His One-Night Heir
The girl got pregnant. Now she was here, in my husband’s high-rise office, demanding he take responsibility.
Leo lit a cigarette, the smoke curling around his impassive face. Then he turned and handed the choice, the power, the entire mess, to me.
“It was once,” he said, his voice flat.
“If you can forgive me, we can move on from this. Make it work.”
He paused, the ash on his cigarette growing long and fragile.
“If you can’t, we get a divorce.”
The blood drained from my face. I could hear it rushing in my ears. “It was your mistake, right?” I asked, my voice a tremor.
“If we get a divorce, you’ll admit it was your fault. You’ll take the blame, won’t you?”
1
My marriage to Leo was built on my sister’s leftovers.
My younger sister, Chloe, is a whirlwind—vibrant and charming, with a stubborn streak a mile wide. The idea of being shackled to a man for the sake of a “strategic family alliance” was, to her, a life sentence.
So she took the trust fund top-up—a cool twenty million—and vanished.
My mother, heartbroken over her favorite’s departure but unwilling to lose a son-in-law like Leo, shoved me forward to take her place. She acted as if any daughter from our family, the House of Sterling, would be an acceptable substitute. As if Leo would simply take one, regardless of the model.
But this was Leo Vance.
In the world we lived in, a world of old money and new power, he was the apex predator. Chloe leaving him at the altar wasn't just an inconvenience; it was a public humiliation. And now they wanted him to marry me? The quiet, overlooked older sister? It was delusional.
Still, I went to see him. I walked into his office, laid out my case, and proposed myself as a solution. To my everlasting shock, he agreed.
This year marks our fourth anniversary.
To the outside world, we are a power couple. In private, we are like polite roommates who happen to share a bed. Even in our most intimate moments, there is a formal, almost respectful distance between us.
My mother has been relentless, a constant drone in my ear. You need a child. You’re useless, Audrey. A baby is the only thing that will anchor a man like Leo. What will you do if he just leaves?
I always wanted to say, Leo isn’t a dog to be leashed.
And even if I had a leash, would he ever willingly wear it?
But I never said that. I would just nod, my posture shrinking, my voice a murmur of agreement. It was the version of me she expected, the version she despised the most. She’d roll her eyes in disgust, turn on her heel, and leave me in her wake.
Then, against all odds, the impossible happened. I got pregnant.
2
My period was late. First one week, then two, then four.
Last night, I took a test. Two stark pink lines appeared against the white plastic. This morning, I went to the clinic for a blood test to be sure.
The doctor held the report, her expression neutral.
“You’re nine weeks along. Are you planning on keeping the baby?”
“I think so,” I said, the words feeling foreign in my mouth.
Leo didn’t know. This child was never part of our sterile, five-year plan. I needed to talk to him.
Clutching the report in my purse, I drove to his office downtown.
Leo was in a board meeting when I arrived. His assistant, Sarah, showed me into his expansive corner office, her smile professionally warm. She brought me a cup of coffee and a small plate of artisanal pastries.
I lifted the porcelain cup, the rich aroma filling my senses. Then I paused. Can you drink coffee when you're pregnant?
I had no idea.
A quick search on my phone. Yes, in moderation.
Relief washed over me. I took a small, careful sip, letting out a sigh of pure satisfaction.
The sigh was cut short by a commotion from the reception area. A woman’s voice, sharp and furious, sliced through the calm of the executive floor.
I opened the office door a crack and found myself staring directly into the eyes of a woman being held back by security.
Her face was flushed, her eyes blazing. “Get Leo Vance out here!” she screamed, her voice echoing off the marble floors. “Does he think he can knock someone up and just walk away?”
The sound was deafening. The spectacle, mortifying. The crowd of onlookers, a blur of judgment.
The shame was so intense I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. I wanted to scream, This has nothing to do with me!
Just then, Leo appeared, his face a thundercloud. He cut through the crowd, his eyes finding me peeking through the doorway. In two long strides, he was there. A large, warm hand with perfectly sculpted knuckles covered my eyes, blocking the scene.
