Surprise Fatherhood

Three years into my marriage with Rico Thorne, the crown prince of the city's elite, I got pregnant.
He stared at me, his jaw clenched tight. I haven't so much as laid a finger on you. How the hell are you pregnant?
I lowered my eyes. You did... on your birthday. You were drunk, and you thought I was your first love...
To make it up to me, Rico wired half a million dollars to my account and started treating me like a fragile queen.
The day his first love returned to the country, I removed the prosthetic belly, left a signed divorce agreement on the table, and vanished.
Six months later, he cornered me in a VIP lounge, a male model draped on each of my arms.
A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips. "My dear wife," he purred. "You've led me on quite a chase."

1
When I called Rico to tell him I was pregnant, the silence on the other end of the line stretched for three full minutes.
"Where are you?" His voice was tight.
"City General."
When he saw the pregnancy test report, with my name printed clearly on it, confirming I was six weeks along, Rico's face twisted into a mask of disbelief. He turned his head slowly, his eyes boring into me, his voice a low growl.
"Nora Evans? I've never even touched you, and you're telling me you're pregnant?"
The nurse standing nearby shot me a look of pure shock, then glanced at the top of Rico's head with a newfound sympathy.
I dropped my gaze, biting my lip hard, my expression a carefully crafted picture of hurt. "You did..." I whispered. "On your birthday... you were so drunk... you thought I was Monica..."
The nurse's sympathetic gaze instantly shifted from him to me.
Rico's dark eyes were stormy, unreadable. After a long moment, he finally spoke. "If you're pregnant, then you'll have the baby."
"The Thorne family will take care of you."
That evening, my bank account was half a million dollars richer.
A wire from Rico.
Compensation, he called it.
Three years ago, the Thorne family had pressured Rico into an arranged marriage. He chose me, fresh out of college. Sweet, simple, and most importantly, desperate for cash. In the three years I'd been his wife, I'd played my part perfectly. I was the dutiful Mrs. Thorne, never causing trouble, never making waves.
We were husband and wife in name only.
I'd always known Rico was in love with someone else. Which is why, in three years of marriage, he had never once touched me.
And I absolutely loved it.
No nine-to-five grind, no soul-crushing corporate life. I got paid just for existing in his mansion. On top of my monthly "salary" of fifteen thousand dollars, Rico would frequently take me on lavish shopping sprees. It was all for show, to keep up appearances for the Thorne family, but he never asked for any of it back. The designer clothes, the jewelry, the handbags—they were all mine.
This sweet deal was supposed to last for another two years.
But then, a couple of weeks ago, on his birthday, he'd gotten wasted and mistaken me for his first love...
And that led to this.
I asked Rico not to tell his family about the pregnancy just yet.
"It's still early," I said, my voice soft. "Let's not get their hopes up, just in case. We can tell them after the first trimester, once everything is stable."
He saw the logic in that and agreed.
After the "news," Rico started spending significantly more time at the villa. The man who used to show up twice a month was now home two or three times a week. He was also a nervous wreck, hovering over me constantly, terrified I might trip or bump my stomach.
He'd stare at my perfectly flat belly and ask, "Do you think it's a boy or a girl?"
One day, tired of the question, I answered flippantly, "A boy."
He sulked for the entire evening.
I found out later he'd always wanted a daughter.
After two weeks of being treated like royalty, his first love came back.
The day Monica Ferguson returned, Rico paced the length of the villa, a caged tiger.
"Aren't you going to the airport to meet her?" I asked.
He shot me a hesitant look.
I gave him a gentle, understanding smile. "It's okay. The baby and I are very generous."
That was all the permission he needed. The moment his car pulled out of the driveway, I bolted upstairs to grab the suitcase I'd packed weeks ago.
I left the signed divorce agreement on the coffee table and made my escape.
I caught a late-night flight to the next state over and laid low at a friend's place for half a year. Finally, after months of coaxing, my friend convinced me to go out.
We ended up at a high-end club, where I hired two young, gorgeous models to keep me company.
There I was, basking in the attention, a handsome young man on each arm, when the door to our private suite was kicked open.
The man standing in the doorway was radiating a glacial fury.
He just stood there, his gaze locked on me. After a long, silent moment, a faint, chilling smile touched his lips.
"My dear wife," he said. "You've led me on quite a chase."

2
A bone-deep chill settled over the room, the silence thick with unspoken threats.
Rico leisurely took a seat on the main sofa, gesturing toward me with a slight tilt of his chin. His voice was a low rumble. "Come here."
I cursed my traitorous legs. Even after six months, my body still obeyed him without question.
His arm snaked around my waist, pulling me onto his lap. His hand came to rest on my flat stomach.
"Where's my son?" he asked, his tone deceptively light.
