped closer, his hand brushing my arm, sending shivers through me. "You're beautiful, Emma," he whispered, his breath hot against my ear.

Before I could react, his lips found my neck, the heat of his body against mine intoxicating. I let myself get lost in it for a moment - until reality crashed back in. 

I pushed against his chest, my breathing uneven. "No, Alex. We can't."

He stepped back, his face unreadable. "I'm sorry," His voice was now cold, controlled. "We need to talk."

I nodded, stepping aside. We sat at the kitchen table, the same place I'd written the letter. My heart pounded, bracing for what he was about to say.

"I got your letter," he began, his voice tensed. "Is it true? Are you really pregnant?"

"Yes," I whispered. Each word felt like a stone dropping into a still pond.

He ran a hand through his hair, looking away as if the sight of me is too much to bear. "Emma, I … I need you to give me the baby after it's born."

My heart stopped. "What? No! I can't do that!"

His expression hardened. "You don't understand. I can't have you in my life, but I need the baby."

"I won't give up my child!" My voice trembled with defiance.

His gaze darkened. He stepped closer, lifting my chin. "This isn't a request."

The air between us crackles with tension. His grip was firm, his determination clear. My heart pounded as I realized the depth of his demand.

What if I really don't have a choice?