The illusion shattered in a scene straight out of a cheesy romance novel.
I was in a luxury department store on Fifth Avenue, picking out a Christmas gift for my boss’s most important client. And there was Adrian, casually dropping a fortune. He stood with one hand in his pocket, his posture relaxed, almost lazy, as he patiently advised
a young woman on her selection.
When she finally chose a purse, he let out a quiet sigh, waved a hand, and told the clerk to put it on his account.
Just the night before, he’d been in my tiny rental apartment, whining about his demanding boss and begging me to rub his templ
20:07
Chapter 1
I thought about it for a long time. Should I keep up the charade? Or should I confront him and demand compensation for the lie?
In the end, I chose neither. I took the option that cost me the most.
I called him out, and I asked for nothing.
He wasn’t surprised. He admitted who he was, plain and simple. Then, he invited me to his home. His real home.
The sprawling estate was worth more than I could earn if I started working in the Stone Age. In his study, I saw stacks of files. He
was a responsible heir, it turned out.
That day we first met, he had been inspecting a port–a key project for the Blackwood Corporation that had run into trouble. He had
spent the entire sweltering summer day on the construction site with engineers, poring over blueprints and data, revising plans,
and reallocating resources. The stack of papers rd seen was the meeting minutes. No one had expected the company’s heir appa-
rent to show up unannounced, so no special meals had been prepared. When lunchtime rolled around, he just grabbed his notes
and a cheap lunchbox and sat on the curb to eat while he waited for his subordinates to report back.
And then I showed up.
And
I felt like such an idiot. How had I not noticed the price of his watch, or the impeccable cut of his suit?
He asked me if we really had to break up. He said that for him, love was about interests, and it didn’t matter who it was with.
I was twenty–four. Young enough to believe love couldn’t be built on deception.
“It’s not the same,” I said. “We’re not the same.”
I didn’t cry. I didn’t even say a proper goodbye. I just got in a cab and left, as calmly as if I’d just been laid off from another job.
But fate had other plans.
A month later, I understood the importance of money all too well. Because my period was late.
I was pregnant.
And my company had just gone through a massive round of layoffs, which included pregnant women. The boss had made it clear:
pay them what we owe them and get those pregnant women out of here to raise their kids at home. He’d even threatened to stop
hiring women altogether.
Before I started showing, I rushed to my boss and swore my loyalty, promising the pregnancy wouldn’t affect my work on the proje- et. Then I took three days off for an abortion. My boss was so pleased he held me up as a model employee. I looked at myself in the mirror and saw a workhorse, not a person. My colleagues whispered behind my back, but I said nothing.
I made the appointment. On the way to the clinic, my taxi was intercepted by a black car. It was Adrian’s security.