I kept my head down, guilt coiling in my gut. "I... I miscarried."
He let out a soft, humorless chuckle. "Did you miscarry, Nora? Or was there never a baby to begin with?"
Game over. The jig was up.
Rico was right. I was never pregnant. The report was a fake.
The whole point was to squeeze some extra cash out of him. I wouldn't have been in such a rush, but Monica was coming back. A few days before Rico's birthday, she'd sent him a message.
"Rico, I'm coming home soon! We can celebrate your birthday when I get back! xoxo"
My original deal with Rico was for five years. A fake marriage, fifteen grand a month. After five years, I would walk away with just under a million dollars. But with Monica's return, our divorce was imminent. I did the math—I was about to lose out on over three hundred thousand dollars! I couldn't let that happen.
So, I used his drunken birthday as an excuse to stage a fake pregnancy and cash in.
He was definitely drunk that night. But he came home and passed out immediately. No drunken rampage, no mistaking me for Monica. Nothing.
My shoulders slumped. "Mr. Thorne, I'm so sorry. I was wrong."
He tilted my chin up with his finger, his touch slow and deliberate. "Nora, what you did is called fraud."
"I could have you arrested."
I made a last-ditch effort. "We can work this out! That half a million—I haven't touched a cent. I can give it all back." Honestly, I'd been too busy hiding from him to spend it.
"I don't want the money," he said, his eyes cold as ice.
"Then what do you want?"
"I want my son."
I was dragged back to the villa.
As he put it, you can't un-spill water. Or un-give money. Since he'd already given it to me, there was no taking it back. But now, since I'd taken the money, I owed him a son.
I rolled my eyes. "What do you think I am, some kind of single-celled organism? You think I can just reproduce on my own?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Speaking of which, after all these years of marriage, you still haven't fulfilled your... wifely duties, have you?"
I clutched my chest protectively. "Rico Thorne! We had a deal! My body wasn't part of it!"
He nodded slowly. "And our deal never said you'd try to extort me with a phantom child, did it?"
Damn it. My own brilliant plan had backfired spectacularly.
I was trapped.
That night, when I came out of the shower, Rico was already in bed, shirtless. He lifted the covers, his eyes commanding me to join him.
"Wh-what are you doing?"
He bared his teeth in a predatory grin. "Making a son."
"But..." I hesitated. "It's that time of the month."
The smile vanished from his face. A second later, he was out of bed, scooping me up into his arms. His brow furrowed. "And you're walking around barefoot on a cold floor? Aren't you cramping?"
He gently placed me on the bed, then called for Mrs. Gable to bring up a thermos of ginger tea sweetened with honey. He watched me drink the entire mug before the tension in his shoulders finally eased.
I have terrible menstrual cramps. Every month, a few days are pure misery. I was surprised he'd remembered such a small detail.
After the hot, sweet tea, the ache in my stomach did subside.
"Thank you," I said, genuinely.
He just snorted and turned his back to me.
"Are you... sleeping here tonight?" I asked, confused.
A large arm reached out, pulling me into his embrace, his actions answering for him.
The clock on the wall read midnight. Rico was clearly exhausted. I didn't say another word, just carefully tucked the blanket around him and drifted off to sleep.
It was the first time Rico and I had ever shared a bed.
Surprisingly, I slept better than I had in months.
The next morning, he was gone, already at the office. After I'd showered and eaten, I was planning to spend the morning lazing around in the garden when a visitor arrived.
I recognized her immediately. Rico's first love, Monica Ferguson.
She was here to see me.
She was the classic damsel-in-distress type, with a gentle, sweet demeanor, dressed in a flowing white dress. Mrs. Gable clearly knew her, calling her "Miss Monica."
In the garden, I sat on the swing while she stood by the fountain.
"Miss Evans, my name is Monica Ferguson. I was Rico's first love," she began. "I came back to take care of some... unfinished business."
She took a deep breath. "I have terminal stomach cancer. I'm dying."
Her last sentence shattered my composure. A tragic soul.
I got up and walked over to her, taking her hand in mine. "Miss Ferguson, you've misunderstood. Rico and I may be married, but we're not in love. The person he loves has always been you."
She looked at me, a flicker of disbelief in her eyes. "Really?"
"Really."

3
During my first year of marriage to Rico, I discovered a room in the villa that was strictly off-limits to everyone. Not even Mrs. Gable, who had worked for the Thornes for over a decade, was allowed inside.
One time, using the excuse of bringing him a plate of fruit, I managed to sneak a peek.
My God. It was covered in photographs.
An entire room, a shrine to one woman, from her high school days to the present.
I later found out that woman was Monica Ferguson.
