The CEO’s Masked Secret Wife novel Chapter 3
Chapter 3: A Son with a Stranger’s Eyes
“I can’t believe I was so stupid!” I paced back and forth in Chloe’s apartment, tugging at my hair in frustration. “Who does that? Who has unprotected sex with a complete stranger?”
Chloe sat on her couch, watching me wear a path in her carpet. “Hey, it was a mistake. We all make them.”
“Not like this!” My voice cracked. “What if I have an STD? What if I’m…”
I couldn’t even say the word. Pregnant. The possibility hung in the air between us.
“First things first,” Chloe said, grabbing her phone. “Let’s schedule you for testing.”
Two weeks later, we sat in a sterile waiting room at the clinic. My leg bounced nervously as I stared at the bland artwork on the walls.
“Hazel Vance?” A nurse called my name.
Chloe squeezed my hand. “Want me to come with you?”
I nodded, too anxious to speak.
The doctor was kind but direct as she reviewed my test results. “Your STD panel came back negative,” she said, and I felt a wave of relief wash over me.
“Thank God,” I breathed.
“However,” she continued, glancing down at her chart, “your pregnancy test is positive.”
The room tilted. I heard Chloe gasp beside me.
“There must be a mistake,” I whispered.
“I’m afraid not,” the doctor said gently. “Based on the date you provided of your encounter, you’re approximately six weeks pregnant.”
I don’t remember much of what happened next. Chloe drove me home in silence. My mind raced with impossible scenarios, each more terrifying than the last.
“What am I going to do?” I finally asked as we sat on my couch. “My parents will disown me.”
“You don’t know that,” Chloe said, though her voice lacked conviction.
“They just got over the humiliation of my ex cheating with my cousin. Now I have to tell them I’m pregnant from a one-night stand with a man whose name I don’t even know?” I buried my face in my hands.
“Whatever you decide to do,” Chloe said firmly, “I’m here for you.”
I spent the next week in a daze, barely functioning. My options swirled endlessly in my head. When I finally gathered the courage to tell my parents, I felt like I was walking to my execution.
“Mom, Dad, I need to talk to you,” I said that Sunday evening, my voice trembling.
They sat across from me at the dinner table, concern etched on their faces.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” my mother asked.
I took a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”
The silence that followed was deafening. My mother’s fork clattered against her plate. My father’s face drained of color.
“Who?” he finally asked, his voice tight.
“Someone I met at the masquerade ball,” I admitted, tears streaming down my face. “I don’t know his name. I don’t know anything about him.”
My mother stood abruptly and left the room. I heard her bedroom door slam shut. Fresh tears spilled down my cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered to my father. “I’ll pack my things.”
“Pack your things?” My father’s brow furrowed. “Why would you do that?”
I looked up, confused. “Because you’re kicking me out. Because I’ve disappointed you again.”
To my shock, my father moved to my side of the table and pulled me into a tight embrace.
“Hazel, you’re my daughter. Yes, I’m surprised, and yes, this isn’t what I wanted for you. But kick you out? Never.”
I sobbed against his shoulder, relief and gratitude overwhelming me.
“What are you going to do?” he asked gently when my tears subsided.
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