I flinched back instinctively.
With a soft click, he pushed the door closed, shutting me inside.
I blinked in the sudden silence.
Wait. My husband cheated, knocked up another woman, and the angry, pregnant mistress was at his door… and I wasn’t supposed to be involved at all?
3
It turned out I was involved. Just not in the way I expected.
Leo dismissed the onlookers with a single, cutting glare. He murmured something to the woman, his voice too low for me to hear. Then he opened the door and ushered her into the office, right in front of me.
He was so calm, so infuriatingly composed. I had the absurd urge to applaud. To cheat on your wife and handle the fallout with the detached air of a CEO managing a hostile takeover… it was a singular talent.
The woman was cool. She wore simple, expensive athletic wear, her hair pulled back in a high ponytail under a baseball cap. She dropped into the leather armchair opposite me, crossed one leg over the other, and radiated an aura that screamed, Don’t mess with me.
She was also, I noted with a clinical sort of bitterness, stunningly beautiful. Sharp, delicate features, eyes that were both cold and captivating. It was the kind of face you couldn’t bring yourself to hate.
Too bad she had a mouth.
“So, you’re the wife?” she said, her eyes flicking over me with casual dismissal. “Divorce him.” She placed a hand on her flat stomach. “I’m pregnant. He needs to take responsibility for me.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. Well, I’m pregnant too. Who’s going to take responsibility for me?
Logically, as the wife, I should have had the upper hand. But when marriage becomes a battlefield, the one with the least to lose often screams the loudest.
“Hah,” I let out a short, empty breath and reached for a small biscotti from the plate on the table. It was nutty and perfectly crisp, not too sweet. Delicious.
“Want one?” I offered, holding it out to her.
Her face twisted in disgust. She pointed at me, turning to Leo. “Is she insane?”
For the first time, a crack appeared in Leo’s composure. A frown line creased between his brows. He grabbed my hand and pulled me into the private lounge connected to his office.
He smoked an entire cigarette in tense silence.
“It was once,” he finally said, his voice rough. “I was at a conference. Someone spiked my drink. It was an accident.”
“Audrey.” He met my gaze, his eyes sharp and serious. “It was my mistake. So you get to decide.”
He took a step closer. “If you can forgive me, we’ll move past this. We’ll make this work, for real this time.”
He took a breath. “If you can’t, we get a divorce.”
The word—divorce—landed like a punch to my solar plexus. My heart skipped a beat, then began to hammer against my ribs. I dug my thumbnail into the fleshy part of my palm, the small pain a welcome anchor.
“It was your fault, right?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “If we get a divorce, you’ll admit it was your fault. That will be the story.”
4
Leo studied my face.
He was a handsome man. More handsome than anyone I’d ever known. I liked looking at him. Especially in bed, from below, watching the way his eyes would glaze over with pleasure, listening to the raw, sexy sound of his breathing. In those moments, I could forget everything and lose myself in pure sensation.
A divorce. It would be a shame.
But not impossible.
“So, your decision is a divorce?” he asked, his voice hardening.
I nodded, gesturing vaguely toward the other room. “After a scene like that? I don’t see another way.”
“It’s just… my mother,” I said, needing the reassurance. “You’ll tell her it was your fault, right?” I had to confirm it again.
The warmth in his expression vanished, replaced by a cool, unfamiliar distance that made my stomach clench. But I was an expert at managing that feeling. I took a deep breath and pushed it down.
Leo stood up, brushing a piece of non-existent lint from his suit. “Don’t worry,” he said calmly. “I’ll handle everything.”
Phew.
That was a relief.
“Okay. In the divorce, you can have everything else. I just want Helios Pharmaceuticals.”
“Fine.”
“And, if it’s not too much trouble, a house. One of the villas in the Heights would be nice.”
“Done.”
“Could I also have three hundred million?”
