Chapter 7 I Am Not Your Lover, I Am Your Enemy

# Chapter 7: I Am Not Your Lover, I Am Your Enemy

The morning after our night on the yacht, I woke to sunlight streaming through the stateroom windows and the gentle rocking of the boat. Callum was already gone, but a note on his pillow informed me he was handling "business matters" on the upper deck. My body ached pleasantly, memories of the previous night flooding back—the champagne bath, his hands on my skin, the way he'd whispered my name like a prayer and a curse simultaneously.

I rose, wrapping myself in a silk robe left for me, and moved to the window. The Manhattan skyline was visible in the distance; we hadn't traveled far overnight. My phone buzzed on the nightstand—Gideon, again. I silenced it without reading the message.

As I made my way to the en-suite bathroom, a wave of dizziness washed over me. I gripped the doorframe, waiting for it to pass, but another wave followed, stronger this time. Nausea rose in my throat, and I barely made it to the toilet before emptying the contents of my stomach.

Pregnancy. Reality hitting me in the most physical way possible.

"Clarette?" Callum's voice came from the bedroom. "Are you all right?"

I didn't answer, too busy retching again. He appeared in the doorway, concern etched on his features—an expression I'd rarely seen from him.

"It's nothing," I managed, reaching for a towel to wipe my mouth. "Morning sickness."

He knelt beside me, brushing hair from my face with surprising tenderness. "I've called my doctor. He'll meet us at the dock."

"That's not necessary," I protested, but another wave of nausea cut me off.

"It wasn't a suggestion." His tone brooked no argument. He helped me to my feet, steadying me with a hand at my waist. "The pregnancy changes things, Clarette. If that child is mine—"

"If," I interrupted, pulling away from him slightly. "We don't know that yet."

His eyes hardened. "I've scheduled a DNA test. Non-invasive, perfectly safe for the fetus."

"You don't waste time, do you?" I moved past him into the bedroom, trying to ignore how the room seemed to tilt.

"Not when it comes to my legacy." He followed me, watching as I gathered my clothes from where they'd been discarded the night before. "If you're carrying my child, everything changes. The terms of our arrangement will need to be... adjusted."

I turned to face him, anger flaring. "Our 'arrangement' isn't finalized, Callum. I haven't agreed to divorce Gideon, and I certainly haven't agreed to marry you."

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He smiled, that cold, calculating smile that reminded me exactly who I was dealing with. "Yet here you are, in my bed, wearing marks from my mouth on your neck."

My hand flew to my throat, finding tender spots I hadn't noticed. "This was a negotiation tactic, nothing more."

"Lie to yourself if you must," he replied, "but don't lie to me. I know what I felt from you last night, and it wasn't strategic calculation."

Before I could respond, my phone rang again—not Gideon this time, but a number I didn't recognize. I answered it, grateful for the interruption.

"Mrs. Monette?" A clinical voice asked. "This is Dr. Abernathy from Manhattan Memorial. I'm calling about your test results."

"Yes?" I said, turning away from Callum's intense gaze.

"Your hCG levels are significantly elevated, indicating a viable pregnancy. However, we're concerned about some of your other lab values. We'd like you to come in immediately for further testing."

The room seemed to spin again. "What's wrong?"

"Possibly nothing, but we're seeing some markers that concern us. It could be stress-related, but we need to rule out complications."

I ended the call, my hand trembling slightly. Callum was at my side instantly.

"What is it?"

"I need to go to the hospital," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "Something might be wrong with the pregnancy."

The next hours passed in a blur—the yacht docking, Callum's driver rushing us to Manhattan Memorial, being whisked past the waiting room into a private examination room. Callum never left my side, his presence commanding immediate attention from the medical staff.

As a nurse drew more blood and attached monitoring equipment, I found myself studying Callum's profile. The concern seemed genuine, but I couldn't shake the feeling that he was already calculating how this development affected his plans. Was he worried about me, or just the potential heir I carried?

Dr. Abernathy entered, a thin woman with sharp eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor. "Mrs. Monette, your blood pressure is dangerously elevated. Combined with your other symptoms, we're concerned about the possibility of early preeclampsia."

"That's not possible," Callum interrupted. "She's barely into her first trimester."

The doctor gave him a cool look. "While rare, it can occur this early, particularly in high-stress situations." She turned back to me. "I'm recommending immediate admission for observation and treatment."

I nodded, too exhausted to argue. As nurses prepared to transfer me to a room, the door burst open. Vivienne Monette stood in the doorway, elegant in a cream suit, her silver-streaked dark hair pulled into an immaculate chignon.

"So it's true," she said, her gaze moving from me to Callum. "Your latest conquest landed herself in the hospital, and you came running."

Callum straightened, his expression shuttering. "What are you doing here, Vivienne?"

"I'm still on the board of the hospital, darling." Her smile was razor-sharp. "News travels fast when a Monette is admitted." She moved into the room, her eyes falling to my stomach. "And now I see why."

I tried to sit up straighter, refusing to appear weak before this woman. "Mrs. Monette, this is hardly the time—"

"Please," she cut me off, "call me Vivienne. After all, we share so much. My husband, for instance." Her eyes glittered with malice. "You've been his mistress for what, three years now? All while pretending to love my son?"

My heart raced, monitors beeping in response. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I?" She moved closer, her perfume—something expensive and suffocating—filling the air between us. "You and my husband have been meeting at the vineyard's guest house since before Gideon ever proposed. Did you think I didn't know? That I didn't have you followed?"

Callum's hand shot out, gripping Vivienne's wrist. "Enough. You're causing a scene."

She laughed, the sound brittle. "I'm causing a scene? You impregnated our son's wife, and I'm the one causing a scene?"

"Get out," Callum's voice was dangerously low. "Before I have security remove you."

Vivienne wrenched her arm free, straightening her jacket with dignity. "You won't be able to hide this, Callum. Not this time." She turned to me, her expression almost pitying. "And you, my dear, are playing a game you can't possibly win. He'll discard you just like he did me, the moment you're no longer useful."

As she turned to leave, I found my voice. "Vivienne," I called, making her pause at the door. "I'm not your husband's lover. I'm his enemy. There's a difference."

She studied me for a long moment, something like respect flickering in her eyes. Then she was gone, the click of her heels fading down the corridor.

Callum turned to me, his expression unreadable. "You shouldn't have antagonized her."

"And you shouldn't have lied to me," I countered. "Three years? You've been planning this since the beginning, haven't you?"

Before he could answer, my vision blurred, darkness encroaching at the edges. The last thing I heard was Callum calling my name and the frantic beeping of monitors as I slipped into unconsciousness.