The CEO's Regret: His Lost Wife's Secret Twins

ARIA

The nausea hit me again in the waiting room. For a week, I'd felt terrible—exhausted, dizzy, unable to eat.

"Ms. Taylor?" The nurse called.

Dr. Stevens ran blood work. Twenty minutes later, she returned with my file.

"You're pregnant. Six weeks."

The room spun. I gripped the chair, my old spine injury aching.

"That's impossible."

"The blood work is conclusive." She pushed the report toward me.

I stared at it. Pregnant. Blake's child.

"If anyone asks, please don't tell anyone," I said quickly. "This is my privacy, okay?"

"Of course. But please schedule a follow-up soon."

"I will," I lied.

In the elevator, I touched my flat stomach. A child. The thought should have brought joy. Instead, I felt only dread. Blake had made it clear—our arrangement was temporary. Business, not personal.

And a child was the ultimate complication.

Outside the hospital, the autumn wind cut through my coat. I stood there for a moment, watching other patients come and go with their families. Some held hands. Some laughed together.

I was alone.

My phone buzzed. Three missed calls from Jack.

"Aria, where are you?" he whispered when I called back. "Mr. Morgan's been waiting thirty minutes. He's furious. The CFO just left his office crying."

I pressed my hand against my abdomen. I'm sorry, little one. Your father doesn't know you exist.

Twenty minutes later, I stood outside Blake's office door, taking a deep breath before knocking.

Blake stood at his office windows, his back rigid. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across his mahogany desk.

"You're thirty-five minutes late." His voice was cold. He didn't turn around.

"I apologize. I had a medical appointment."

"You didn't put it on my calendar." Now he turned, ice-blue eyes cutting into me. "Your job is to manage my schedule, Aria. Not disrupt it."

"Yes, Mr. Morgan."

"Tonight at seven, we're attending the Carter family's charity gala."

I swallowed hard. "I'm not feeling well. Could I—"

"Are you asking or telling me?" He sat down, leaning back. "Because if you're asking, the answer is no."

Always so cold.

"I'll be ready," I said quietly.

"The Carters are important partners. Manufacturing contracts worth millions. You'll smile, be polite, and remember you're there as my wife." He picked up a pen, dismissing me. "Don't be late again."

Leaving his office, I thought about that night three years ago—the night that changed everything.

I was serving at a Morgan family party. My mother Christine had arranged the job—punishment for offending Emma Grant again.

The next morning, I woke up in Blake's suite.

They said I drugged him. That I crawled into his bed. No one believed my protests.

Blake offered a choice: a five-year marriage contract to save his reputation, or criminal charges.

My father Aaron had just suffered a stroke. The medical bills were crushing us.

I signed.

For three years, I've lived this double life. Executive assistant by day, contract wife behind closed doors. No one knows except Blake's inner circle.

That evening, the Carter estate glittered with lights and luxury cars. I wore a simple black dress, hoping to disappear.

When Blake and I entered, conversations dimmed as heads turned.

"The killer's daughter. How dare she come here?"

"I heard she seduced Blake for her job."

I kept my eyes down.

Ernest Carter greeted Blake warmly. "The contracts are ready for review next week."

"Looking forward to it."

Ernest's eyes flickered to me, then away. No introduction. Just cold dismissal.

Throughout the evening, I felt it—the invisible wall. Carter family members were polite but distant. Other guests avoided me.

The killer's daughter. That's all I'll ever be.

Then Charlotte Carter took the stage. She was radiant, her hand on a small baby bump. Her husband Arthur Pierce stood beside her.

"Thank you all for coming," Charlotte said. "Your generosity will provide education for thousands of children."

Applause filled the room.

"Arthur and I want to share some news. We're pregnant."

The room erupted. The screen showed an ultrasound—a tiny, perfect life.

"After two years of trying, countless disappointments, we'd almost given up," Charlotte continued, voice thick with emotion. "But miracles happen. This child is already so loved."

Arthur kissed her temple. The perfect image of love and partnership.

I pressed my hand against my stomach, hidden beneath my dress. My child. Blake's and mine. A miracle no one will celebrate.

"You seem interested in children." Blake's voice was cool.

I took a breath. "If we had a child—"

"Impossible." He cut me off. "Aria, I don't want children with you. Our contract is clear. In two years, we end this and go our separate ways."

Each word stabbed my heart.

"This is business," he said quietly. "Nothing more."

He doesn't know. He doesn't know there's already a life inside me.

I excused myself and locked myself in a bathroom stall, pressing my fist against my mouth to muffle the sobs.

Hours later, back at the Hampton estate, I went straight to the bathroom. My hands shook as I pulled out the pregnancy report. I stared at it one last time—proof of the life Blake would never want.

Then I tore it into pieces and flushed them down the toilet.

I'm sorry, baby. Your father doesn't want you.

I sat on the cold floor, hugging my knees, crying silently.

When I emerged, Blake sat on the sofa, texting. His expression was soft, tender—a look he never wore for me.

"You were in there a long time."

"Just washing up."

"Where did you go this afternoon?"

"The hospital. I haven't been feeling well."

"What did they say?"

"Nothing serious. Just stress."

Blake stood and walked behind me. His arms slid around my waist, lips brushing my neck.

What if I told him? What if he wanted this child?

Then his phone rang.

Blake immediately released me and answered. "Hello?"

His voice warmed, lips curving into a genuine smile.

"I know. I've been thinking about it too," he said quietly, turning away.

I stood there, suddenly cold, watching my husband speak to someone else with tenderness he'd never shown me.