Pregnant by My Billionaire Nemesis

Nancy's POV

"Wake up," a voice rasped, dripping with morning-after gravel and amusement.

I froze.

My eyes snapped open, expecting the peeling floral wallpaper of my Queens studio. Instead, I was staring at a ceiling that cost more than my student loans.

My head throbbed like someone was taking a sledgehammer to my frontal lobe.

I turned. Too fast. The room spun.

Sebastian Rhodes was leaning against the doorframe. He was shirtless, holding a mug of coffee, and looking infuriatingly fresh.

"Well,"he drawled, his signature smirk in place. "This is a plot twist.”

I yanked the sheet up to my chin. "What the hell are you doing here?”

"I live here, Nancy. The better question is…"He took a slow sip of coffee, his eyes raking over my bare shoulders. "So, the 'little housekeeper's daughter' finally clawed her way into my bed? What would your mother say?”

The shame hit me harder than the hangover. "Shut up!”

"Touching. Truly."He walked over, setting the coffee on the nightstand. "Drink. You look like a raccoon that lost a fight with a mascara wand.”

"I don't want your coffee. I want to know why I'm here.”

"You don't remember?"He raised a brow. "The party? The tequila? You challenging me to a shot contest because I said your award-winning perfume smelled like 'rebellion and a cheap apartment'?”

Memory flashed.

Last night.

The bass of the club thumping in my chest. The Lumière launch party. I was holding my trophy, feeling like I'd finally carved out a space that didn't belong to the Rhodes family.

Then he walked in. Uninvited. Wearing a suit that cost more than the venue, claiming he was a "potential investor."

"It smells like desperation, Nancy,"he'd whispered in my ear, too close, his breath hot against my neck.

"It smells like freedom, Sebastian,"I'd snapped back. "But you wouldn't know what that is. You reek of old money and emptiness.”

Then the shots. One after another. The burn of salt and lime. The way his eyes darkened when I slammed my glass down. The way the crowd cheered.

And then…

A balcony. Rain. Him stepping closer. Me not stepping back.

Me standing on my tiptoes.

My face heated. "I was drunk,"I snapped, scrambling out of bed, wrapping the sheet around me. "It was a mistake. A lapse in judgment induced by cheap alcohol.”

"It was Patrón Platinum,"he corrected. "And you didn't seem to think it was a mistake when you told me I was the only person who made you feel real.”

The air left the room.

I froze, one foot on the plush rug. "I didn't say that.”

"You did."His voice dropped, losing the mockery. It was suddenly low, dangerous. "Right before you kissed me.”

"I did not kiss you!"I practically shrieked. "You—you probably manipulated me! You're a predator, Sebastian. You see something you can't control, and you just have to break it!”

He stepped into my space. I backed up until my calves hit the bed frame.

He smelled like cedarwood and leather—the scent that had haunted my childhood, the scent of the boy who always had everything I couldn't touch.

"Is that what happened?"he asked softly. "I broke you?”

"You wish."I shoved past him, scanning the room frantically. "Where is my dress? I'm leaving. This never happened. If you tell a soul, I will ruin you. I will mix a scent that smells like your ego and market it as 'Toxic Waste.'”

"Closet door,"he said, pointing.

I ripped the door open.

And stopped.

My dress—the one I'd surely crumpled into a ball on the floor last night—was hanging perfectly on a hanger.

It was ironed.

Smooth. Flawless. Not a wrinkle in sight.

I stared at it. Then I looked back at him.

He was looking away, suddenly fascinated by the view of the Manhattan skyline outside his window. The muscle in his jaw ticked.

"You…"My voice faltered. "Did you iron this?”

" The maid came early,"he lied. smooth. Too smooth.

"At 6 AM?”

"It's a premium service.”

He was lying. Sebastian Rhodes, the man who supposedly treated women like disposable napkins, had stayed up to steam the cheap silk dress of his housekeeper's daughter so she wouldn't have to do the walk of shame in wrinkles.

It made me want to scream. It made me hate him more.

I snatched the dress. "Turn around.”

He didn't move. "I've seen it all, Nancy. And frankly, the lighting last night was better.”

"Turn. Around.”

He sighed, exaggerated and bored, and turned his back.

I dressed in record time, my hands shaking. I needed to get out. I needed to scrub this scent off my skin.

I grabbed my heels and marched to the door.

"Nancy.”

I paused, hand on the cold metal handle.

"You said something else last night,"he said. He hadn't turned around. His back was broad, tense. "You said, 'I hate you because you always make me feel like I'm not enough.'”

My heart slammed against my ribs. A painful, hollow thud.

That was the truth. The ugly, festering wound I'd carried for twenty years.

I forced a laugh. It sounded brittle. "Like I said, Sebastian. I was drunk. Drunk people say stupid things.”

"Do they?"He finally turned. His eyes were dark, unreadable. "Because it felt like the most honest thing you've ever said to me.”

"Go to hell, Sebastian.”

"See you at the office, Nancy.”

I slammed the door.

By the time I collapsed into the backseat, my hands had stopped shaking, but not the hollow feeling in my chest.

The driver glanced at the rearview mirror. "Rough evening?"

I dug my nails into my palm until it stung.

"…Yes," I breathed. "em...No, it was perfect."