Chapter 16

Angela POV

"You can't go through with this alone," Sophie said, her voice barely above a whisper as we sat in our usual corner at Bluestone Lane. Her fingers wrapped around her untouched cappuccino, knuckles white with tension.

"Let me come with you."

I stared into my cup of milk, watching the steam rise in delicate spirals. "The appointment's set for Wednesday morning."

"Angela..." Sophie reached across the table, her manicured fingers closing over mine. "I can't believe this," Sophie's voice shook with anger.

"If he never saw you as a real wife, why would he let this happen? I'm not saying you two couldn't have sex, but he should have thought about the consequences. He should have taken precautions!"

I felt my face flush hot with embarrassment. "He did use protection. I didn't expect this to... I mean, we were careful."

Sophie's eyes flashed with renewed fury. "And now he's just letting you go through with this? Does he have any idea what an abortion does to a woman's body? The physical and emotional toll?" She gripped her cup so tightly I thought it might shatter. "How can he be so heartless, pushing you into this decision?"

I fell silent, words failing me. Deep down, I knew Sophie was right about everything. My eyes grew wet with tears I'd been holding back for so long. Only with her could I let my guard down like this, let the carefully maintained facade crack to reveal the raw pain underneath.

Sophie reached across the table and gripped my hand tightly. "Don't be afraid," she said softly. "I'll be right here with you. Always."

Flashback

This pregnancy was an accident.

Just like that crazy night two month ago - it was all just an accident.

After our marriage, I moved into Sean's luxury penthouse apartment. The master bedroom was mine. Sean would only move in from his office-bedroom when Elizabeth came to visit. On those nights, we'd share the bed with a wall of pillows between us.

But after that charity gala, we crossed the line we'd drawn.

That night, Sean and I attended Elizabeth's charity gala together. I stood beside him, wearing a carefully chosen midnight blue gown that perfectly matched his navy suit.

The evening had been a triumph. Elizabeth's annual charity gala attracted Manhattan's oldest money, and I'd navigated the social minefield flawlessly.

Even Victoria Pierce, who'd delighted in spreading rumors about Wilson Bank's collapse, had been forced to acknowledge my presence with more than a cold nod.

"You were magnificent tonight," Sean murmured as we rode the elevator to our penthouse. "Grandmother couldn't stop smiling."

Perhaps it was the champagne, or the lingering high of social victory, but I found myself smiling back. "We make a good team."

Sean studied me for a long moment in the car's dim interior. Then, without warning, he leaned across the space between us and kissed me.

This wasn't the carefully rehearsed affection we performed for prying eyes-it was raw, unfiltered, and ravenous.

His kiss was fierce, his tongue slipping past my lips with a hint of tobacco and whiskey, claiming me with an urgency that set my pulse racing.

His hands found my hair, fingers threading through the strands and tugging with a rough edge, unraveling the perfect updo I'd spent hours crafting.

Strands fell messily around my face, but I couldn't care less-I was lost in the heat of him.

We stumbled through the penthouse door, barely making it inside before his touch consumed me.

His palms roamed my spine, tracing every curve with deliberate pressure, sending shivers cascading through me.

When his thumbs brushed over my breasts, kneading with a teasing rhythm, a needy ache bloomed deep within me, drawing a soft whimper from my lips.

His mouth charted a blazing path along my collarbone, each kiss a spark that ignited my skin as he worked his way down my body.

The rough scrape of his stubble grazed the tender flesh of my inner thigh, and a molten warmth radiated from my core, intense and overwhelming.

The burning ache between my legs grew unbearable, forcing me to press my thighs together, the friction coaxing out a quiet moan.

I needed him.

The only thing I wanted was having him between my legs, whether it was his hand, face, or cock.

His hand slipped around to my back, gripping my ass with possessive strength as he lifted me from the couch.

My legs parted instinctively, and he settled between them, his body a solid, grounding weight.

His breath was hot against my skin as he shifted, and then I felt him-his cock sliding against my slick, aching entrance.

A loud, unrestrained moan tore from my throat,

"Sean"

I knew this might be the first time-or the last.

But in that moment, rules meant nothing, and I surrendered completely to the reckless fire between us.

"I'm sorry about last night," Sean had said the next morning, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant as he straightened his tie. "I had too much champagne. It was a mistake - it shouldn't have happened."

I'd kept my face carefully blank, though something in my chest felt like it was bleeding.

"We both had too much to drink," I said softly. "Of course."

He'd pulled out his phone, fingers moving across the screen with businesslike efficiency. "I've transferred funds to cover any... potential complications."

The notification pinged on my phone - a sum large enough to buy a small apartment. The perfect price tag for a moment of weakness.

"I don't want your money." My voice came out steadier than I felt. "It was just sex. Adults have needs - you don't need to apologize for that."

"Take it anyway." His expression was unreadable.

I wanted to scream, to cry, to beg him to admit that at least for that one night, he had truly felt something for me. That in those desperate moments on the sofa, his heart had raced for me the way mine had for him.

Instead, I'd smiled my perfect corporate wife smile. "As you wish, Mr. Shaw."

He'd left without another word, and we'd never spoken of that night again. In the weeks that followed, we carefully maintained our distance, treating each other like polite strangers sharing the same space.

Only Elizabeth's worsening condition forced us to maintain some semblance of connection. The upcoming heart surgery required a united front, a show of family stability.

Three days later, Sophie called me in the morning.

"Angela, are you ready? I'll pick you up at 9," she said softly. "We can have breakfast together first."