Leo turned back, his gaze pinning me to the spot. “You want everything and a divorce?” A bitter, humorless smile touched his lips. “If we don’t get a divorce, Audrey, it’s all yours anyway.”
I looked away, suddenly fascinated by my own feet.
Well, you’re the one who cheated, I thought. If you hadn’t cheated, we wouldn’t be getting a divorce. And if we weren’t getting a divorce, your wife and your child would both be yours.
…Wait.
Even with a divorce, he’d still have a wife and child. Just a different set.
Damn it. He really was a businessman, wasn’t he? Always calculating, always making sure he came out ahead.
5
Leo sent the woman away. What they discussed, what he promised her, I have no idea. By the time I emerged from the lounge, she was gone.
The delicious pastries were gone, too. Not a single crumb left.
I stared at the empty plate.
As I was leaving, I couldn’t stop myself. I grabbed his assistant, Sarah, by the arm.
“Those little biscotti from earlier,” I whispered. “Could you… could you pack some for me?”
Sarah’s expression was a painful mix of pity and confusion.
From behind me, Leo’s voice cut through the air, cold and sharp with contempt.
“Pack them for her.”
The scandal exploded. By evening, my mother was calling.
The first call, I ignored.
The second, I ignored.
On the third, I stared at the screen for a long moment before walking to the kitchen and dropping my phone into the sink full of water.
Finally. Peace.
In that quiet, a single thought crystallized in my mind with perfect clarity: I was going to have this baby.
This child. I would provide half its chromosomes. It would be nourished by my own body, grow from my own flesh, and emerge as a new, independent life. It would be connected to me by blood and bone.
My family. My ally.
Why on earth would I not bring him into this world?
Yes. I was going to have my baby.
The decision filled me with a giddy, unfamiliar excitement. I went to the wine cellar and opened a forty-thousand-dollar bottle of red.
Can you drink alcohol when you’re pregnant?
No.
Wait. In moderation.
So, cheers!
6
At eight o’clock, my mother descended.
The banging on my front door was loud enough to be reported for disturbing the peace. But I live in a gated community with no close neighbors. A small perk.
I put on my noise-canceling headphones and turned the stereo up until the floor vibrated. Still, I could faintly hear her muffled screaming through the bass. I couldn’t make out the words, but I knew the script by heart. It would be a lecture on “The Uselessness of Audrey,” followed by the classic sermon, “What is Audrey’s Purpose for Existing?”
No new material, nothing innovative, but still a performance I had no desire to hear.
After a while, the noise stopped. A while after that, my front door opened.
Leo stood over me, pulling the headphones from my ears. In one hand, he held my waterlogged phone. In the other, a brand-new one. His face was a mask of cold indifference.
“Put your SIM card in this,” he said, his voice clipped. “The lab couldn’t reach you, so they called me. Call them back. Now.”
I tilted my head back to look at him. “You see, Leo? You were wrong.”
“What?”
“You cheated, and that’s why we’re getting a divorce. But my mother still came here to blame me.”
He stared down at me, his jaw tight. He took a deep breath. “I know. I’ll handle it.”
Leo’s method of “handling it” was, to put it mildly, a complete failure. One star. Would not recommend.
My mother stormed into his corporate headquarters and had to be physically restrained by security. I was just leaving my lab at the time, exhausted after an all-nighter. The sample reactions weren’t promising, and the whole research team was feeling dejected.
Leo always said that in these moments, a leader should offer encouragement and inspire hope.
“But they’re human,” I’d argued. “It’s normal to feel discouraged.” To me, the most inspiring thing about them was their courage to fail a thousand times and still be willing to start over. That was a resilience I understood.
My train of thought was derailed by my assistant. “Dr. Sterling, your mother is here. She’s demanding to see you.”
She could demand all she wanted. If I didn’t want to see her, she wouldn’t.
I took the private elevator down to the garage, planning to slip away unnoticed. But as my car rounded the corner, she materialized in front of it like a vengeful ghost, her eyes burning with rage.
There was no escape. I ended up buying her a coffee.
