Chapter 0007

Chapter 7: Family Shadows

Victoria Henderson's stilettos clicked against marble like a metronome of doom. I heard her before I saw her, that distinctive rhythm that sent junior executives scurrying for cover. Of all the days for her to visit our corporate office, it had to be today—when morning sickness had me clutching my desk like a life raft.

"Sophia, darling."

Her voice dripped honey-coated venom. I forced myself to look up, praying my complexion wasn't as green as it felt.

"Mrs. Henderson." Professional. Distant. Perfect.

She perched on the edge of my desk—a power move I'd seen her use countless times. Her Chanel suit probably cost more than my monthly rent.

"James misses you." Direct hit. No warm-up.

I kept my expression neutral, even as my stomach churned. Whether from pregnancy or her presence, I couldn't tell.

"That's unfortunate," I replied, shuffling papers I didn't need to shuffle. "But irrelevant."

Her perfectly manicured hand caught mine, stilling my movement. "Nothing about the Hendersons is irrelevant, dear. You should know that by now."

If she only knew how relevant they'd become.

My phone buzzed. Marcus's message lit up the screen before I could hide it.

*Doctor's appointment confirmed. Private entrance arranged.*

Victoria's hawk-like eyes narrowed. I deleted the message quickly, but not quickly enough.

"Interesting," she mused. "Marcus never texts. He considers it beneath him."

My heart thundered. "Business matters."

"Of course." Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "Everything's business with Marcus lately. So many... private meetings."

The way she said "private" made my skin crawl.

"I wouldn't know," I lied smoothly. "Now, if you'll excuse me—"

"Dinner," she interrupted. "Sunday. The family estate."

Not a request.

"I'm not family anymore," I reminded her.

"Aren't you?" Her gaze was penetrating. Dangerous. "James wants to reconcile. Make things right."

My laugh was bitter. "After sleeping with my best friend?"

"Men make mistakes." She waved dismissively. "Family forgives."

The irony was almost suffocating.

"Sunday," she repeated, standing. "Seven o'clock. Don't disappoint me, dear."

She left the same way she arrived—clicking heels and subtle threats.

I barely made it to the bathroom before losing my breakfast.

My phone buzzed again.

*Victoria visited you. - M*

Not a question. He always knew everything.

*She wants me at Sunday dinner.*

His response was immediate: *Don't go.*

*She's suspicious.*

A pause. Then: *My office. Now.*

The elevator ride to his floor felt endless. Each floor dinged like a countdown to disaster.

Marcus was waiting, tension radiating from his powerful frame.

"She knows something's different," I said without preamble.

"Victoria always suspects." He ran a hand through his silver-streaked hair. "It's her nature."

"She mentioned your 'private meetings.'"

His jaw clenched. "She's been watching."

"What do we do?"

Marcus moved closer. Too close. His scent—expensive cologne and raw masculinity—made my hormones riot.

"We're careful," he murmured. "Very careful."

His hand brushed my stomach. Protective. Possessive. Electric.

"The dinner—"

"Is dangerous," he finished. "But refusing is more suspicious."

"James will be there."

Something dark flashed in his eyes. "My son needs to move on."

"Your son," I echoed. "Father of my ex-fiancé. This is insane."

"This is reality." His voice was rough. "Our reality."

The baby—our baby—chose that moment to make its presence known. Another wave of nausea hit.

Marcus's reaction was instant. He guided me to his private bathroom, held back my hair, offered water.

Such tenderness from such a powerful man.

"I'll have a car pick you up Sunday," he said as I rinsed my mouth. "We play their game. For now."

"And then?"

His smile was predatory. "Then we change the rules."

I left his office feeling both stronger and more vulnerable. Victoria's suspicions. James's hopes for reconciliation. Marcus's protective intensity.

All pieces on a chessboard I never meant to play.

But ready or not, Sunday was coming.

And with it, a family dinner that could explode everything we'd carefully built.

Let them suspect.

Let them watch.

We had secrets they'd never imagine.

And I was starting to realize—I'd do anything to protect them.

Even face the Henderson family Sunday dinner from hell.

Back at my desk, reality crashed in waves. The morning's encounter with Victoria left me shaken, but it was James's sudden appearance that nearly broke my composure.

"Sophia." His voice—once so familiar—now felt like sandpaper on my nerves.

I looked up. James Henderson. Golden boy. Cheater. My ex-fiancé who had no idea I was carrying his half-sibling.

"This is inappropriate," I said, keeping my voice steady.

He leaned against my doorframe, all casual confidence and expensive suits. So like his father, yet so different.

"Mother said you're coming Sunday."

Of course she had. Victoria Henderson's puppet strings stretched everywhere.

"I haven't decided," I lied.

James moved closer. Too close. My stomach churned—morning sickness or revulsion, I couldn't tell.

"We need to talk, Soph." His voice softened. "What happened... it was a mistake."

"Sleeping with my best friend was a mistake?" I arched an eyebrow. "Multiple times?"

He flinched. Good.

"I've changed," he insisted. "These past months without you—"

"Have been exactly what you deserved." I stood, gathering files I didn't need. "Now, if you'll excuse me."

"You're different," he observed suddenly. "There's something..."

My heart stopped. Then started again, racing.

"Yes," I agreed coldly. "It's called self-respect. Now leave."

My phone buzzed. Marcus. Because of course he knew his son was here.

*Everything okay?*

James caught the flash of the screen. "Since when does my father text you?"

"Since I became more valuable to this company than his philandering son."

The words hit their mark. James stepped back, hurt flashing across his face.

"Sunday," he said finally. "We're not done, Sophia."

Oh, if he only knew how done we were.

Once he left, I texted Marcus back: *Your son is persistent.*

His response was immediate: *My son is a fool.*

I couldn't argue with that.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of meetings and carefully hidden nausea. By evening, exhaustion had settled deep in my bones.

Another text from Marcus: *Car waiting downstairs. Let me take you home.*

I should have said no. Should have maintained professional distance.

Instead, I found myself in his private elevator, then his luxury car, his presence both comforting and dangerous.

"Victoria's planning something," he said as the city lights blurred past.

"When isn't she?"

His laugh was low, rich. "True. But this is different. She's watching too closely."

"Maybe we should—"

"Don't," he interrupted. "Whatever you're thinking, don't. We stay the course."

His hand found mine in the darkness. Electric. Forbidden. Perfect.

"Sunday will be interesting," I murmured.

"Sunday will be controlled chaos." His smile was predatory. "And we'll handle it perfectly."

The car stopped at my building. Marcus walked me to my door—ever the gentleman, even in our twisted situation.

"Rest," he commanded softly. "Doctor's appointment tomorrow."

His hand brushed my stomach. Protective. Possessive. Our secret growing stronger every day.

As I watched him leave, I realized something terrifying: I was falling for him. Not just the memory of our night together. Not just the father of my child.

But him. Marcus Henderson. Powerful, dangerous, completely forbidden.

Sunday couldn't come soon enough.

And I was either very brave or very foolish to look forward to it.

Probably both.