The Billionaire's Price For My Baby

Elaina Carroll gripped the cold porcelain of the toilet bowl, her knuckles turning white as another wave of nausea rolled through her empty stomach. The fluorescent lights of the office restroom hummed overhead, a sound that seemed to drill directly into her skull. She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to breathe through her nose, counting the seconds until the spinning sensation in her head slowed down.

One. Two. Three.

It had been six weeks since the charity gala. Six weeks since the champagne that tasted like liquid gold and the mistake that felt like a fever dream.

With trembling fingers, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the white plastic stick she had smuggled in inside her sleeve. She didn't want to look. Looking made it real. But the silence of the stall was suffocating, and the unknown was worse than the truth.

She opened her eyes.

Two pink lines.

They were faint, but they were undeniable. A positive result.

The air left her lungs in a sharp, ragged gasp. Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a sob, but a small, pathetic whimper escaped. Memories of that night flashed behind her eyelids-the heavy scent of pine and expensive scotch, the rough texture of Adrian Conway's tuxedo jacket, the way his eyes had darkened in the dim light of the hotel suite. It wasn't love. It wasn't even romance. It was a collision of alcohol and opportunity, a lapse in judgment from a man who never made mistakes and a woman who was too dazzled to say no.

The restroom door swung open with a heavy thud, followed by the sharp, rhythmic click of high heels on the tiled floor.

Elaina panicked. She shoved the pregnancy test deep into her handbag, burying it under receipts and lip balm. She flushed the toilet, not because she needed to, but to mask the sound of her jagged breathing.

"Elaina? Are you dead in there?"

The voice was sharp, laced with faux concern. Joni Dillon. Of course, it was Joni.

Elaina stood up, smoothing down her skirt with shaking hands. She took a deep breath, composed her face into a mask of neutrality, and unlocked the stall door.

Joni was standing at the sinks, reapplying a shade of lipstick that was too bright for a Tuesday morning. She caught Elaina's reflection in the mirror and smirked.

"You look like hell," Joni said, popping her lips. "Rough night? Or just hungover?"

Elaina moved to the adjacent sink, turning on the tap. The water was freezing, shocking her skin. She splashed it onto her face, desperate to wash away the heat rising in her cheeks.

"Just a stomach bug," Elaina muttered, grabbing a paper towel. "I'm fine."

"Right," Joni drawled, her eyes narrowing as she watched Elaina dry her face. "Well, you better get it together. The Ice King is on a rampage today. He's already fired two interns for breathing too loud."

Elaina didn't respond. She threw the paper towel in the bin and walked out, her legs feeling like lead.

Her desk was right outside the double mahogany doors of the CEO's office. It was a gatekeeper's station, organized with military precision. She sat down, her hand instinctively going to her flat stomach beneath the fabric of her blouse. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic rhythm that made her dizzy.

She was going to lose her job. That was the only outcome. Adrian Conway didn't do messy. He didn't do personal complications. He was a machine, efficient and cold, and she was just a cog that had suddenly malfunctioned.

The intercom on her desk buzzed, making her jump.

"Coffee. Black."

Adrian's voice was low, devoid of inflection. It wasn't a request; it was a command.

Elaina's body moved on autopilot. Five years of being his Executive Assistant had wired her muscles to respond to his voice before her brain could catch up. She went to the breakroom, her hands performing the ritual-fresh grind, French press, four minutes exactly. No sugar. No cream. Just bitter, dark liquid.

She stood outside his office door with the steaming mug, taking a moment to steady herself. She had to tell him. She couldn't keep this a secret, not when her body was already betraying her.

She pushed the door open.

Adrian Conway was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, his back to her. He was on the phone, his posture rigid, the line of his shoulders sharp under his bespoke suit. The city of Manhattan sprawled out beneath him, gray and imposing, much like the man himself.

He turned as she entered, his eyes scanning her with the indifference one might show a piece of furniture. He pointed to the coaster on his desk, not breaking his conversation.

Elaina set the mug down. The ceramic clinked softly against the glass surface. She didn't leave. She stood there, gripping the edge of her blazer, her fingernails digging into her palms.