They met in high school and dated for four years in college. Rico had once sworn he would marry no one else. But then, Monica left for another country, leaving him with nothing but a curt "we're over." For the first year after she left, Rico practically drowned himself in alcohol. Time eventually healed some of the wound, but his love for Monica never faded.
The reason he'd picked me out of all the other candidates for his sham marriage?
I had been wearing my hair in a high ponytail and was dressed in a white dress.
Monica's signature look.
He chose me because I looked like her.
Monica was even more surprised to hear this. "He sees you as my substitute? And you're not angry about that?"
I smiled. "I'm not in love with him. Why would I be angry? He provides the money, I provide my time. It's a fair trade."
We were talking about nearly a million dollars. Most people couldn't earn that in a lifetime. All I had to do was give up five years of my youth, without even selling my body. It was a steal!
Thinking about it, my face fell into a worried expression. "But you came back early. I might not get the full amount now."
She was sharp. She got it instantly. "How much are you losing?"
"Around three hundred thousand."
"I'll give it to you."
My eyes lit up. Now that was an offer I couldn't refuse!
That was perfect.
That night, I cooked an elaborate dinner for Rico. When he got home, I was waiting at the door, eagerly taking his coat. I pulled out his chair, placed a perfectly seared medium-rare steak in front of him, and poured him half a glass of red wine.
Rico raised an eyebrow. "What's all this?"
I gestured for him to drink. He took a small sip.
"You've gone to all this trouble. What are you after?"
I cleared my throat. "Rico, I cheated on you."
In that instant, the villa became so quiet you could hear a pin drop. The hand holding his wine glass tightened, his knuckles turning white. His lips pressed into a thin, hard line.
He looked terrifying. My legs felt like jelly.
"Rico... let's get a divorce," I managed to stammer out, getting to the point.
His eyes darkened. After a long moment, he masked all emotion, methodically finished his steak, and even drank the rest of the wine. Then, he took my hand, his grip unyielding, and dragged me upstairs to the bedroom.
He threw me onto the sofa, loosened his tie, and his voice was heavy. "So, for three hundred thousand dollars, you sold me out to Monica?"
The air rushed out of my lungs.
Damn it! He knew everything!
Of course he did. This was his house. He must have eyes and ears everywhere. Oh God, did that mean he knew about all the times I'd badmouthed him behind his back?
Whatever. That wasn't important right now.
I sat up straight. "Well, since you already know, I'll drop the act. Monica's back. A divorce is exactly what you want, isn't it?"
A vein throbbed in his temple. "Nora, why do you think I went to so much trouble to find you and bring you back?"
"Isn't it because I tricked you with the fake pregnancy, and you couldn't stand being played?" I mumbled under my breath.
In a flash, an impossible thought struck me.
"Rico... you don't actually like me, do you?"
The room was dark, the lamps unlit. The night was like ink, with only the moonlight spilling through the windows, painting silver patterns on the floor. Half of Rico's face was lost in the shadows, his expression unreadable.
But his eyes held a strange, blazing light, a heat that threatened to drown me.
I forced myself to look away, my voice turning cool. "We had a deal from the start. No one was supposed to fall in love."
It felt like an eternity passed before I heard his cold laugh, a sound that sent a shiver down my spine in the pitch-black room.
"You're overthinking it."
"The deal was for five years. That's what I promised my grandfather. After five years, when I take full control of the company, then we can talk about divorce."
Rico disappeared for a long time after that.
Monica never contacted me again.
Once more, I was the enviable Mrs. Thorne.
As my period approached, Mrs. Gable had already prepared a thermos of honey-sweetened ginger tea and left it on my nightstand. I smiled and thanked her, drinking the whole thing in one go. She seemed to want to say something, glancing towards Rico's study several times, but ultimately remained silent.
Rico stopped taking me shopping, stopped going on strolls with me, stopped taking me deep-sea fishing. He suddenly became incredibly busy, not coming home for months at a time.
He was actively avoiding me.
Ever since that day I told him no one was supposed to fall in love.
It was for the best. Our marriage was a sham. Catching feelings would only lead to a devastating loss.
But it was strange.
The tea was sweet, but all I could taste was bitterness.

4
Rico's birthday was approaching again.
Time flew. It had been nearly a year since his last birthday, the one where I'd faked a pregnancy.
This year's party was being organized by his grandfather, the old Mr. Thorne himself. It was a massive affair, held at one of the family's country estates, with a guest list a mile long.
The evening of the party, Rico took me to a private couturier to pick out a dress and jewelry. The owner was a stunning blonde woman who, despite her looks, spoke with a flawless accent.
"What style are you looking for?" she asked with a smile, taking my measurements.
I thought for a moment. "Something elegant and respectable."
After all, I was Mrs. Thorne now. I had to look the part—graceful, dignified. I couldn't embarrass him.
