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Lahat ng Kabanata ng Pregnant By My Enemy's Fiancé: Kabanata 11 - Kabanata 20

36 Kabanata

Chapter 11

I’m sweating.Not, like, cute glowy sweating. No. This is full-blown, upper-lip, stress-sweat while holding a mini steamer and trying not to melt Emily’s dress.It’s 2 p.m., and we’ve already screamed twice, once because Emily couldn’t find the eyelash glue, and once because I sat on a sketchbook she swears could be worth a fortune one day.Callie’s curling Emily’s hair in two-inch sections like she’s prepping her for the Met Gala. Emily is pacing in leggings and a bralette, already whispering that maybe she should just cancel the whole thing and flee the country.Honestly? Same.Not because I’m debuting a collection of heartbreaking, soul-baring art in front of an elite crowd of critics, exes, and trust fund demons. But because my brain won’t shut up.Like no matter how many times I remind myself that today is not about me, my thoughts keep circling back to one thing. One stupid, haunting picture.“Where’s the double-sided tape?” Emily yells, panic-crying into her vanity. “I swear I

Chapter 12

I can’t breathe.Which feels dramatic considering I’m in an art gallery with high ceilings, air conditioning, and three strategically placed diffusers that smell like lemongrass and money. But here I am, standing in heels I can barely walk in, dress zipped too tightly across my ribs, and suddenly my lungs refuse to work.Because she’s here. With Axton freaking Rowe.They’re here. Together.She’s laughing at something he just said, her manicured hand resting lightly on his chest like she owns him. Like he’s hers. And maybe he is.Ashley.Ashley the skank. Ashley the snake. Ashley, the reason my relationship with Monty went up in flames.I feel the panic in my throat first, rising like I swallowed a balloon made of shame.I duck behind a sculpture of what looks like a melted cello and whisper to Callie, “Abort mission. Tell Emily I’m sick. Or dead. Or both.”Callie’s voice is dry. “Charlotte. Are you crouching behind interpretive art right now?”“Not important,” I whisper, still hiding.

Chapter 13

Chapter 13I am not proud of this, but I’ve read every single one of Monty’s texts today. Every. Single. One. I didn’t respond, I’m not a complete idiot, but I did read them. Twice. Maybe three times. Whatever. Who’s counting?But the truth is, I miss him. I miss us. The way we used to be. Before the lies, before I found out the truth. Before everything turned into a goddamn circus.Callie’s voice breaks through the haze in my head, snapping me back into the present."Char, your meeting’s in five minutes." She’s standing in the doorway, holding a steaming cup of coffee, and I notice she’s giving me that look. The one she gives me when she knows I’m spiraling.I force a smile, but it feels fake. "Thanks, Callie. I’m fine.""Uh-huh." She raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Fine. Right."I stand up, still clutching my phone like it’s some kind of lifeline, even though I know I shouldn’t.I follow Callie into the conference room, where the editorial team is already seated. The conversation h

Chapter 14

The company, in their infinite stinginess, booked me in economy. Of course they did.Because apparently, they expect emotionally unstable travel bloggers to fly across the Atlantic wedged between two strangers eating tuna sandwiches and coughing into the shared air like we’re not already one bad day away from a full breakdown.I’m standing at the gate in JFK, staring at my boarding pass like it personally offended me. Seat 34B. Middle seat.No window, no dignity.This was supposed to be a new beginning. A work trip. A distraction. A post-Monty, post-Axton recovery mission.I had even planned the aesthetic: a red-eye flight to London, face mask on, champagne in hand, dramatic lighting while Lana Del Rey plays softly in my noise-canceling headphones.But apparently, the only thing I’m getting is a bruised elbow from the armrest battle and a complimentary bag of salted peanuts.I am not above chaos. Not anymore. So I march to the desk, messy bun, sunglasses inside, an overpriced trench c

Chapter 15

I glance at him again. He’s looking straight ahead, jaw tight. Like he’s holding something back. Like he’s mad. Like he has the right to be mad.Oh, hell no.I snap.“Aren’t you a billionaire?” I hiss, voice low enough not to alert the entire cabin but sharp enough to slice through the champagne-fueled silence. “Shouldn’t you be in a private jet somewhere? Counting your money? Dodging tabloid engagements?”He turns to me slowly, like I’m the annoying fly buzzing too close to his bourbon. “Shouldn’t you be busy blogging about bubble baths and avocado toast?”Touché.“I am busy. Trying to survive this six-hour flight without committing a felony.”His mouth twitches, but not in a fun way. More like he’s trying to keep something down. His bourbon, maybe. Or his opinion of me.Axton slowly turns his head. His expression is blank, but his eyes? His eyes could cut glass. “Shouldn’t you be sneaking out of someone else’s bed by now?”I blink.Oh, we’re doing that.“Wow,” I say, eyebrows shooti