Adrian hung up the phone and looked at her, his brow furrowing slightly. "Is there a problem, Elaina?"

"Mr. Conway," she started, her voice sounding thin and foreign to her own ears. "About... about that night. The gala."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. Adrian's expression hardened. He picked up a file from his desk, not looking at her.

"That was a mistake, Elaina. A lapse. We agreed to forget it."

"I know," she whispered. "But-"

"I don't repeat myself," he cut her off, his tone slicing through the air like a scalpel. "You are an excellent assistant. Do not make me question your professionalism by bringing up irrelevancies. Go."

The shame hit her like a physical blow. It started in her chest and burned its way up her throat. He saw it as nothing. A blip. An irrelevancy.

"I'm sorry," she choked out.

She turned and fled. She walked fast, head down, past Joni's curious gaze, past the murmuring interns. She needed air. She needed to get out of this building before she shattered.

It was lunch hour. She grabbed her purse and headed for the elevators, intending to go to the clinic three blocks away to get a blood test confirmation, just to be absolutely, one hundred percent sure before her world ended.

The elevator doors pinged open on the executive floor. Elaina stepped forward, but stopped abruptly.

Constance Conway was inside.

The matriarch of the Conway family was a woman made of steel and pearls. She was petite, but her presence filled the small metal box, sucking out all the oxygen. Her gray hair was coiffed into an immobile helmet, and her eyes were the same icy blue as her son's.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Conway," Elaina managed to say, stepping in and pressing herself against the side wall.

Constance didn't answer immediately. Her gaze swept over Elaina, assessing, calculating. It felt like being scanned by a predator.

"Miss Carroll," Constance finally acknowledged, her voice dry.

The elevator descended in silence. Elaina stared at the floor numbers changing, willing them to move faster. Her stomach churned again. The smell of Constance's heavy, floral perfume was making her gag reflex twitch.

The doors opened to the lobby. Elaina practically bolted out, eager for the exit.

A courier with a stack of boxes was rushing in, blind behind his load. He slammed into Elaina's shoulder.

The impact spun her around. Her handbag slipped from her grasp and hit the marble floor upside down.

Everything spilled. Her wallet, her keys, her lipstick.

And the box. The white box with the bold pink lettering. PREGNANCY TEST.

Elaina gasped and dropped to her knees, her hands scrambling to gather her things. She snatched up the wallet, the keys. She reached for the box.

But a manicured hand with a large sapphire ring got there first.

Elaina froze. She looked up, her breath hitching in her throat.

Constance Conway was holding the box. She turned it over in her hand, reading the label. Then, her eyes moved to the loose plastic stick that had fallen out of the box, lying on the floor. The two pink lines were visible even from this distance.

Constance picked up the stick with two fingers, as if it were contaminated evidence. She looked at the date on the receipt that had fluttered out. She looked at Elaina.

There was no anger in her face. There was something far worse. A slow, terrifying smile spread across her lips.

"Get up," Constance said softly.

Elaina stood, her legs shaking so hard she thought they might give out. "Mrs. Conway, I can explain-"

Constance raised a hand, silencing her. She snapped her fingers, and two large men in dark suits materialized from the shadows of the lobby.

"My car is outside," Constance said. "Get in."

"I... I can't," Elaina stammered, looking toward the revolving doors where freedom lay. "I have to get back to work."

"You have a new job now," Constance said, her voice leaving no room for argument. She turned and walked toward the exit, the men flanking Elaina, blocking any path of escape.

Elaina looked around the busy lobby. People were walking by, checking their phones, drinking coffee. No one noticed the kidnapping happening in plain sight.

She was ushered through the doors and toward a sleek black Lincoln stretched out at the curb. The driver held the door open.

Elaina hesitated, looking back at the glass tower of Conway Enterprises. High up on the top floor, Adrian was drinking his black coffee, completely unaware that his life-and hers-was about to implode.

One of the bodyguards placed a hand on her back and shoved, not gently. Elaina stumbled into the dark interior of the car. The door slammed shut, sealing her in with the dragon.