My father's enemy gets me pregnant

Louise

“Louise, I’m sorry. I tried, but it seems neither you nor I will ever be able to make this work.”

I went to Kian’s condo a week later, the day after he said those words. I told myself he might have changed his mind or just been moody. He never asked for his spare keys back, so I walked right in.

But the second I stepped into his room, I froze.

There he was Kian in the middle of the bed, moving hard in the missionary position while another woman lay beneath him, legs spread wide. For goodness’ sake, I was the one who stood there embarrassed by what I saw.

Just as I turned to leave, he spotted me and hurried over, grabbing my wrist. “Why are you here?”

Tears streamed down my cheeks, but I didn’t care anymore. I spun around and struck him hard across the face.

“You’re probably wondering why I came,” I said with a heavy sigh. “Maybe this is our goodbye, Kian. I came here to talk but clearly, there’s nothing left to say.”

I walked away and swore never to look back.

My boyfriend had just broken up with me. All I wanted was to escape from everyone, even though we’d been together two years and had never gone that far. “You’re not very fun,” he’d told me.

I should have learned my lesson, but I hadn’t and here I was, hurting over the same man again. Ridiculous. Just because I didn’t want to sleep with him didn’t make me dull. Kian left because he thought I was boring; I realised that for boys, “fun” meant sex.

A whole week passed, and I was still heart‑broken. Tonight I decided to go to the pub maybe I could learn to be more outgoing, so the next man wouldn’t dump me too.

But first I went home. The moment I walked in, my father started talking, and my broken heart and tangled thoughts doubled in weight.

This arrangement had been in the works since I turned twenty‑one, and I felt cheated. Mr Ferrer had always been kind and helpful why had he never mentioned it? I wanted to scream at Dad for agreeing behind my back. I didn’t want to marry anyone. It was too soon; I was only twenty‑three.

My mind was a mess. The worst part, I had to marry a man I’d never met. It had been just seven days since Kian left me, simply because he couldn’t love me back. Two years of trying my hardest, and I’d never been loved at all.

“Make plans for tomorrow,” Dad said firmly. “We’re meeting Ryker Mr Ferrer’s son and his sister. I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. You already skipped the funeral, and I accepted your reason.”

“Dad, I was really sick,” I sighed after he finished speaking. “You know I ran a fever that day.”

After Mr Ferrer passed away, I lost my appetite and shut myself away. I’d spent hours at the hospital, ready to visit him only to have all hope vanish like smoke. Now Dad’s reminder made me want to cry out loud.

Like it or not, I knew I had to accept it.

Only one thought could help me forget, even for a little while. Thankfully Dad didn’t notice me slipping away. I changed into fresh clothes desperate, and in need of a drink.

I finished an entire bottle in an hour and signalled for another then caught sight of familiar faces nearby. My chest ached all over again. There was Kian, kissing a stranger like I didn’t exist. The music and noise around us grew louder. He was exactly why I’d come here.

I perched on the highest stool and told the bartender, “Give me something strong.” I drank it straight, thinking I might just let myself get thoroughly wasted.

My vision blurred, but I remember leaning toward a strikingly handsome stranger.

“Bastard! I hate him!” I muttered, over and over. I’d only been inside a short while but had already drunk too much; unused to alcohol, I sobbed openly and kept repeating those words.

“Does the man who made you cry even understand that women deserve to be loved, not hurt?” a deep voice asked beside me.

I squinted toward him, everything fuzzy. “Maybe he doesn’t,” I slurred. “That’s what love ought to be not pain.”

When he offered me another drink, I accepted happily. He tried to introduce himself, but the noise drowned him out. I waved him quiet. “I came here to forget everything, not make conversation.”

“Same here,” he said, leaning closer. “My father’s crazy plans I want to leave them behind, just for tonight.”

I tilted my head back. “Family nonsense.”

I grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the dance floor. “Come on! let’s dance!”

Somehow, holding his hand felt safe. I trusted he’d keep me away from creeps. I breathed in his warm scent rich perfume mixed with mint and wine dangerously addictive.

The last clear memory: dancing close, grinding against him while the music thumped. We talked, drank, moved together then everything faded.

Until I woke up.

“WAAAAH!” I screamed.

Right in front of me lay a man devastatingly handsome, like a Greek god.

“Fucking hell!” I yelled, throwing whatever I could reach at him.

…My whole body shook. Who wouldn’t panic? I was naked, aching sharply between my legs, and he kept covering his ears, trying to calm me down.

I’d never met him face‑to‑face, yet his image was everywhere magazines, news sites, every social feed. Even in our own circles, his name came up whenever serious matters were discussed. Everyone knew who he was.

Now I was only inches from this living legend or rather, this feared man: Easton Hunter De Russo. Cold‑hearted, dangerous, with pale grey eyes that seemed to see right through you, and enough power to take whatever or whoever

he desired.

My breath caught. What on earth was I supposed to do now?