But the woman looked me up and down, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "It's Rico's birthday. How about we try something... different?"
When I stepped out in the red dress, Rico was on the phone by the window. He hung up, turned, and his eyes widened with an unmistakable flicker of awe.
I looked at myself in the mirror. The woman staring back was a stranger.
The dress was the color of fire, clinging to my curves. My hair was swept up, revealing the long, pale line of my neck. My waist was cinched, my legs looked impossibly long, and the neckline hinted at a cleavage I never knew I had.
I had never seen myself look so... breathtaking.
But the slit ran all the way up my thigh. I shifted uncomfortably. "Maybe I should change?"
He didn't say anything. Instead, he walked to a display of jewels and selected a ruby necklace. He came up behind me, his fingers brushing against my skin as he fastened the clasp.
"No," he said, his voice calm. "It's perfect."
The rubies were dazzling, catching the light with every movement. The accidental graze of his fingertips on my neck sent a sudden, unexpected shiver through me.
It tickled.
When I entered the ballroom on Rico's arm, every head turned. After three years with him, I was used to the stares. But this time, it wasn't just the women. It was the men, too. Their gazes were different.
"I thought Monica Ferguson was back. What's she still doing here?"
"I was sure he would have kicked her to the curb by now."
"Well, it has been three years. You can get attached to a dog in that time."
I'd heard variations of these comments for years. I thought I was immune, but a strange, unidentifiable emotion churned in my stomach. I tightened my grip on my champagne flute, telling myself to let it go. They were right, after all. I'd endured it for this long; what was one more year?
One more year, and I could take my money, take my mom, and disappear somewhere no one knew us.
"Mrs. Thorne."
I turned to see a man with a charming smile. I recognized him. Ethan Blackwood, Rico's biggest rival.
He clinked his glass against mine. "You look more beautiful every time I see you."
I smiled and thanked him. The next moment, he was draping his jacket over my shoulders.
"But at an event like this, one must be mindful of their appearance."
Only then did I notice the looks. My bare shoulders, my back, the long expanse of my leg exposed by the slit—they were all targets. Most of the gazes were from men, and they were predatory, loaded with suggestion.
I frowned, a wave of displeasure washing over me.
Before I could say a word, a strong hand settled on my waist. Rico was beside me. He adjusted the necklace at my throat, his voice just loud enough for everyone nearby to hear.
"My wife wears what she wants. That's her right."
Ethan smiled smoothly. "I was merely offering a friendly suggestion. After all, I'm not the only one here who thinks so."
Rico's gaze swept the room, and the other men quickly looked away. When titans clashed, the mortals knew to stay clear.
"It's the 21st century, Ethan," Rico said, his voice laced with ice. "Are you still under the impression that women dress to please men?"
Ethan shrugged. "I never said that."
Rico's smile was thin and sharp. "Then why the hell are you telling my wife to be 'mindful'? She can wear whatever she damn well pleases. Who do you think you are, judging a Thorne?"
The room was utterly silent. Ethan, having been publicly humiliated, opened his mouth to retort, but Rico had already turned, leading me away.
"Perhaps you should learn some basic respect, Ethan, before you try to lecture others."
Rico led me away from the crowd, finding a quiet balcony on the second floor. He stood there, frowning, not saying a word. The night wind was cold, and I wrapped my arms around myself.
He took off his jacket and draped it over me.
I pressed my lips together. "So you think this dress is too revealing, too?"
A muscle twitched in Rico's jaw. After a moment, he said, "Aren't you cold?"
...Right. He was the one who picked it out.
"Why did you choose this dress for me?"
"Because you look beautiful in it."
"But it's so revealing. Everyone thought so."
Rico turned to face me, leaning against the railing, his eyes looking down at me. "I don't think so," he said softly. "You look beautiful. You look... sexy."
He paused, his gaze intense. "A flower is meant to bloom. If someone plucks it, it's the fault of the one who plucked it."
"The flower itself is blameless."
A long, long time ago, my mother loved to dance. After dinner, she would put on her beautiful dance skirts and join the community group in the town square. The gossip spread like wildfire. They called her a flirt, wondering who she was trying to seduce, dressed like that every day.
My father found out.
To this day, I can still hear his words.
"Dressing like that? You're just asking for it."
After that, I threw away every pretty dress I owned.
And now, here was someone, telling me with unwavering certainty.
The flower is blameless.
In that moment, as if bewitched, I took a step forward, tilted my head back, and looked up at him.
"Rico, is your flower Monica?"
His Adam's apple bobbed. It was a long time before he answered. "She was."
"And now?"

First, search for and download the MotoNovel app from Google. Then, open the app and use the code "248916" to read the entire book.