As we sat in stony silence, I mentally calculated. It had been 372 days since we’d last seen each other. We were so close to a new record. A real shame.
“You’re divorcing Leo?” she began, dispensing with pleasantries.
“Yes.”
“Are you sick in the head?” The attack came with zero warning, a verbal ambush. The onslaught continued without pause. “Do you have a brain in there? Do you think you’re better than everyone else? What man doesn’t cheat? Does any man have a perfectly clean slate? But no, not you. You have to make a federal case out of some tiny little thing and scream divorce. If you’re not ashamed, I’m ashamed for you.”
“Whose fault is it when a man cheats? It’s yours. You couldn’t keep him, couldn’t control him.”
“I told you, being book-smart is useless! You have no social graces, no common sense, you’re stubborn and blind. People always say I favor Chloe, but if you were half as considerate, half as loving as her…”
“You’d still favor her,” I cut in, finishing her sentence.
She choked, her mouth agape. Then she shrieked, “Audrey, must you always contradict me?”
No. I was just tired. I wanted to sleep. I was pregnant, and the tiny cluster of cells in my belly needed to grow.
I stood up to leave. But my movement was like flipping a switch in her. She grabbed my arm, her grip like a vise. Her face contorted with fury, and just like she had countless times when I was a child, she raised her hand to strike me.
In that instant, sheer terror paralyzed me. I could have dodged. I could have blocked her arm. I could have even fought back. But my body betrayed me. My nerves felt severed, incapable of sending a single command. I just stood there, frozen. A wooden doll, not even breathing.
7
“Mom!”
A bright, cheerful voice cut through the tension.
My mother’s hand stopped mid-air. She turned, her angry expression melting into one of pure delight. Standing in the doorway of the cafe was Chloe, slightly out of breath but with a perfect, radiant smile plastered on her face.
“Chloe, baby! When did you get back? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
Chloe practically skipped over, squeezing herself between my mother and me. She linked her arm through our mother’s, leaning her head on her shoulder affectionately.
“I wanted to surprise you! Oh, Mom, I’ve missed you so much.”
My mother beamed, the wrinkles around her eyes deepening with pleasure. I took a small, imperceptible step back, giving them space for their mother-daughter reunion.
My back hit something solid and warm. A wall of muscle.
“Chloe, how did you get here? Who picked you up from the airport?” my mother asked.
“Leo did, of course!”
Both of them turned their heads in unison to look at the man standing directly behind me. Leo.
His hand was resting on my lower back, steadying me. “Are you okay?” he murmured, his voice low.
I took a shaky breath. “So when,” I asked, my own voice just as low, “did you and your former fiancée get back in touch?”
His jaw tightened. “For now, she is still my sister-in-law.”
“Oh, right. So how did you get in touch with your sister-in-law?”
He didn’t like that question. I could see the muscle in his jaw twitching.
Someone else didn’t like it either.
Chloe pouted, disengaging from our mother and inserting herself between Leo and me. “Leo, what are you guys talking about? I called your name and you totally ignored me.” She linked her arm through his as naturally as she had with our mother.
Our mother’s eyes darted between them, a flicker of suspicion in her gaze. “Chloe, you two…”
Chloe’s face flushed a delicate pink before she even spoke. She stomped her foot playfully. “Mom, don’t be silly.” She looked from Leo to our mother, her expression a perfect mix of coy denial and unspoken possibility. “Leo and I, we’re just… we’re just…” she trailed off. “Oh, forget it! You guys are so annoying!”
That performance—the hesitation, the feigned embarrassment—was classic Chloe.
A look of dawning comprehension spread across our mother’s face. Her lips curved into a triumphant smile. “Okay, okay! Wonderful! Today is a happy day. Leo, you come with Chloe. We’re all going home for dinner.”
Everyone in that little circle was busy with their own drama. Only Leo spared me a final, fleeting glance. But in the end, he allowed Chloe to pull him away.
And my sister, from the moment she arrived to the moment she left, never once looked at me.
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