The Baby Isn't Yours, Neither Is The Throne

Synopsis

The day the little plus sign appears on the test, confirming our IVF has finally worked, my boyfriend, Edward Harrington, the one and only heir to a nine-generation dynasty, finally caves and agrees to marry me. But after an excruciating ten-hour flight home, I arrived at his company to a wall of flashing cameras. In the middle of it all was him and his secretary, Jenny Carter, holding each other and smiling as they made their relationship official. Jenny, practically vibrating with excitement, flaunts her new status as the official Mrs. Harrington, making sure every camera catches the gleam of the legal proof in her hand. "You can all rest easy!" she chirps into the sea of microphones. "From now on, I'll be the one making sure Mr. Harrington keeps his eye on the ball!" The reporters, sensing blood in the water, swivel their cameras toward me. You can almost hear them holding their breath, waiting for the meltdown. But instead of giving them the show they want, I plaster on a serene smile and step forward, leading the applause. "Mr. Harrington and Ms. Carter, you're a match made in heaven," I announce, my voice ringing out clear and steady. "Here's to a happy marriage. I hope you have beautiful children!" A wave of stunned silence, followed by a roar of whispers, sweeps through the crowd. The crowd watches in stunned silence, unable to wrap their heads around the fact that I, the nine-year girlfriend he is supposed to marry, am being so incredibly graceful. I turn on my heel to walk away, and just as I expect, he scrambles after me, furrowing his eyebrows. He hisses, grabbing my arm, "Jenny works herself to the bone on that international project, pulling all-nighters with me for six months. She doesn't want a bonus. She has this thing about those silly romance novels. She just wants to play out the fantasy of the secretary marrying the CEO." He squeezes my arm, pleading, "It's temporary! We're getting a divorce the second the project is finalized. I swear. Then, I'll give you the wedding you deserve. A bigger, better, and unforgettable wedding." He leans in closer, whispering, "Just think about the baby. Please. Don't make a scene." Smiling, I gently remove his hand from my arm. "And who," I ask, my voice dripping with ice, "says this baby is yours?"