Chapter 16

If I thought he was broody before, I hadn’t seen anything yet. Axton doesn’t even look at me for the rest of the flight. He sits there, stiff and silent, clenching his jaw so tight I half-expect to hear the sound of molars cracking like cheap porcelain. We don’t speak again. Not a word. Just six more hours of tension so thick it practically has a seatbelt. When the plane finally lands in London, he’s the first to stand, grab his things, and disappear like I’m some stranger he accidentally sat next to, not the girl he practically snarled at two hours ago. And for a second, a literal breath of a second, I feel a little bad for him. He looked... sad.And I should care. I should. But I’m tired. Jet-lagged. Cranky. And honestly? Too emotionally hungover to dig into that mess. I drag my suitcase through customs, ignoring the ache in my shoulders and the way my hair's decided to frizz up like a rejected poodle.England greets me with gray skies and a chilly breeze that smells faintly of

Chapter 17

If I had my way, I'd still be in bed right now, buried under a mountain of fluffy white pillows with the blackout curtains drawn and nothing but overpriced room service on my tray and a murder documentary humming softly in the background.And for the record, I did order the room service, full English breakfast (fancy, I know), mimosas (plural), half a papaya that came with edible flowers I immediately posted on Instagram.But lounging all day like a spoiled heiress wasn’t in the cards, because, surprise, I have a job. Even if it involves drinking mimosas for the aesthetic.Callie, in all her Type-A glory, sent over a schedule so meticulous it practically had footnotes.She even color-coded it. There’s a little sticky note next to each item with encouraging things like “Smile, bitch!” and “Tag the brand or perish.” Classic Callie.I take a few quick Instagram stories, complete with a dreamy slow pan of the skyline outside my window and a fake-laugh selfie where I pretend I just happene

Chapter 18

The elevator doors slide shut, trapping me inside with the last person on earth I want to breathe the same air as.The air feels too tight, too heavy, like it’s pressing against my skin. I press myself into the corner of the elevator like maybe if I become one with the wall, I can disappear entirely. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Axton in a black suit that looks criminal on him, like he should be arrested just for existing. His tie is gone, top buttons undone and his sleeves rolled up. His jaw ticks, his hand flexes, and then, because God loves to humiliate me, he rolls his eyes at me. Full-on, dramatic, slow-motion eye-roll like I’m a particularly stupid pigeon that wandered into his penthouse.I clench my jaw so hard my teeth might snap. Oh, I’m sorry, sir, am I the villain for revealing your fiancée’s secret double life? I was minding my damn business when your Dollar Store fiancée decided to wreck both our lives.And yet here I am, guilt curdling low in my stomach, while I

Chapter 19

The rooftop suddenly feels too small, too bright, too witness-y for whatever the hell is about to happen.I blink up at Axton like maybe if I don’t move, he’ll lose interest and wander off like a bear in a campground. Spoiler, he does not.Julian gives me a slow, dramatic sip of his champagne, eyes glittering with you’re so screwed energy.I clear my throat, trying to play it cool, even though every nerve in my body is short-circuiting like a Christmas light that’s seen some things.“Uh, hey,” I say, because apparently words are hard now.Axton’s gaze slices through me like he can see every terrible thought I’ve ever had. His jaw is tight, his whole body tense like he’s holding himself back from flipping the entire table over.“We need to talk,” he says again, voice low and rough like gravel, and somehow even hotter for it, because my self-preservation skills are nonexistent.Julian kicks me under the table. Subtle. Real subtle.I plaster on a tight smile and push my chair back, the le

Chapter 20

The next day, I’m trying not to spiral.Really, I am.I sit at the little vanity in my hotel room, brushing out my hair in long, even strokes, willing myself not to look like a depressed Victorian ghost. The brush snags against the ends and tugs at my scalp, but I barely feel it.The room smells like that stupid lavender pillow spray the hotel leaves on the nightstand.My itinerary says I have a luxury underground wine tasting to attend this afternoon, and even if my soul feels like a stomped-on crumpled receipt, I have sponsors to impress.So, I slip into a casual but sophisticated little white dress, short, flowy, effortless, and pair it with kitten heels that make me feel vaguely like a woman who has her life together.I blow out my hair into soft waves and do my makeup just enough to hide the wreckage under my eyes. Concealer is a modern miracle. God bless the girlies who invented it.The plan is simple: look cute, take pictures, survive.Julian meets me downstairs, camera already

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