Pregnant With The Ruthless Prince's Heir

A Sinking Feeling

"Oh hell no!" Emma stared at the pregnancy test like it had personally betrayed her. Two pink lines. Two freaking pink lines that were about to ruin her entire existence.

She laughed, the kind of laugh that meant she was definitely losing it. "Really, universe? Really? This is your idea of a joke?"

Six weeks. It had been six weeks since she'd fled from Prince Alexander's penthouse like Cinderella, except instead of losing a glass slipper, she'd apparently left with a little surprise growing inside her.

All those weird symptoms suddenly made perfect sense. The throwing up every morning (she'd blamed bad takeout), the exhaustion (she'd blamed her two jobs), and missing her period (she'd blamed stress). Turns out, she should have blamed one incredibly arrogant, devastatingly handsome prince.

"Pregnant," she muttered, sinking onto her tiny apartment's couch. "By a prince who thinks I'm a prostitute. This is fine. Everything is fine."

Her phone buzzed. A text from her brother Jake: Rent's due tomorrow. Are you good?

She wasn't good. She was the opposite of good. She was pregnant, broke, and the father of her baby had literally paid her for sleeping with him.

---

Six Weeks Earlier...

"So," Prince Alexander had said the morning after, his voice colder than her frozen coffee. "What's your rate?"

Emma had been humming, actually humming like some Disney princess, still wearing his shirt. "Rate for what?"

"Don't play dumb. It doesn't suit you."

She'd turned around, confused. "I'm sorry?"

"The innocent act is cute, but we both know what you are." He'd pulled out his phone, showing her profile on Elite Companions. Her stomach had dropped to the floor.

"That's not....I mean, yes, I work for them, but...."

"But what? You provide 'companionship services' for wealthy men. Last night was just business, wasn't it?"

Emma had felt her face burn. "You think I slept with you for money?"

"Didn't you?" His eyes were ice cold. "Elite Companions. High-end escort service. You were my date for the charity gala. Do the math."

"I escort people to events! I don't, we don't, that's not what the company does!"

Alexander had laughed, but it wasn't a nice sound. "Right. And I'm sure all your 'dates' end with breakfast in bed."

"Last night was different!" She'd practically shouted it. "I didn't sleep with you because of work. I slept with you because..."

"Because?"

Because you made me laugh. Because you listened when I talked about my brother. Because for five hours, you made me forget I was drowning in debt and responsibility.

But she couldn't say that. Not when he was looking at her like she was something dirty.

"Forget it," she'd whispered instead.

"Here." He'd tossed an envelope on the counter. "For services rendered. Don't worry, I tip well."

Emma had stared at the envelope like it might bite her. "I don't want your money."

"Everyone wants money, sweetheart. That's how the world works."

She'd grabbed her purse and ran. Literally ran out of his penthouse like the building was on fire.

----

Present Day...

Now, staring at that positive pregnancy test, Emma realized the joke was on her. She'd left his money behind, but she'd taken something else entirely.

She stared at the envelope she'd never opened, the one that had been burning a hole in her kitchen drawer for six weeks. The thick black letters seemed to mock her:

"YOU EARNED THIS."

"Yeah," she whispered, one hand moving to her still-flat stomach. "I guess I did."

******FLASHBACK******

The Night That Started It All

"Your Highness?" A waiter practically trembled as he approached, balancing a glass of scotch on his silver tray.

Prince Alexander's mouth twisted into that familiar cold smile. Even here in New York, thousands of miles from his kingdom, people still whispered about the "Ruthless Prince."

Great. Just great.

"Thanks," he muttered, taking the drink. The waiter practically ran away.

Alexander sipped his scotch and scanned the charity gala with bored eyes. Why did I agree to this again? Oh right, diplomatic relations. His father's orders. Show up, smile, write a check, leave.

He was already planning his escape when he saw her.

"Holy shit!"

The woman was stunning. Tall, blonde hair twisted up elegantly, wearing a dress that was basically legal torture in deep emerald green. She laughed at something her date said, and Alexander felt his chest tighten.

Who is she?

He downed the rest of his scotch, already moving toward her before his brain caught up. It didn't matter who she was with. Prince Alexander of Aldoria had never met a woman who could resist him.

This should be easy, then her date turned around

Alexander stopped dead in his tracks, his blood turning to ice.

Reagan Mitchell?

"Son of a bitch," he whispered.

Reagan freaking Mitchell. The same bastard who'd married his cousin Sophie for her trust fund, then cheated on her with half of Manhattan before taking half of everything in the divorce.

Alexander's hand clenched around his empty glass. He'd been waiting three years for a chance to make Reagan pay for what he did to Sophie. And here was the perfect opportunity, gift-wrapped in a gorgeous blonde package.

This just got interesting.

The woman laughed again, and Alexander's jaw tightened. She had no idea what kind of snake she was with. Reagan would use her, just like he used Sophie.

"Well, not if I can help it."

"Time for some payback," Alexander murmured, straightening his tie.

Reagan Mitchell was about to learn what happens when you mess with the royal family.

And if Alexander got to spend the evening with the most beautiful woman in the room while doing it? Even better.

He started walking toward them, that cold smile spreading across his face.

Game on, Reagan.