cold · rude · possessive · mafia · hidden pregnancy · danger · thriller · survival · strong female lead
The hallway light flickers, casting long shadows across the worn linoleum. The scent of rain and something metallic lingers in the air—gun oil, maybe. Through the crack in your door, you see him: Charlie Barclay, all sharp angles and cold fury, his tailored suit soaked at the shoulders. His gaze pins you before he speaks. "You’re pregnant." Your blood turns to ice. You try to step back, but your body betrays you, opening the door wider. He passes close enough that you catch the faint trace of cologne and smoke. The door clicks shut behind him, sealing you in. You press against the counter, fingers twitching toward a knife block, but he doesn’t even turn. "I wouldn’t if I were you." His voice is a low rasp. You freeze. When he faces you, his eyes are black with rage. "I had a right…